Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(45)

Wendy sighed, and in spite of her thrumming heart, she dissolved into Peter’s smile. “Neverland is an exciting place.”

Peter slipped his hand around her hip, and Wendy straightened up, uncomfortable with his familiarity. “You have no idea.”

“What is she?”

“She is the last fairy in Neverland, and I’m afraid she’s a bit fond of me.” He gave a lighthearted chuckle, as though Tink had just shoved past her at a gala, not tried to throw her off a bridge. Wendy narrowed her eyes in the murky night, looking for any sign of Tink.

“She’s gone,” Peter added. “I scared her off, I think.”

Wendy whirled on him. “Where did she go? Does she live on the island?”

Peter laughed. “I would love nothing more than to tell you all about Tink . . .” He looked past her shoulder. “But we have about a hundred Lost Boys heading this way, and they are a fairly impatient bunch.”

Wendy turned around. Peter was correct—a large stream of boys was coming out of the Table now, their loud voices carrying up the rope bridge and into the night. The bridge began to creak with their weight as they all headed up toward Wendy, their eyes lighting up when they saw Peter. Three little ones ran up the bridge toward him, each of them waving something in their outstretched hands.

“Peter! I found this!”

“Peter, look at this bone! I found it in the water.”

Thomas, the young boy with the long blond hair who had been sitting by John, slowly poked his head around Wendy’s dress.

“I picked this for you. I’m going to give you a flower every day.”

With a blush, he handed over an exotic flower—its head a sunset orange with deep red spikes protruding from its slip. Wendy put it to her nose and inhaled its pungent scent. She grimaced.

“Thank you, Thomas, is it?”

He grinned, a lock of yellow hair falling into his eyes. He started running down the rope bridge, against the tide of boys that now swarmed around them like bees.

“Peter! I saw a silver fish today, just like the one you showed me!”

“Peter! Could you let me fly on the next raid, please?”

“Peter, Abbott said that I couldn’t climb up to fetch the rainwater today because I spilled it yesterday.”

“Peter . . .”

Peter looked over toward Wendy with a bemused face. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and she felt an uncontrollable blush rising in her cheeks as he reached for her hand, the throng of boys pushing around them. He wrapped his hand around her own, and she gave a small nod, and then they were flying up, up toward the Teepee. She enjoyed the wind on her face, cooling the parts of her that she felt were still warm from Tink’s unholy blaze. Peter gently put her down on the wooden deck that extended outward from the base of the hut and leapt up into the air again.

“And here is the Teepee.”

At least that name had some merit, Wendy thought. Stretching high overhead, this hut had a vertically slanted roof that came together at a sharp peak. Adorned with Peter’s flag that flapped overhead, the sides of the Teepee came down, each decorated with leaves that draped from its steep roof. Ribbons blossomed out from its sides, each one tied to a nearby tree, giving the Teepee the look of standing in the middle of a rainbow sun. Wendy pushed open the wooden door and peeked inside. The room was empty, save a large wooden chair in the middle of the room, carved from the same bark as the tree that made up Pan Island. The back of it was a perfect circle, the same shape as the moon on the flags.

“That is Peter’s chair,” Oxley whispered over her shoulder. He had herded in a handful of boys. “No one touches it but him. It’s where he tells us stories of his adventures.”

Light filtered in through the holes in the roof.

“Come in, boys, sit down!”

Dozens of Lost Boys had already gathered on the floor around Peter’s chair and now were shoving each other for closer proximity to Peter’s throne. Boys continued to pour through the open doorway. Wendy silently took a seat close to the wall, leaning her head back against its muddy texture, and waited, knowing that any minute now her lap would be occupied by a certain five-year-old . . . and yes. Michael curled up on her legs and leaned his head against her shoulder. He reeked of turkey and spices, and Wendy could see in the fluttering lamplight that his face was smeared with berry jam. He gave a happy sigh against her.

“What happens now? I just followed all the other boys here.” His happy face turned sour. “John didn’t talk to me at dinner. I’m mad at him.”

Wendy smiled, pushing his hair back from his face. “I’m mad at John too. But I think that Peter is going to tell us a story, and then we can head to bed.”

Michael gave an exaggerated yawn. “Good, ‘cause I’m tired.”

Dominant footsteps echoed through the room as Kitoko, Abbott, and Oxley shooed the boys forward into a large circle. When they turned around to see Wendy, Ox winked in her direction, Kitoko kept his distance, and Abbott regarded her with a silent and menacing stare.

“Move forward,” Abbott grumbled, tipping his head toward where the rest of the boys sat. Wendy brushed herself off, shuffled Michael off, stepped forward a few steps, and sat back down. She had barely settled when ten boys swarmed around her, the strong scent of their sweat overwhelming her sensitive nose. Some just stared at her with curious eyes, while others shyly reached out and just barely brushed their fingertips along the edge of her dress or her shoes. Wendy felt a sharp pain on the side of her head.