Page 40 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 40

A rms wrap me in the most wonderful embrace.

For the first time in such a long time, I burst into tears.

I don’t even realize how long it’s been since I last cried until it happens. Until the tears come bursting through my numb exterior and flood my cheeks, drenching Charlie’s silky black hair that smells so wonderfully of lilac and cannon grease, her shirt soaking up my tears.

“Oh, Winds,” she whispers into my ear, and I realize she’s crying, too. Not with the whole-body sobs that rattle my limbs, keeping me from being able to hold myself up. No, Charlie’s knees don’t go weak. She stands steady, eager to hold me up, keep me from falling. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve thought of you every day.”

I’ve thought of you every day.

Every day I thought I was forgotten about. Thought I was suffering all on my own.

“Every day?” I sound pitiful, like an insecure child in need of reassurance.

Charlie pushes herself back off of me, though she keeps her arms on my shoulders, squarely looking me in the face with a motherly care. “Here, I’ll show you.” She takes me by the hand and pulls me into her room.

It’s not exactly on par with where the Nomad sleeps, but it’s clean if not cluttered. There’s a trunk at the end of the functional wooden bed that’s stuffed with clothes, sweaters, and leathers bulging through the gap between the lid and rim. Her black jacket is tossed across the unmade bed.

She kneels and pries a floorboard up, plucking a leather-bound journal from underneath it. Then she leads me over to the bed, draping me with her arms and her touch that melts away the outermost sting of my pain, and sets the journal in my lap.

I open it to find her neat script, as beautiful as she is. Inside are pages and pages of journal entries, though they’re all addressed to someone.

Me.

I choke, my throat swelling, as I flip through the pages. Every letter is addressed to Wendy or Winds or sometimes Friend.

Some of the pages have water stains smudging the parchment.

“You can have it,” she says. “To go through when you’re ready. In case you ever want to know what happened on the outside while you were away. In case you’re ever doubting how hard we searched for you. How hard we tried. Oh, Winds, I’m so sorry—” she says, throwing her arms over me again. This time, she’s the one weeping. “We tried so hard, but we failed you.”

She takes my arm in hers, pressing her thumbs against my sleeve, underneath which is my hidden bargain. “We’ve been too late for a while now.” She glances up at me, like she’s waiting for me to defend Peter. Like she’s waiting for my Mating Mark to speak for me, tell her there was no reason to worry at all.

“You didn’t forget about me,” is all I manage to say.

“Never,” she says, looking heartbroken that I might think as much.

There’s a knock on the door, and a moment later, a burly fae with golden hair and skin steps through the door.

Through my tears, I smile.

“Winds, is that really you, or are my eyes playing tricks on me?” Maddox asks. “I would ask if you were a ghost, but now that it’s coming out of my mouth, I recognize that it does seem a bit insensitive.”

I don’t even care that Maddox is making a joke about Iaso. I throw a pillow across the room at him, and he launches it right back, smacking me in the tear-stained face with it. I laugh, really laugh, for the first time in a long time, and jump off the bed into his embrace.

Maddox’s chest is warm and firm and so, so very safe.

There’s something about seeing my friends that melts me on the inside, and I throw everything into them. Every bit of joy I’d always hoped—a secret, even to myself—to pour out on Astor when we were reunited.

I find that my friends hold my joy precious, keep it safe in their calloused hands, even when I expect them to drop it.

“I’m so sorry, Winds,” says Maddox. “We tried to get to you sooner.”

I nod, my cheek rubbing into his pectoral muscles, but when I pull away, I return to the bed, sitting with my knees to my chest.

I take in a deep, dusty breath. “I need to know how,” I say. “How you came looking for me.” How often, how relentlessly, did you take breaks, was there something more you could have done?—are the questions I don’t ask. The way my voice trembles asks all the same.

Charlie and Maddox exchange a look.

“We made a mistake, Wendy,” says Charlie. “We never should have let Peter take off with you.”

“No, it was my choice,” I say. “I chose to go back with him. I wanted him to take me back to my brothers, and then I was going to leave him. I just…” My words twist in my mouth, unruly and insubordinate. “Didn’t realize how much I loved him. How I couldn’t live without him. It’s not Peter who held me captive. It was the Sister. She controls both of us.”

Charlie and Maddox had almost looked relieved at the first bit, but their relief had soon melted to pity by the end of my account. Neither address my feelings for Peter. Instead, Charlie says, “The captain wanted to go after you right away. He’d passed out from shock by the time we got to him. When he woke up on the ship, he was?—”

Maddox clears his throat. “Nolan might not want us sharing?—”

“I don’t really care,” snaps Charlie. “He was screaming your name, berating us for letting you go. Of course, he was feverish by that point, thrashing around in the bed like some deranged inmate at an asylum. He kept trying to get out of bed, said he had to get to you.” She stops herself. “We found him on the floor three times, trying to crawl to the door, before we had to start restraining him. It took him a while to recover?—”

I don’t miss how Maddox shoots Charlie another warning look. This one she heeds.

I don’t have the words to ask. Not when the only image in my mind is Astor crawling. Crawling to get to the door.

To get to me.

“How long?” I ask. “How long did it take him to recover?”

Again, Charlie and Maddox exchange a look. “There was…an infection. It was months before he could get out of bed without falling. We were trying. Trying to keep Astor from dying. Trying to figure out how to get to you. Maddox took over as captain temporarily. We took turns taking care of the captain, taking shifts, rotating between that and captain duty and trying to figure out how we were going to get to you. We thought… Well, we thought there was a possibility Peter might not let you go. Captain was frantic over it.”

“We were too,” says Maddox.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m okay,” I say, and they both look at me so sadly.

“Peter snuck onboard and sabotaged our aeromechanism, so we couldn’t use the faerie dust to make the ship fly anymore, and our shadow box was gone. I tried to repair them, even hired contractors to help us, but the mechanics are complicated, and no one could seem to figure out how to fix them. And we’d already used up so much of the money healing Astor.”

“He was furious when he found out, too,” says Maddox. “Ripped into me for paying for his healers before making sure we had enough to fix the aeromechanism.”

“We really did think we had enough for both at first,” says Charlie. “But the mechanics kept failing, and the price kept climbing. I’m sorry,” she says again.

I stare at her. “You tried,” I say. “That’s all I wanted anyone to do.” It’s verging on betraying Peter, but it doesn’t. It seems I’m more free to speak my mind with them than I am Astor, though still not completely free. But perhaps that’s only because I’ve cast the Sister as the one to blame.

“After that, we tried everything we could think of to break into Neverland. It just wasn’t possible. We even… Well, we might should wait and let Astor tell you that part,” Charlie says.

“Astor has had plenty of time to tell me anything he wanted to,” I say. “I think if he were interested in explaining himself, he would have already done it.”

Maddox says, “Now, is that the Astor we’ve come to know and love?”

“I don’t love Astor,” I say, though I’m not sure whether it’s the bargain saying it or me.

Once Maddox leaves us, Charlie surprises me by taking my sleeve and pulling it up my arm to reveal the crook of my elbow.

“So he’s called it in,” she says, staring at the center link of the chain that once was broken.

Peter’s commands to keep our bargain a secret whisper in my ear, and I answer by yanking the sleeve down to cover my shame.

Charlie’s brown eyes water as she looks up at me. “Did he make you love him?”

I shake my head, swallowing.

Charlie’s brows knit together as she tries to work out the terms of the bargain.

“Did you tell Astor?” I whisper, the simple question being as much as the bargain allows.

To my dismay, Charlie shakes her head. “No. No, you told me about the bargain in confidence. I figured if it was something you’d wanted the captain to know, you would have told him yourself. I didn’t want to break that confidence unless I had to. Besides, the captain was already so sick with worry as it was. And we couldn’t find you. Couldn’t fix it. I was worried that if he knew Peter had an unclaimed bargain over you…” She bites her lip and swallows. “I should have told him. I’m so sorry, Winds.”

Once again, Charlie lifts my sleeve. This time, she presses her thumb against the center link of the bargain. “Still. This is why you defend him, isn’t it?”

I smile at her sadly, and she sighs. “We’ll fix this, Winds. The captain, Maddox, and I. We’ll fix it.”

Even Peter’s bargain can’t stop the silent tears from streaming down my cheeks. Elation fills my heart.

Charlie’s going to tell him. She’s going to tell Astor that Peter has me bound. He’s been around me enough the past few days to put two and two together.

It seems too good to be true.

Perhaps that’s why I’m not surprised when there’s a knock on the door.

A moment later, and the Nomad steps in. “There’s been a development with your assignment,” he says to Charlie by way of greeting. “My scouts tracked down the merchant we discussed earlier. My first mate will be personally escorting you to the meeting.”

Charlie nods, squeezing my hand one last time before slipping off the bed. “I’ll grab my bag then be on my way.”

The Nomad crosses his arms. “I’ve already arranged for your bags to be moved for you.”

“Alright,” says Charlie, “I’ll just…”

“Follow my first mate, who is out in the hall waiting for you, to the ship I’ve prepared,” says the Nomad. “Unless you’ve forgotten the importance of this assignment and how we’ve already lost this merchant once by delaying.”

Unease fills my gut. Charlie turns to me and swallows, a silent apology in her eyes.

Any hope of Astor discovering my bargain with Peter deflates.

“I’ll hurry back,” she whispers, her gaze earnest.

Something tells me it won’t matter.

I don’t sleep that night.

How can I, when the only picture in my head is of Astor, veins in his chest withered and bulging as he crawls across the floor, sweating profusely, hardly able to catch his breath?

Crawling to me.

It’s such a painful vision, but the kind of pain I could drink to the dregs then beg for more. I replay it in my mind as I stare at the Nomad’s ceiling, my heart reaching out for the man I wounded.

The man who still crawled to me, unable to prop himself up on the hand I severed.

My whole body is shaking, no matter how many of the Nomad’s blankets I pile on top of myself. But I’m not shaking from the cold, anyway.

When I decide attempting to sleep is of no use, I grab Charlie’s notebook from the bedside table and start flipping through her letters.

Winds,

I thought of you today. I think of you every day, but today was especially difficult. It’s been a year since we lost you. I wonder if wherever you are, you’re thinking the same thing. I keep telling myself that if I just picture you in my mind hard enough, you’ll hear my thoughts, feel somewhere deep within your soul that you’re not forgotten.

I’m not sure it’s working.

Charlie

I let out the smallest of gasps, thinking of the girl weeping in a dank bathroom with her back to a musty wall. A girl who believed no one was coming for her.

Had Charlie been writing this letter at that very moment?

My body feels too small to hold the love that swells within me at that thought.

I keep flipping until another letter catches my eye.

Wendy,

So…funny thing. There’ve been rumors circulating about a strange series of murders occurring all over the continent. That’s not the funny part. The funny part is that…wait for it…all the male victims are missing their left hands.

You’re sick. You know that, right?

I probably shouldn’t be praising you for this behavior, but first of all, you should have seen the color drain from Captain’s face when he heard. Nicely done.

Thanks for reaching out to us. I still wonder sometimes if we’re doing the right thing by searching for you. I miss you so badly, I fear it’s clouded my judgment. You went with Peter willingly, after all. I can’t blame you after Captain’s betrayal. Sometimes I start to doubt. Start to wonder if maybe I’m fretting over you for nothing. If maybe you and Peter are living happily in Neverland. If coming to get you would disturb your peace.

It gets pretty grim, thinking that way. Mostly because it makes me think I’ll never see you again. And then I feel guilty—being sad about the idea that you’re out there happy somewhere.

These are complicated emotions, and it would be nice if you could be here to help me sort through them.

Anyway, given the severed hands ordeal, I’m feeling more confident now that you’re not all that happy with Peter.

So that makes me feel better.

Miss you.

Charlie

I can’t help it. I chuckle.

Friend,

I know this is utterly ridiculous for me to be writing you about when you have much bigger problems. But I’m selfish, and I need my best friend right now.

I hate Maddox.

I mean, I love him. That much is likely obvious to everyone. How mortifying. But I’ve been doing MUCH MUCH better NOT loving him as of late.

Yesterday, I went all day and only thought of him twice (we’re not counting the times when he was directly within my line of vision).

Impressive, I know.

I think an alarm must have gone off in his head. A “Charlie only thought of me twice” alarm. Because today I was minding my own business, working on my portable cannon, when he SEARCHED ME OUT to tell me that Cook was making pheasant for dinner. Granted, Maddox knows that I love pheasant, but I would hardly consider that news worthy of traversing two sets of stairs and an entire deck to convey to a person.

Oh, but it gets worse.

It wasn’t enough to just pop his head in and inform me of the forthcoming pheasant. No, Maddox just had to get a look at what I was working on. Now, any normal person would peer from a reasonable distance. But, alas, no. Not Maddox. He had to come up behind my chair, press his chest to the back of my head, and straddle me from behind while placing his palms on the table to look at a mechanism he could have seen just as well without having to touch me at all.

I’m ashamed to say that today, I have much exceeded my “thought of Maddox” count from yesterday.

But it’s his fault.

Please advise.

Charlie

At this letter, I groan several times, my exasperation with the male population growing with each word. I’m going to have to have a talk with Maddox.

I rest my back against the headboard, closing the notebook and hugging it to my chest. I trace the edges of the pages with my finger, finding that my touch lingers on the pages at the beginning of the book, where Charlie likely chronicled Astor’s sickness. I shouldn’t look. Won’t look. Not when it will only cause me pain. Not when it will only get my hopes up for something I can never have.

But I don’t have to look to be tortured by Astor’s reaction to my leaving, not when Charlie’s words from earlier ring in my head, driving me mad.

We had to start restraining him. Nolan Astor, who’s always been so keen on restraining himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper to the night.

I don’t know what to do with this information now that I have it. Clearly, if Astor wanted me to know, he would have told me himself. Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe in the almost two years that have passed since he crawled across his floor trying to get to me, whatever drove him to do that has faded.

He did sleep with that woman in the pub, after all.

My heart aches.

Maybe there was a time when Astor’s feelings for me were distinct from his mark, still there after I severed it, but only because it was how his heart was used to feeling. Like a wound that has healed but still hurts when you move it, only for your brain to eventually remember there’s no reason for the pain.

Maybe it was just his phantom love for me. His heart forgetting that there was no reason to love me anymore.

It could just be guilt now that propels him to protect me. Astor doesn’t want me dead, regardless of any romantic feelings that may or may not exist. Besides that, he had to have carried guilt that his actions led me back into Peter’s arms, Peter’s chains.

I place the notebook back on the bedside table.

For what feels like an hour, I toss and turn, unable to sleep, but as I try to force myself into slumber, all I can hear is Michael’s voice in my head.

Wendy Darling’s sleeping.

So I rise from the floor, draw a shawl around my trembling shoulders, and decide that Wendy Darling is done sleeping.