Page 22 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 22

T here’s a moment of weightlessness, and it’s unlike flying in Peter’s arms, because there’s nothing holding me other than the light touch of the noose. My stomach rises to my throat.

And then I fall.

“Wendy!” Peter screams my name like his world is being ripped apart.

I have him.

Thrill and dread ripple through me. The ground hurdles closer, but just as I’m sure the noose is going to snap taut…

Peter catches me.

“Wendy, my darling little thing.” His pet name isn’t kind, though it never has been. Anger flashes in his eyes, but panic too, as we hover in midair, the noose having already tightened around my neck.

I can’t breathe, and Peter grabs at the rope, snapping it. I inhale a gust of air, my heart hammering out of my throat.

We stare at each other for a moment. Him, in utter disbelief.

Me? I make sure my face conveys disappointment.

When we land, Peter isn’t prepared for me to spring out of his arms and stumble backward. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you hurt me like that?” he asks, his voice trembling, his fists too, at his sides.

For one horrifying moment, I wonder if he’s about to hit me.

“I’m just so, so tired…” I say, dropping to my knees like I can hardly hold myself up. It’s not a lie, really. “I can’t. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe anymore.”

Peter rushes to my side, kneeling beside me on the floor of the forest, stroking his fingers through my hair as if his touch doesn’t absolutely repulse me.

Even with the Mating Mark pulling us together, it only makes the repulsion stronger. He’s a comfort food I once loved, until I gorged myself on it then spewed it all over my clothes, and now even the scent of it churns my stomach.

I lean into him, though. So he’ll remember what it’s like to hold me. So he’ll want all the more to cling to me, to never let me go.

“I don’t know how to live without him, Peter,” I say, meaning John, but letting him interpret it however he will. Letting him wonder. “I don’t want to live anymore. Please, please just kill me. Please, just let me die. If you love me, you’ll do this for me.”

“You just need some time. Some rest,” Peter insists.

“I’ve had rest,” I say. “I’ve been sleeping for a year now, but it’s never-ending. Just when I think it will get better, it doesn’t. I’m drowning, Peter. Over and over again. Please, just let me die.”

Peter taps his finger against the back of my skull, thinking. “You don’t mean that, Wendy. I know it hurts, but it won’t last forever.”

“But he’ll be dead. John’ll be dead forever. We can’t make him come back…”

“I can ask the Sister again,” says Peter.

“Can she bring him back?” I say, peeking through my fingers.

Peter pauses just long enough to betray the true answer. “She can. It’s just convincing her that’s the problem.”

Lies.

I wail. “We’ll never do it. The Sister hates me. And Peter, it’s my fault that John’s dead. If I had just been able to find a husband…”

“Then we wouldn’t be together,” says Peter like that’s supposed to be a comfort. Like he wouldn’t have slaughtered my husband and taken me for himself, anyway.

“But John would be alive. Can’t you see that?” I say. “I put him in danger. I convinced you to bring him here. Had I left him with Astor that night in the clock tower, he wouldn’t have killed him…”

There’s no blame in my voice, but Peter tenses all the same. “Wendy Darling, let me get you some more faerie dust.”

When he reaches for his pouch, I let my gaze linger on it a moment too long. I even sprinkle in a small gasp of longing for good measure. He hesitates, then brings his hands away from the pouch. For a moment, I fear he’s caught on, but then he says, “You crave it too much. We’ll find another way. Just get some sleep.”

So fickle, my counterfeit Mate.

I go still in his arms. Let him feel me shutting down. “You know what?” I say. “You’re probably right. I’m being silly. I’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll just go to bed.”

Peter blinks, sorrow taking over his expression. He cups my cheek with his hand, then leans over and presses a cold kiss to my forehead. I fight not to shudder underneath his touch, but in the end, I conquer.

“I want you to keep choosing me,” he whispers.

“What else would I do?” I ask it playfully, but he doesn’t buy my improved mood.

Good.

When he pulls away, his eyes are steely with determination. “I also want to be clear about what it means to choose me.”

My heart does backflips at the dread and anticipation of what he might say next.

“Choosing me means that you stay safe above else,” says Peter. “Choosing me means that you do everything in your power to keep yourself unharmed, and most of all, alive.”

My heart stops in my chest. Swells. Explodes within me. I don’t let it show on my face. I blink, like I’m disappointed in his answer.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I whisper.

I hardly feel the kiss Peter plants on my cheek. I’ve barely made it into the Den and out of eyesight before I break into a smile that feels as if it might crack my face wide open.

Peter goes to visit the Sister later that evening. I’d known he would, which is why I chose tonight. Because he’d have no choice but to leave me behind.

Besides, tonight’s Victor’s shift to watch me.

We leave at half past two in the morning. Once we’re outside of the Den, Victor strays off our intended path.

“Where are you going?” I call after him.

He turns back, the wind making a mess of his unkempt black hair. “The boat. I’ll need to drag it from its storehouse to the beach.”

“It’ll be easier once we have Tink’s help,” I say.

Victor shakes his head. “We can’t afford to waste time. If you and Michael get Tink, I can have the boat ready by the time you get to the beach.”

My heart stutters, fear innervating my fingertips, keeping me bouncing on my toes. Intellectually, I know Victor’s plan makes the most sense. My anxieties don’t see it that way.

“Winds,” Victor says, nodding toward Michael. “We’ve got to get him out.”

I turn to my brother, examining the way he shuffles between the balls and heels of his feet, staring off into the dark canopy. He’s searching for the stars, though only a few peek through the leaves.

I nod, but by the time I look up, Victor’s already gone.

“We’re leaving tonight.” I shake Tink awake, Michael sleepily tugging on my hand. He’s been chanting Tink’s name ever since he recognized our path, thrilled to be going to see his friend.

I can’t blame him. I’ve been thrilled as well.

We’re getting out of here. We’re getting out.

There’s a part of me that feels guilty about leaving the other Lost Boys behind. But the last time I tried to get the other Lost Boys to escape…

Well, everyone who was there that night other than me and Michael are now dead. Simon. Nettle. John. I won’t risk Michael’s life for another hour on this island. Not even for Benjamin, Smalls, and the Twins. Even if I’m silently mourning them, guilt tamping my excitement about leaving.

Tink frowns at me, confused.

I don’t have time to explain to her why I can leave now. Nor do I think it would go over well if I explained.

When Peter told me that choosing him was doing whatever was necessary to keep myself alive, he’d unknowingly put me on this path.

The mark on the back of my neck is burning hot, has been for days now. We still have eleven months before I’m required to give Tink up, but as the days pass, the urge to get her back to the Nomad becomes ever stronger.

I don’t intend to hand her over. I don’t intend to betray my friend. But for now, getting Tink off the island and closer to the Nomad is working toward helping me fulfill my bargain.

The bargain that will kill me if I don’t deliver.

Peter hadn’t known it at the time, but by refusing to let me let myself die, he’d given me permission to leave Neverland.

“I’ll explain later,” I whisper. “Just pack your things and let’s get out of here.”

Tink laughs at me silently, then presses her hand to my palm. I help lift her off the ground, then read the tiles she gave me. “WHAT THING-S?”

As we race through the forest toward the beach, the shadows race with us. It’s John’s wraith who joins us first. “Slowpoke,” he jokes with me, nudging me in the arm.

He doesn’t take off ahead, like he’d do if he was alive. If he was really him.

I don’t mind.

Soft earth and moss absorb the sound of our footsteps, and John warns me of fallen branches hidden by the night. He keeps us from stumbling, from tripping.

At one point, Michael reaches out toward him, and John’s wraith flinches with surprise.

“Do you think he can see me?” John whispers.

“Do you think he can see me?” Michael repeats back.

A sob escapes my throat, sounding more like a cough from the exertion. John’s wraith makes an incoherent sound and moves his hand toward Michael’s as we run.

Michael shouldn’t be able to feel him, but he keeps his hand close to John’s all the same.

As we race across Neverland, Tink leading the way, taking a blade to the brush in our path, the forest sings to us, the birds waking for our flight. The leaves rustle, even the ones we don’t touch. It’s as if even the trees are clapping for us.

And, one last time, because my heart is racing with the toxic high of hope, I let myself imagine who I’m running toward. I don’t think about the fact that he’s not waiting for me on the other side of this realm. Don’t let myself consider that he’s on the other side of the world, indifferent to my suffering.

As I run, I run toward Nolan Astor. I run toward his invisible arms, his sturdy embrace. I run like I’m racing across a crumbling cliff side, his arms waiting to catch me, to pull me in and never let me go.

I’m getting out of here. I’m getting out of here, and I’ll chase him to the ends of the earth if I have to. Even if it’s to beat on his chest and scream at him for leaving me to rot. Even if it’s to break down and weep into his arms.

I’m going to see him again.

And that gives my heart wings.

He meets me on the beach. Not him, but his wraith. “Goodbye, Darling,” he says to me, his shadowed hand brushing my cheek, though I can’t feel his touch.

I shake my head. “Not goodbye.”

He pauses. “You’ll see me again.” The next half of his sentence remains unspoken. But I won’t see you.

“Thanks for letting me pretend for a while,” I choke out.

“Thank you, for making me feel real.”

I swallow the splinter lodging in my throat. But then Astor’s wraith is gone, along with John’s, and it’s just the beach before us, the black sand sparkling green underneath the glow of the aurora.

The waters are peaceful tonight, the black tide gentler than usual. As if the sea has been waiting for us. Tidied itself up for its dinner guests.

Tink goes on ahead, searching the shoreline. As we follow her, a boat comes into view, just far enough from the waters that the tide won’t get it for another few hours. Tink spins around, searching. When we make eye contact, she doesn’t need tiles to express the question in her eyes.

Because I’m already thinking the same thing.

Where is Victor?

Tink gets to the boat first, aided by her fae speed and the fact that she’s not clinging to Michael’s hand. She plucks a torn piece of parchment out of the boat before I get there, but unable to read all of it other than the words she has tiles for, hands it straight to me.

Winds, go on ahead. Tell Michael I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry, there was a second boat in the storehouse. There’s something I need to do first.

My chest goes hollow, my eyes going in and out of focus as I read the parchment over and over.

Tink jabs me in the arm with her sharp fingernail.

“He found a second boat and told us to go on ahead of him,” I explain.

Tink’s tanned cheeks go white. She presses a tile into my hand.

“PETER.”

I nod, the pain in my throat threatening to close it off. My stomach cramps, and all I can see is a body hanging from the end of a noose, swaying underneath the reaping tree. The face changes every time it passes underneath the shadow of the branch. John, Victor, John, Victor.

“He’s going to try to kill him,” I whisper. “Stupid, stupid kid.”

Tink’s touch against my palm again. “NEED TO LEAVE.”

I think of Victor, tending to Michael when I was too high to remember I had a brother who needed me. Victor, who stayed at my bedside, placing himself between me and Peter when Peter wanted to give me more faerie dust. Victor, who sat with me by John’s grave. Victor, who made sure I bathed.

It hits me then that for him, it’s probably not simply revenge he’s after, but a way to get the other boys off the island. The other boys, who’ve always excluded him, never liked him.

“My boy used to put himself between the little ones and the bullies.” I turn and find the wraith nearby, running his hand over the side of the boat. He cranes his head to face me. “I tried to tell him not to avenge me,” he whispers. “But he never could hear me.”

Tears roll down my cheeks, and I crouch, not toward the wraith, but toward Michael. I plant a kiss on his forehead that he immediately wipes away.

Tink cocks her head to the side in exasperation.

My voice is dry, empty. “I’ll be right back.”