Wendy nodded.
“Wait … just …” She bent over Keme and lightly kissed his dark lips, his body still warm. “Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered, a cry escaping her throat. “I will remember it every day.”
Her hand trailed across his forehead. “He was so lovely. So lovely and yet I knew nothing about him.”
She shook her head back and forth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Smith’s strong hands lifted her up and off Keme, and gently nudged her down the hallway until she came back to her door. The door. So much had happened—and yet, she had just been here. She felt her face crumpling as she turned the small wheel, the door pulling out from the wall.
“You’ll be alright,” Smith uttered awkwardly. “Everyone dies sometime.”
It was the least-comforting thing she had ever heard, and she let the door shut behind her. She wanted her mother, to feel the wrap of her stout arms around her shoulders, to lean against her mother’s chest and feel that everything would be fine. Instead, she was peeling a bloody dress off her body, dried blood sticking to her skin, Keme’s blood, her blood on her hands, on her neck. She pulled on a clean nightgown before curling into Michael’s bunk, turning her back to his softly breathing body, so that her heaving sobs wouldn’t wake him. She cried for an hour before her tears swept her into a fathomless sleep.
Wendy opened her eyes, expecting to see the bottom of her bunk, but instead she saw light filtering through hard wooden slats. She turned her head. More wooden slats, all around her, curving out in an egg shape on either side of her. Her breath became labored as she realized that the air was suffocating and putrid. Her eyes met an iron ring that ran around the top of the slats, sudden horror dawning upon her: she was in a barrel. She began banging her hands against the sides, screaming at the top of her lungs. The rough wood shredded her fingers with splinters as she screamed for help, her gulps of air echoing through the barrel.
“Please, please!”
Something shifted by her feet. Wendy looked down in horror, where a blackness swirled around her ankles. The snakes, she thought. Oh God, the snakes. Something curled up her leg. It moved like a snake, twisting, slithering, but it wasn’t solid, rather it was a wisp of something terrible, gas full of malice. It slithered up her leg and her waist, changing form as it went, its grip tightening around her like a python, squeezing the life out of her. Other tendrils uncoiled from the bottom of the barrel, smothering her face, the black smoke covering her head like a bag. Her screams were silenced as she pounded her fists against the sides of the barrel. Suddenly, the smoke around her face lifted, becoming two hands that curled away from her. Through the slats of the barrel, she saw two bright-green eyes watching.
“Peter? Peter, help me!”
He shook his head. “Can’t. Can’t be stopped. Don’t want to.”
“Peter, PLEASE!” she screamed with all her strength as the dark smoke began crushing her. She felt her ribs snapping one by one, felt the darkness flowing into her mouth, breaking her legs and arms. The last thing she saw before the smoke clouded her vision was the green eyes, watching with delighted pleasure as the darkness tore her to pieces, muscle from bone.
She woke up with a scream.
Michael rolled over in bed.
“Wendy, what’s wrong?”
Wendy’s shaking hands traced over her face, feeling her forehead drenched with sweat.
“It was a dream … it was a dream …,” she was reassuring herself, though Michael thought it was for him.
“Alright. Good night.” He rolled back over and was asleep in seconds.
Wendy sat up in bed, struggling to catch her breath. The dream had been as vivid as a memory, almost as if she was meant to have it. With a gasp, she propelled herself out of bed, putting her bare feet on the floor. Moving as quietly as she could, she slipped out of the secret door, locking it securely behind her. She grabbed a lantern hanging in the hallway and ran through the dark corridors of the ship, wanting to rid herself of the fear that the dream had left behind. It lingered inside of her like a dark, beating heart. She raced up the Jolly Staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. All the ship was dark and still, rocking her men to sleep in the folds of her waves. Wendy’s bare feet slapped the lush carpet as she ran toward Hook’s chambers. There was no knocking. Instead, she flung open the carved doors, the fairy king giving way to her speed and force. The doors slammed inwards, and then Wendy was inside, holding the lantern above her.
“What in the bloody hells?” Hook lurched out of bed, a sword in one hand. “Who’s there?”
Wendy approached the bed, the lantern illuminating her sweat-drenched face, her stringy hair, and trembling form. Hook’s face changed as she stepped forward. He gripped her arm.
“You’re ready. Ask me. Ask me the question.”
Wendy gritted her teeth, the memory of the darkness bubbling up, the fear so vivid it could only have come from something real, an awareness hidden inside of her, buried from her view by Peter’s glamour and her own need for survival.
“What is the Shadow?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“That is the question, isn’t it?”
The captain nodded once before turning back to the bed. He picked up his hook, lying on a plush pillow beside him, and shrugged his sleeve back over his fleshy, red, and irritated stump. Wendy tried not to stare at it, the swinging lantern casting a shifting light over the wound. His face bent into a grimace as he slammed the hook down over the stump. Wendy raised her hand.
“You don’t have to put that on… .”
“Yes, I do,” he snapped. “I hope you understand now that the question could only come from you. If I would have told you myself, you wouldn’t have believed it.”
He tilted her chin up with the sharp curve of his hook. “We have much work to do and so little time to do it.”
Hook walked over to his liquor cabinet and began pouring them both a drink.
Wendy coughed.
“Oh, no thank you …”
“Drink it.” He handed her a glass of rum. “You need it, after a night like tonight.”
Hook downed his glass in a single swig. “And, you’ll need it even more after what I’m about to tell you.”
Wendy took a small sip; the rum tasted terrible, but it filled her throat with warmth as it settled in her belly. Hook took a breath before settling into his armchair.
“I only know what I know, and what I know is probably very little, gleaned from information gathered over decades. Most of the information that I have comes from a very reliable source, a source that I would trust with my life, but I’ve also gathered pieces here and there from various folks, folks like Fermina.” He sighed. “What do you know about the fairies of Neverland?”
Wendy shook her head. “Not much. I know that Tink is the last, that she heard her family got murdered by the darkness, that’s what she called it.” Wendy gasped. “The Shadow? The Shadow killed her people?”
Hook gave a nod and continued.
“A hundred years ago, the fairies ruled Neverland. They ruled this world, a world that they had created for themselves, a place called Neverland.”
“They created Neverland?”
“Yes. This is going back hundreds of years, but yes. They created this magical place, with unearthly natural delights, and on and on. They communed with nature and nature gave back, in a symbiotic relationship that forever flourished. They had other gifts as well—gifts of speed and strength and flight. They lived in harmony with both Neverland itself and her inhabitants and … the Shadow.”
Wendy couldn’t hold in the intrigue building inside of her. “What?”
“Quiet down. Let me get there. But first—” Hook poured himself another drink, savoring this one with hard sips. “The story stands that Peter snuck into the garden—now the Forsaken Garden—and listened to the fairies sing their mourning song.”
“Morning song?” Wendy’s heart pounded inside o
f her chest.
“Hmm, not morning, like the sun; mourning, like death.”
Wendy was listening.
“Fairies had immortal life. They didn’t age naturally, rather they could choose at what age to be. They could be killed—by violence—but that never happened, for who could kill them? When a fairy was ready to move on, they would call it. The Shadow. In London you would call this death.”
An image of the grim reaper came to Wendy’s mind, and she grasped her cup with terror.
“Indeed. But this was not your version of death, with its silly scythe and black hood. The Shadow, to the fairies, was a benevolent and loving entity that gently took them into the beyond. They loved it, and I’ve heard that when it was called, that all the hearts in Neverland would weep as it passed them by. When a fairy decided it was their time to move on, all the fairies would gather together and raise their voices in song, to lift up their weary kin. They would call to the Shadow, and it in turn would take the fairy into its arms, cradling them before taking the body up … and beyond.”
Hook gestured to the ceiling. Wendy’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“It sounds … lovely, like a fairytale.”
Hook grimaced. “So I’ve heard. But humans like us never heard the song, and never knew when the fairies would call the Shadow, and so we didn’t concern ourselves with it.” Wendy took a long, slow sip of her drink. Speaking of the Shadow made her feel like tiny cold fingers were tracing up her spine.
“So, that brings us to our beloved Peter Pan. The stories say that Peter Pan snuck into the garden, and listened as the fairies sang the song. He memorized it, and then later changed it, and when he was ready …”
Hook shook his head.
“He called the Shadow to himself, but not to take him away.” He closed his eyes, his voice rising. “He bound the Shadow to himself, and sung it into servitude.”
Wendy’s voice was trembling now. “But, how would Peter know how to do that? To enslave the Shadow?”
“Some say it was his destiny. Some say he made a deal with the devil. However … there is perhaps another answer.” Hook gave a sad smile. “I would say it was all three.”
“So, he bound the Shadow to himself. Then what?”
Hook finished his second glass.
Wendy waited impatiently. “The Shadow!”
“I’m getting there. Once Peter had bound the Shadow to himself, the Shadow began … changing.”
Hook stood abruptly, walking over to the massive black fireplace that dominated the room, the crocodile clock ticktocking back and forth.
“What we know from there is a puzzle at best, but here’s how I best see it making sense. We don’t know how much time passed, but eventually, Peter ordered the Shadow to kill the fairies.” Hook sighed sadly. “And they were slaughtered. An entire people, ripped to shreds by the thing they once loved. Even King Qaralius, who was rumored to be of great strength, couldn’t defend his people.”
“Tink told me that he died protecting her, the last of his race.”
“Tink …,” Hook growled. “As if what Peter had done wasn’t terrible enough, he spared a young Tink and convinced her that he had saved her from the Shadow. She was so grateful, that she gave him all her gifts—flight, speed, and strength—for the duration of her life. They are bound together, in their bones. But the worst gift that she gave him was her own gift of immortality.”
“That’s why Peter never ages!”
Hook rested his arms on the mantle of the fireplace. “See, death is natural. All humans must die, but when you pervert death, and make yourself immortal …”
Wendy finished his sentence, “… death becomes twisted. The Shadow is now—”
“Distorted. Mad.”
“Does Tink know about the Shadow?”
“No. And I believe that’s the only thing that’s kept Peter from calling it again. If Tink knows that he controls the Shadow …”
“She would never forgive him for killing her people.”
“More than that, she may do something dramatic in order to take away his powers.”
Wendy shook her head with a sigh, tears gathering in her eyes. “How terrible. Poor Tink, in love with the boy who murdered her family.”
Hook stroked his chin.
“I truly think the worst of Peter Pan, and even I wonder if he fully understood what he was doing when he unleashed the Shadow upon the fairies. He was younger then, truly sixteen, a child. But now …”
“Now he would fully understand. He understood what he was doing when he ordered it to destroy the Sunned Shore.”
“I believe that the longer the Shadow and Peter are bound together, the more twisted and deviant Peter becomes. Their darkness feeds off each other, like two rats in a hole.”
Wendy’s mind was leaping from thought to thought, connections lighting in her mind, so much making sense.
“That’s why the Pilvinuvo Indians disappeared! Because they were afraid of the Shadow.”
“Yes.”
“Are they safe where they are?”
Hook shrugged. “From Peter, yes. From the Shadow, probably not.”
Wendy leapt to her feet. “That’s why you play this game with Peter! You keep him entertained with this war so that he doesn’t unleash the Shadow. That’s why you fight with scum like Maison about keeping Peter engaged, because … because …” She turned to him.
“My God. You are protecting everyone in Neverland.”
The enormity of his burden made her stumble. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but felt only air. This man, Hook, was tasked with so much more than pirating. The slump of his shoulders, the rings under his eyes, the haunted draw of his cheeks as he stared at the mainland, everything made sense now, and like pulling the veil on her memories, she saw Hook fully now. Wendy had so many questions, but understood now why most of them could wait.
“You’re running out of time.”
“Peter is getting bored. I can feel it. I was so thankful for your arrival here, a distraction to him, falling in love with you. But I knew the moment that I saw you slumped over in his arms after the Vault that you would soon see him for the monster he is. Peter can’t love, can’t nurture or care while the Shadow resides inside of him. He consumes all he sees. He only knows how to destroy, and his love for you has made him only more unhinged.”
“You’re worried he will unleash the Shadow.”
“The day will come where he will rashly decide that Tink’s gifts are not worth holding back for, and he will risk it. In fact, from what I hear from his relationship with Tink, he has worked long and hard to keep her in love with him while still keeping her afraid of him.”
Wendy remembered the bruises on Tink’s legs contrasted by the shining love in her eyes.
“I do not believe that she would ever turn on Peter. She loves him desperately. He hurts her and she limps right back.” Hook shook his head.
“That is the question—what would Tink do if someone told her the truth? Would she even care? Or would his lies be able to convince her otherwise? He’s quite good at telling stories.”
Wendy remembered the moonlight filtering down on him as he leapt and filled the Teepee with tales of bravery and adventure, his red hair like a flame.
“Yes, he is quite good with that.”
Hook drained his glass. “It’s time for another.”
Wendy scoffed, “Perhaps you should slow down.”
“Do you dare tell a captain what to do on his own ship, Wendy Darling?”
She looked at him clearly. “Aren’t we past that yet? I’m trying to wrap my mind around it all and you’re lecturing me about manners.”
Hook gave her a sad grin. “Yes, well, it’s all very scary and all of Neverland hangs in the balance, so I will have another, if it’s okay with you.”
Wendy looked at his fireplace, watching the flames lick up against an iron poker that leaned inside, its handle a carved lion.
“What … what
does the Shadow look like?”
“There are only two people who know the answer to that question, and both of them live on Pan Island.”
“Ah.”
Wendy was quiet for a moment, the impact of this terribly horrifying news echoing around her skull, dulling everything else out while she considered the implications of the truth. A memory crept up from her subconscious: the swirling of navy in Peter’s normally emerald eyes, something she had seen a few times. The Shadow, moving inside him, was a part of him. She gasped, remembering something she had seen inside the Vault.
“The room full of instruments in the Vault! You’re collecting them!”
Hook gave a slight tilt of his head. “I have to make sure that no one else calls the Shadow. It must be destroyed.”
“What does this mean then? It must mean that …”
“That to defeat Peter Pan, we have to defeat the Shadow first.”
“What if …?” Wendy couldn’t believe she was about to speak these words. “What if we killed Peter?”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it, every time I see his smug face. But my fear is that killing him would unleash the Shadow, who would then tear Neverland apart, or that Peter, in his dying breath, would no doubt order the Shadow to exact his revenge.”
Wendy shook her head. “This is impossible! There must be some way, some way to—”
“And that … is the question.” Hook coughed. “Do you remember Fermina’s story? Do you remember what she said about Peter dropping the girls?”
Wendy thought for a moment. “That Peter sacrificed the girls to the mermaids.”
“Have you ever known Peter to give anything freely?”
Wendy shook her head. “Never.”
Hook stood, shaking out his long white dressing gown. “Peter did not call the Shadow without help. There is only one race of people that have been here as long as the fairies; one race that knew deep and ancient things about them. I believe that the mermaids know something. Something Peter doesn’t want them to speak of.”
“How to defeat the Shadow.”