“Yes, I would like that. Thank you.”
“Aren’t you a polite one? I haven’t heard someone speak like that …,” Fermina paused, a look of pain crossing her face, “for a long time. Anyway, dearie, let’s have that drink and some bread. It’s been awhile since I’ve been paid to sit and chat, and I intend to enjoy it. What shall I call you? I know you’re name isn’t Bluebell. Hook’s terribly bright, but not when it comes to making up names; good Lord, that was terrible.”
Wendy grinned before carefully choosing a name that would be familiar to her ears—her middle name.
“You can call me Moira.”
Fermina stared at her for a moment.
“Well, that’s certainly better than Bluebell.”
She smiled, and Wendy found herself following the woman under one of the draping porticos, the overwhelming smell of fruit pressing on all sides of her.
“Come dearie, and let’s talk about Peter Pan.”
“Peter?” Wendy stopped walking. “What would you know of Peter Pan?”
Fermina paused in the darkness, her eyes now covered in the shadow of the building.
“Oh, I know more than you can imagine about Peter Pan.”
The prostitute turned away from Wendy, her broad shoulders giving a shudder in the warm light of the grove. A butterfly fluttered in her hair, its cobalt wings tangled in her thick curls.
“I know about Peter Pan, because I was once one of his Lost Girls.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wendy tried not to stumble at her words as they made their way under the porticos to a large red stone platform at the edge of the grove where a set table was waiting for them. From there, they could see the edge of the Bay of Treasures and the southernmost tip of the island. Fermina settled comfortably into a plush red chair and began pouring wine into an ornate gold goblet, adorned with swirls of naked lovers embracing. Wendy blushed when it was handed to her, and Fermina burst out laughing.
“Well, aren’t you just the most innocent thing I’ve seen in a while? That’s a rarity around these parts.”
Wendy shook her head, remembering Peter’s touch in the lantern, how he had made her feel like peeling off her clothes every time he glanced in her direction.
“I’m not as innocent as you may think.”
She took a deep sip of wine, feeling the cherry and cinnamon notes bounce happily off her tongue. Fermina raised her eyebrows.
“That is good.”
She took another sip.
“We haven’t toasted yet, my dear.”
Wendy put her goblet back down, embarrassed.
“Oh, you’re right, I’m so sorry. I just went ahead and drank.” She shook her head. “I’m not myself here.”
Fermina stared at her, Wendy unnerved by the depth in her wide brown eyes, like roasted hazelnuts swimming in a pool of milk.
“No one is, dearie, no one. I’m actually surprised that you survived Peter’s charm with your honor intact.”
Fermina sloshed her wine around.
“That is a feat. Perhaps we should drink to Peter Pan.”
Wendy made a face. “But he’s terrible. Absolutely terrible.”
“That he is. But boy is he beautiful.”
Wendy couldn’t help but smile. “This …,” she conceded gently, “this is true.”
Fermina raised her glass.
“To the incomparable, dangerous beauty of Peter Pan.”
Wendy raised her glass and took a long sip. It went down like warm honey, and she felt her shoulders ease, her body settling into the wide chair. Fermina watched her with a half smile on her face.
“I can see you are biting your tongue. Ask your questions.”
Wendy smiled beneath her cup before setting it down beside her and crossing her legs.
“You said you were a Lost Girl?”
“I did, I did.”
Fermina took another drink and began tearing at a hunk of brown bread, spreading it with berry jam. Wendy sat up in her chair, the heavy pollen in the air of the grove making her nose itch.
“I would love to hear your story if you feel comfortable telling it.”
Fermina laughed. “Oh, I can’t get enough of you, dearie! I’m a harlot, and you are asking me if I am comfortable telling a story. I love it!”
She reached out and pinched Wendy’s cheek, and the feeling of Fermina’s fingers against her face made her heart yearn again for her mother. She unexpectedly found her eyes swelling with tears and looked away, swallowing hard. Fermina shook her head.
“Oh love, you don’t have to hide your tears here. Not here, not in front of me.” She pulled the scarf from around her shoulders. “Here.”
“Sorry.” Wendy wiped her eyes. “I miss my mother, that’s all. It’s silly.”
Fermina’s smile turned down, slowly, sadly. “I know about that pain, by gods I do.”
Her strong profile turned to look out at the bay, out at a sky that was turning more green than gray as storm clouds gathered on the horizon. The air around them buzzed with life; insects and flowers calling back and forth to each other in joyful sexual abandon.
“I was once like you—a carefree girl, with a brave spirit and solid bones. Fermina means strength, and I got mine from my mama, and the hot sun that beat down on us. I grew up in Vilanova i la Geltrú, in Spain. My parents were not wealthy, but neither were we poor. We lived in a small but comfortable hacienda, my papa was a merchant, and my mother helped with the cooking at a local hotel. Though Neverland has taken many of my memories, I still smell my mama’s asado de cordero cooking on the stove, the sound of her humming echoing through the house, the sizzling of her cast iron, the taste of corn in my mouth. It was a good life, a VERY good life, my dear.”
Wendy smiled, imagining Fermina as a young girl, shrieking happily in the arms of her parents. “And that is why I will never, ever forgive the bastard Peter Pan for taking me from it. I was NOT his to take! Peter will say that he takes only orphans and children in dire circumstances, but that is a lie. He takes whom he wants, and he doesn’t care about families, or lives, or anyone.”
Fermina slammed her hand down on a silver tray.
“That was my life! Who was he to take me away to this place?” She gestured angrily out to the island, its beauty always masking terrible truths. “I should have grown up in Villanova, beside my mother. I was her only child, her milagro.” Fermina shook her head furiously as Wendy watched her with wide eyes.
“Peter brought me here, to Neverland, to Pan Island. At first I was seduced by the freedom of it all, and I fell madly in love with him, though I was too young and he never noticed me in that way. Besides, at that time, he had his fairy with him constantly. They were never away from each other, though I hear he has tired of her now. Peter had brought a large group of girls to the island, twelve of us to be exact. We ran wild with the Lost Boys, playing, fighting, and climbing. For a while, it was a beautiful existence. I’m sure you know.”
Wendy nodded, remembering the wild beauty of Pan Island, bursting from the sea like a wet seed.
“It was good, until it suddenly wasn’t. Tink hated us and tried to make our lives a living hell. Peter was asking us to do things we didn’t want to do.”
Wendy knew exactly what she was talking about.
“At first, he just asked if we would cook him a meal, which we practically fell over ourselves wanting to do since we were all in love with him. Then, he asked if we would cook for the generals, and soon it was all the rest of the Lost Boys every single night without fail. Soon, we were his slaves—cooking, doing laundry, cleaning—can you imagine? Cleaning Pan Island?”
The women both laughed deeply.
“We wanted to be running and playing, fighting the pirates—his war with Hook was a new development back then—and instead I was scrubbing the trousers of every boy and cooking turkey legs over the fire from dawn until dusk. We quietly met as a group and Peter reluctantly agreed to speak with us. After we shyly told him that we
wanted to be considered the same as Lost Boys, and that we would no longer be cleaning or cooking for the group, Peter turned us away.”
Fermina shook her head, a long black curl flecked with hints of gray falling over her face.
“Peter pulling away from us was like the moon from a tide. He was the sun and without him, we were plunged into darkness. Some of the girls decided that it was worth it to cook and clean just to have his attention and went back to their jobs, an exhausting existence. The rest of us staged a sort of strike—we stopped working and stayed in our hammocks all day. Mind you, I was only eleven at the time, and madly in love with Peter. All the girls were around my age, the oldest one may have been fourteen at the time. We didn’t know what we were doing, we didn’t know… .” She took a sip of her wine, regret playing over her fine-lined features.
“We didn’t know that playing with Peter Pan was like playing with fire.”
Her wrinkled hands pressed together anxiously. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance, as Wendy watched Fermina sorting through painful memories behind her thick lashes.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken of this in a long time.”
Wendy reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m here.”
Fermina smiled at her before bravely continuing.
“One clear morning, Peter asked all the girls on Pan Island if we wanted to go flying with him. We said yes, of course, thinking that all was forgiven.” She closed her eyes. “I still remember the thrill of him taking my hand, of the heat that ran off his body and into my own. Tink was there, watching us leave from the Nest, her face twisted with a mix of satisfaction and pain.”
“I should have known, I should have known by her eyes.”
Fermina wiped a tear with the back of her hand. Wendy’s heart thudded dully in her chest and she took another sip of wine.
“He flew us out towards the main island, over the Teeth and down towards the Bay of Treasures. We thought we were going for a fun ride.” Fermina wrapped her hand firmly around her glass goblet and took a long drink. Then she wiped her mouth and continued with a dry laugh. “He flew down and dropped us into the Bay of Treasures, about fifty feet from the shore. We were in shock when we hit the water. We surfaced and then we heard the song, felt the scales around our bodies. Five girls …” she paused. “Five girls out of twelve were taken by the mermaids before we could all make it to the shore. I heard them screaming as they were dragged under and then there was nothing. I hear that song in my dreams.”
Her face grew hard.
“Peter knew that the mermaids would take them. We were his gift to the mermaids, for their silence.”
“Silence about what?”
Fermina didn’t answer her question, but continued on with the story.
“He left us there on the shore, with nothing to our name. Two of them had just seen their sisters die.”
Rain had begun trickling on the outside of the portico, a soft slapping sound that made Wendy feel comforted in the midst of this terrible story, one she understood all too well.
“I ordered my six lost sisters to pick themselves up, and we made our way to the ramshackle buildings that were being propped upon the shore. One of them was owned by Hook—though, truthfully, he owns them all now—and the captain let us stay there—a younger lad he was at the time—in exchange for what we had just escaped from; cooking, cleaning, and earning our keep. I became the leader of the Lost Girls, and it would be many years later that we became known around town as loose women.”
She sighed. “Truthfully, I now regret some of the decisions we made to get here. I wish it had been different, I wish that I had my mother to teach me other paths. But we didn’t. Peter had left us here, with no income, no way to feed ourselves. Is it any wonder that eventually we would find our way here? This is no town for children.”
Hook said something about that, that Port Duette wasn’t safe for children. Wendy was suddenly glad that Michael was back aboard the Sudden Night.
Fermina bit into her bread angrily.
“Boy babies are snatched right from their cribs, a few every year. One of my girls, Thea, lost her little boy, Magnus, just last year. Broke my heart. When Hook brings me the man who did it …,” Fermina brought the bread knife straight down into the table, “I’ll start with his eyes and end at his toes.”
Wendy closed her eyes as Fermina continued her story. She didn’t want to hear any more.
“Once we were old enough, Hook gave us an opportunity—to run a venue just outside of town that catered to pirates—to him—called Harlot’s Grove. He offered me fair terms for rent, and now I run the town’s only brothel. I pay my workers fairly and I have strict standards for who is allowed to come in—and who must stay out. We serve Port Duette, and they serve us. My girls have independent means to support themselves, and we are each other’s family.” She smiled sadly. “We were the last Lost Girls, and from then on, Peter only brought boys to Pan Island. Until now. Until … you.”
“Does Peter ever come … here?”
Wendy wasn’t sure why the thought of this was so distressing. Fermina shook her head.
“Oh, no. Peter would never come here. My hatred for him is well-known.”
Peter would have to be a fool to come—Wendy could tell by Fermina’s face that she was a force to be reckoned with.
“Captain Hook has saved our lives, and though I know him to sometimes be a troubled man, I know in my heart that he is a good one. I would marry him in a fairy’s second, if he would have me, though I know his heart is spoken for.”
Fermina instantly brought her hand to her mouth.
“Oh, dearie, you must not tell Hook I said anything.”
Wendy nodded her head towards the room where Hook had taken his women and disappeared. Fermina dropped her voice to a whisper, her wine-soaked breath washing over Wendy’s face.
“Oh those. Those girls are mere trinkets. Meaningless, like all his treasures.” Fermina smiled, then reached out her hand and pulled Wendy’s face towards hers.
“Now, beautiful Moira, I want to hear your story. And don’t leave any parts out. It’s been awhile since I have heard a good yarn.”
And so Wendy told her the truth—starting with Peter taking them to Neverland and ending with Michael, now waiting on the ship for them to return. She did not tell Fermina about Booth, because right now, Booth lived only in her heart, a soft, warm secret that soothed her soul and mind. Fermina listened intently, and Wendy poured out her feelings. The harlot said nothing as Wendy finished but instead wrapped the girl into her arms unexpectedly, Wendy’s head pushed up against her ample bosom. She smelled like summer.
“You poor thing. Peter is a bastard, isn’t he? I hope you kill him.”
“I don’t think I could kill anyone.”
“What do you think you are here for, dearie?”
Wendy blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You could if you had to, couldn’t you? I thought—SHHHH!”
Fermina’s face changed, and she slowly drew a small pistol out of her blouse.
“Someone’s here.”
Wendy stood quickly, pushing back her chair. Fermina stepped forward, her brown eyes watching the grove. A single planter of flowers, hanging maybe ten feet from them, was rocking wildly. A vine rustled overhead, and a shadow passed over Wendy’s face, filtering the golden light beaming through slats of the portico. “Go inside. Now.” Fermina leveled her pistol on the crook of her arm and closed one eye. “Move.”
Instead, Wendy took a step forward, not willing to leave Fermina alone to fight whatever lurked in the lush corners. The rustling moved overhead, coming to a rest at a spot right beside Wendy’s ear. Orange and pink flowers blew in a soft breeze, and all Wendy heard was the sound of a bee, buzzing happily beside her ear.
A black cat—so dark that it was almost purple—leapt down from the portico, landing with a crash atop their table, sending bites of bread and wine goblets scattering to t
he floor with a loud crash. Fermina laughed. “Oh for God’s sake, Chess, get down.” The cat gave an unhappy meow as Fermina put him on the ground and shooed him away with her foot. “Lurks around the grove, listening at every door … I swear… .”
She waited for the rush of relief, but instead she felt a breath of air rush across her shoulders. By the time Wendy turned her head upwards to see what it was, she realized it was too late. A strong arm reached down and grabbed her wrist, and before she even knew what was happening, she was being whisked upwards, the ground disappearing rapidly beneath her as she looked down onto the shocked, lovely face of Fermina. The pistol trembled in her hands as she disappeared underneath the folds of flora that encompassed the grove.
Wendy struggled as they soared upwards, trying in vain to pull her wrist out of the iron-like grip of a figure clothed in a long, green robe, features hidden by a thin piece of black fabric. Fear pulsed through her veins, her chest constricting, her breaths shallow. Flying itself was terrifying now that Peter had dropped her. The sky was so vast, so high, and it swallowed her whole. The figure spun her around, her face outwards, so that a gloved hand was easily clasped around her mouth. Wendy and her captor flew upwards, up above the grove, up above the shanty roofs of Port Duette, and upwards into the sagging buildings that bordered the jungle. Once on the outskirts of town, they came to rest on a supportive wooden pillar that leaned against one of the larger buildings. The lip of the abandoned building above dangled precariously over the pillar, protecting them from the sky. The figure spoke.
“Don’t scream, okay? He’ll hear you.” The hand came away from her mouth, and Wendy was silent for a moment before lunging to the ground. With one swift movement, she rolled away from the figure, and, after looking around feverishly, grabbed onto the top of a broken wine bottle. She held it out in front of her with a shaking hand.
“Don’t come near me!” She snapped. “Stay back or …”
The figure pulled at the sheer black mask over his face. Raising her eyes to meet the face, her knees almost buckled at the intoxicating rush of relief that the eyes she met weren’t emerald green and seared with hatred. These were chocolate brown, fringed by long lashes and a very amused expression. Still, she kept the bottle raised, one hand out in warning.