Forever Neverland(33)

Tink swatted him on the arm and he flinched and jumped back. “Ouch!”

“Feel real enough for you?” She asked, her patience clearly running low. “We don’t have time for this, Tootles. This is real. Peter is hurt. Now are you gonna help or not?”

Tootles gritted his teeth, looking stubborn. “Tinkerbell is a tiny little fairy covered in sparkles and you’re a teenage girl!” He leaned forward, pointing at her. “And the Peter Pan that I know never – ever – gets hurt. None of this makes any sense at all!”

Tinkerbell’s gaze narrowed dangerously. She took a slow, deep breath to calm herself and then said, “Tootles, Hook took Wendy and her brothers and managed to injure Peter because we’re not in Neverland.” She took a threatening step forward, batting Tootles’ finger out of the way and pointing one of her own. “You can act like a Lost Boy and help your leader right now or you can continue to pretend that I don’t exist.”

She lowered her voice and her green eyes began to glow red.

“But I should warn you that if you choose the latter, I will prove my existence to you in a most unpleasant manner.”

Tootles swallowed audibly, his eyes growing wide. “Okay, okay. I believe you. Where is he?” he finally asked, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Follow me.” Tinkerbell’s eyes returned to normal and she spun around, leading the way down the aisle. Tootles followed behind her.

“How did you get so big, anyway?” he asked sulkily.

“This is my human form,” she told him over her shoulder. “You know how it is here. People are freaks. I don’t want to get sprayed with Raid or something.”



Chapter Twelve

Some places take a life time to reach.

Carnegie Hall. The White House. Mars.

But, compared to Neverland, these places are as close as your own back yard. Because it doesn’t take a lifetime to get to Neverland. It takes forever.

Or, so Michael Darling would tell you. At the moment, he sat on an empty ale barrel, looking out over an ocean of black and stars, a slight night breeze playing with the tendrils of hair around his face. He had been allowed up on to the deck, under the close supervision of a pirate by the name of Billy Jukes, for the last few nights. Michael couldn’t be certain why it was, as Wendy wasn’t forthcoming about it, but according to Smee, who was a very amiable pirate, despite himself, and loved to converse with the boys when Hook wasn’t around, Wendy had been sad to have Michael kept below decks. And Hook didn’t want Wendy sad. So – he had ordered that the young boy be allowed on the main deck when the sun went down.

Michael couldn’t deny being grateful. The gun deck stank of vinegar and gun powder and alcohol and there was no fresh air. It wasn’t a laugh being under “Officer Billy’s” watch, either, since he was only called “Officer Billy” because, before he’d become a pirate on the Jolly Roger, he’d been a truant officer in some place by the name of Black Mountain Alley.

Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes, enjoying another fresh breeze as it washed in from some unknown place. To the left of him, a good ten paces away, Billy Jukes lit a pipe and took a few puffs, his gaze, too, locked on the nothingness of space. The ill-fated pirate sported a peg leg and only one good eye. He squinted it as he blew out a ring of smoke.

Behind them, back on the main deck, came the sound of clashing swords.

Michael turned to find Hook and Wendy at it again.

Lately, the captain of the Jolly Roger had been giving Wendy fencing lessons. He had seemed openly impressed with her talent from the moment she’d first stolen and brandished one of his sailor’s swords. And now, each night on the deck of his ship, he honed her skills. And Michael, for the life of him, could not understand why.

He could not understand why their sworn enemy would want to make a better fighter out of one of his prisoners. He simply could not comprehend the idea of their captor trying to help any one of them in any way. He was almost positive that Hook had some ulterior motive in mind. He was probably going to use Wendy against Peter. That had to be it.

There could be no other reason for Hook’s strangely cordial behavior.

Michael heard John come up beside him on his left, as he had every night that Michael had been let up top. “I think she has Stockholm Syndrome,” John said.

Michael turned to find his brother’s gaze locked on his sister as she expertly swatted away Hook’s sword.

“What’s Stockholm Syndrome?” Michael asked.

“It’s when captives start to identify with their captors.” John explained. His expression was grim.