Page 49 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 49

I pace back and forth in the cozy room Lady Whittaker dropped me off in. It’s dark as the rest of the manor, but full of knit blankets. Embers glow faintly in the fireplace on the other side of the room.

And a window.

I try not to look in its direction as I pace. Try not to wait for the shadows to appear.

At home in Darling Manor, the windows were no problem for Peter, but here the windows are fortified. We know, because Peter tried to find a way inside earlier and failed, confirming what we learned through Lady Swindle.

Still, I find myself hoping Peter won’t appear. That he won’t find the room I’m in. That somehow, he’ll overlook me in his search, though I’m certain part of him can sense my presence due to our Mating Marks.

Michael is safe.

Michael is safe. And from the looks of it, happy. And learning. And playing with other children.

I’d fall on my knees and weep in relief if the bargain on the back of my neck weren’t tugging me toward the window. If I weren’t having to pace and twiddle my fingers to keep myself from opening the latch.

When I’d finally given in to willingly helping the Nomad, I’d been under the impression that Tink was enslaved to a horrible trafficker who stole babies from their mothers. Not that she was being fed, taken care of by a woman who can read her language and is eager to teach her the skills she needs to be safe in this world.

Tink had been laughing, the governess on the other side of her using her communication tiles.

She has friends here.

And she did it. She promised to protect Michael. To give him a life. And against all odds, she did.

She found the one place in the world he would be the most accepted, the most challenged. She found him safety and friends and a life.

And by the end of the night, I’m going to have repaid her by handing her over to yet another master.

The Nomad claims their relationship will be mutually beneficial, but that was all predicated on the idea that Tink was in danger.

If Tink is safe… If Tink is happy…

There’s a knock on the window. I jolt, spilling the tea Lady Whittaker left me on the side table. The teacup shatters, bleeding black liquid across the floor. I slowly crane my chin up to face the window.

He’s there, having taken on his shadow form, though he’s still solid enough at the moment, solid enough to rap on the door again.

Let me in, Wendy Darling , he whispers.

I hate this version of him most of all. The version of him that strangled John without remorse.

I step toward the window as slowly as I can, trying to buy myself time. I can’t do it. Can’t give Tink up. Even if Lady Whittaker wouldn’t expect my involvement with Michael, even if he could live out the rest of his childhood here happily, I won’t betray Tink.

Not after she did the impossible for my brother.

I can’t do it, but I can’t not do it either.

When I reach the window, I put my hand on the cold latch. The Nomad’s bargain stings at the back of my neck, nudging me onward like someone has a brand hovering just near enough to my skin not to sear the flesh. Peter stares at me from beyond the foggy window, his wings batting patiently on the other side.

“Wendy Darling, what are you waiting for?”

“I can’t let you in,” I lie.

The brand encroaches on my neck.

Peter cocks his head to the side. “Wendy Darling.” My name is a warning on his slippery tongue.

“I have to do this myself,” I say, relief unrestricting my ribcage as the burning on the back of my neck dwindles.

“That’s not the plan,” says Peter.

But it doesn’t matter. The bargain says that I have to bring Tink to the Nomad. I never specified how I would do it.

I’ll attack Tink. Me, a human, attacking a faerie. It will never work.

But I’ll give it my best.

My best won’t be good enough.

That’s where I’m resting my hope, anyway.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I whisper to Peter as I let my hand fall from the clasp, then I slip away and toward the door.

“You can’t do this,” says Peter, his voice panicked from the other side of the window pane. “You think she’s your friend, but she won’t hesitate to kill you if she thinks you’ve betrayed her. Trust me, she doesn’t take betrayal well.”

I don’t offer Peter a goodbye. When I reach the door, my hand on the knob, his voice grows deeper, louder, resounding in my ears. “Wendy, get back here. ”

I step into the hall.