Page 6 of The First Lost Boy (The Shadows of Neverland Duet #2)

Ava

Even though Peter stands between my burning candle and the wall, he casts no shadow on it. It feels unnatural and wrong, but I notice I don’t cast one either when I stand from the edge of the chair to face him, so maybe I’m being ridiculous.

The firelight makes his skin glow. His hair gleams richly, like the strands have been spun from dark, golden silk.

He’s alluring in the way that dangerous things often are, beautiful in a way that makes everyone and everything around him seem plain in comparison. Even his voice, in its low, careful timbre is enticing when he says, “Come to The Falls with me.”

“The Falls?”

A nod. “To bathe.”

I almost groan in relief.

I’m salty, sweaty, and sandy. And while bathing sounds like a wonderful idea, I remind myself that bathing anywhere close to Peter will be treacherous. I think of him smiling at Wendy Darling, delighting in her demise, and keep replaying what I can remember of this afternoon and evening, hoping it won’t slip through my fingers the first time I loosen my grip.

“It would be nice to scrub the sweat and dirt off my skin.”

Under his arm is a roll of fresh clothes. “You’ll have to make do with these.”

“I’ll make anything you have work.” I bend and blow out the candle, watching as smoke curls from the wick. When I turn to follow him, I bump into his chest. “Sorry,” I mumble, taking a step back.

His fingers curl around mine and his thumb brushes over the back of my hand before he gently pulls me from the room, then the house, then the grassy circle he says is safest.

The jungle at night is terrifying.

It’s darkness and twigs snapping a few steps behind you.

It’s things that scuttle, creep, and prowl.

Distant cries and the gurgle of water you can’t see flowing.

I’m not sure I take a full breath until we reach the lake and the cascading moonlit water that roars over a steep cliff ledge into a glistening pool of shockingly clear water. I stand at its edge on a large rock, biting my thumb and worrying that something in the water will try to kill me if Peter doesn’t.

“The water’s safe,” Peter says, unabashedly shoving his shorts down. I turn to give him privacy, but not before I see the cut of the muscles that span from his hip to his ankle as he steps out of them.

He walks naked into the water. It swallows him slowly, like a reptile working prey down its throat.

His stokes are lithe, practiced. Swimming is second nature to him. I quickly drag the borrowed shirt over my head and push my shorts down, keeping my olive-green bikini on, and make my way to the water’s edge where I pause. I don’t remember what’s dangerous here, but I know there are many creatures who would readily devour me.

“How do you know it’s safe?” I say loud enough so he can hear me over the crashing falls.

Peter groans. “Must you question everything?”

“Yes.”

“It’s safe. And it feels resplendent,” he crows, sending a splash of water in my direction.

He watches as I step in and move past the shallows. He was right. The water is resplendent. It’s refreshing. Not too cold or hot, but perfect. I dive under and push my body forward, cutting through the cool lake like I know its depths and secrets by heart. My hand darts out to drift over an algae-slicked rock because somehow, I knew it was there and to be careful of it. When I breach the surface halfway across the lake, Peter is there, treading and waiting.

“You’re a very good swimmer.” He raises his voice over the sound of the roaring falls.

“So are you,” I acknowledge, moving toward the waterfall and then into its torrent. The cool water beats against my back and neck and feels like heaven. My hair smooths in a curtain down my back, and all the grit is scoured from my skin.

Something clasps my ankle from beneath the water and gives a slight tug. I startle and kick wildly as a flash of memory rushes back to me of a time when someone else had clasped my ankle and jerked me under in frigid, still water before I could take a deep breath. It was dark where that lake was. I remember being afraid of not being able to see.

I didn’t fight them when they dragged me through the dark water, because I thought I would die in the water with no light to find my way out, in a place there was no pocket of air or exit.

Did it happen in a cave? Was it Peter who grabbed my foot then, too?

Peter surfaces before I can push my mind for more details.

I splash him so he doesn’t see the emotions roiling through me and sputter when he returns the favor, wiping the water from my face with an amused laugh. I swim away from him, but he follows, keeping a few strokes behind.

“You like swimming. What else do you like?” he asks.

“You know I can’t remember,” I reply from over my shoulder.

He shakes the water from his golden hair. “Then tell me what you liked today, if you can remember any of it.”

“Okay…” I take a deep breath and blow it out. “I liked that the sand was soft, and the water was surprisingly warm when it swept over my feet. I liked the sound of the waves and feeling the hot sun on my skin.”

“You’re remembering more…” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s glad or upset by the fact.

Once we discovered Wendy there, all that beauty had blurred into my periphery because she was all I could focus on.

“Do you remember liking anything else?” he pushes.

I shake my head.

“And what about right now?” He swims closer still, a hungry look in his eyes and a smirk playing on his lips. “See anything you like?”

He wants my answer to be him, so I deny him, of course, turning to face the falls.

“The waterfall is pretty.” I peer at the cascade and notice figures carved into the rocks that frame it. “What are those?”

“A remnant of the past,” he answers. “Those native to this island left their mark here and there. Not that time and the elements haven’t done their best to erase their history.”

The figures are humanoid but blocky. They wear headdresses and carry long weapons that look like clubs or swords; I can’t tell which. I wonder what they looked like when they were freshly carved. Would they seem so realistic they might peel away from the rock and defend this place?

Even more remarkably, above the figures’ heads, hundreds of spindly stars are carved. Two are larger than all the rest.

My eyes lift to the night sky and I gasp at how clear it is. Every glittering gem looks like it was lovingly chosen and set in just the right spot. “I like the stars.”

I lift my feet and float on my back to see them better, my ears filling with water. It laps at the edges of my face, cool and calm. For a few long breaths, it’s just me and the water, and the stars above us both.

My hand flinches as Peter’s fingers suddenly graze mine. Goosebumps spread across my skin as he skates from knuckle to knuckle. I lower my feet to tread again so I can keep him in sight. It was stupid to let him out of it, even for just a few seconds.

“You’ve always liked them.” He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “The first time you told me you liked them, I told you I didn’t.”

“Why?” I ask, softly treading water. Ripples spread from his hands and mine, colliding between us. “Why don’t you like the stars?”

He lifts his eyes, troubled. “Because the stars see everything and forget nothing, .”

Why do I feel like I’ve heard that before?

I study him. “Why is that so bad?”

“You only see what you’ve been told. Suns like ours exist to provide heat and light. But there are things that look very much like suns that are alive.”

Alive? Is he saying that some of the stars are living beings? Why does that sound wrong but feel right? “Peter?”

He hums in response, urging me to ask the question burning through me.

“Do they watch us?”

He stares at the sky like he can see to the end of the universe, to whatever lays beyond. But Peter doesn’t answer me. Maybe he has none. Or maybe his answer doesn’t fully make sense in his mind, either.

Even if he’s right and some of the stars are beings, how can he hold them responsible for anything? They aren’t here. They can’t know and see what’s happening on earth, let alone Neverland.

I lean back to float in the lake’s dark water.

Except for the moon and starlight, there’s no light here. Nothing to overpower their shimmer as they glisten in the gentle, hazy stroke of our galaxy. I try to look at them like Peter does and find myself wondering instead if maybe the stars and I aren’t so different. In the millennia since they began burning, maybe they had seen too much, but how much more had they forgotten as time stretched into infinity?

But as I lay buoyant, I remember something… It’s hazy at the edges, but I remember spreading a thin blanket over a bed of smooth pebbles. Laying on it with my hands folded behind my head, looking at the sky. I swivel my head and smile at my sister. Her golden eyes smile back, crinkled at their edges as she laughs and laughs, her voice chiming like a bell…

Belle.

My heart rises and crashes like the tide had today; insistent and happy and patient as it erodes. Maybe that’s what my mind is finally doing – eroding the film that coats my memories and polishing them until they shine. I can see Belle clearly in my mind now. Remember her honeysuckle scent. Know what it feels like to be hugged and loved by her.

Peter floats beside me, oblivious that I finally remember something.

Triumph floods my chest before dread seeps in to taint the feeling.

I remember something. And I don’t want Peter to know. I don’t trust him.

My breath hitches when his hand grazes mine again. I raise my head and lower my feet to bob at the water’s surface. “You keep touching me.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Yes.

“I want to know why,” I say instead. “I barely know you.”

“You barely remember me,” he corrects, looking away with a hurt expression. “But we’re hardly strangers, .”

“Then tell me what we were .”

His eyes turn predatory. Even in the dark, the peridot gems are brilliantly cut.

As he draws closer, I push out of his reach and we begin a dangerous dance across the lake. Him steadily advancing as I flee at the same pace. Until water pours over my head and thunders in my ears, then pounds over his head, shoulders, and back as he ducks beneath the falls with me.

My eyes try to adjust to the lack of moonlight, but I’m not comfortable alone with him behind this curtain of water.

I start to swim toward the edge of the falls, but he’s suddenly there.

His arms cage me against the slick rock wall. My shoulder blades rake down it as I put my hands out to hold him away. “Peter… don’t.”

Mist coats us both. Gathers on my lashes, in my soul.

It’s so dark beneath the rush of water, I can barely see him, but I can feel his breath on my cheek and the heat pouring from his body as he hovers so close our chests brush.

“Don’t what?” he asks, a dare in his raised voice as it carries over the crashing water’s fervor.

Rivulets sluice from his hair to carve over his head, cheeks, lips. They drip from his jaw, splashing into the pool where we tread. He pushes closer, one hand wrapping around my side, his thumb brushing over the raised line on my stomach.

“Do you remember how you got this?”

I shake my head, now able to see him much better despite the lack of light.

“I didn’t think so, or you would have had a very different reaction on the beach today. Perhaps you would have understood my relief at seeing Wendy dead.”

Relief?

“Are you saying Wendy Darling did this to me?” I choke.

“Why else would I be glad that the world was rid of someone like her?” he asks.

I don’t know.

“You looked at me like I was a monster today on the shore, and you have in many moments since,” he quietly notes. “I see the fear in your eyes, . The revulsion. And I know you don’t remember, but you’ve never looked at me like that before.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I shout. The water beats a strong, steady rhythm around us, encasing us in its unrelenting fury.

“Would you have believed me?” he volleys. “I’m a stranger to you.”

I press my lips together, thinking of what to say next and settle on, “I can’t get to know you if you keep things from me.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I thought about telling you but didn’t want to risk the memory of her attack resurfacing before anything else. But if you want me to be honest without holding back, just say so.”

Aggravation worms through my gut. “I’d rather you be candid. Remembering something would be better than nothing.”

“Well, that would depend greatly on the substance of what you recall,” he warns.

“It’s my decision, Peter.”

He gives a resolute nod. “That it is.” He brushes his thumb over the slash of a scar again. “There’s so much you don’t remember about me.” He leans closer until his lips brush the shell of my ear and carefully says, “But I don’t want you to forget me ever again.”

Just then, a warm feeling spreads over my skin from his broad hand splayed over the scar on my stomach. I look down but can’t see beneath the water’s surface. “What are you doing?” I clutch his wrist as he pins me to the rock face. I can’t budge him no matter how hard I pry. He’s not hurting me, but he’s doing something , and I want to know what.

“Peter!” I yell.

He cranes his head back to look at me.

“What are you doing to me?” I enunciate.

Peter peers into the water like he can see through the darkness tinting it, to his skin and mine beneath. “Giving you something precious .”

My skin prickles at the way he says the word. My heart sprints, fueled by a fear I don’t fully understand.

“You asked what you were to me, what we had been to each other before…” He removes his hand from my stomach and cages me in once more, leaning so close our lips almost brush, but I turn my head so he can’t press his to mine.

His nose brushes the line of my jaw as he breathes me in.

My body trembles from the tension tightening my every muscle.

“Will you let me remind you?” he asks.

My heart and body scream at me to run like hell and never look back. Why would I feel this way if I’d ever cared for him the way he claims I did?

But what if he’s right? What if we used to be more and my mind erroneously sees him as a stranger, conceives him as a threat when he’s not one?

How would I feel if the boy I once cared about couldn’t remember me, or us?

I put a hand on his chest and push him back a little. “If I agree to this, you have to move slowly , Peter. And if I say stop, that’s what you do.”

His smile is dazzling. Triumphant. “I accept your terms.”

My chest loosens a fraction.

“Would you like to stay and swim or are you ready to go home?” he asks, giving me space as if this single, simple act proves he’ll keep his word.

“I’m really tired. Let’s go home.”

He nods, still wearing a victorious smirk.

I ignore the expression and swim past him, diving beneath the falls and pushing toward the shore where I trudge out of the water and sit on the edge of a slick, flat rock to dry off. The warm, humid air feels good on my skin now that it’s clean and cool.

After a few minutes pass, which Peter uses to scrub his skin and hair in the falls, I tug on the clothes he said I could borrow. The pale blue shirt fits me well once I stretch the material a little, although the white skirt falls in broad ruffles and is…incredibly short. As soon as I’m covered, I shimmy out of my swimsuit so it can dry overnight.

Peter wades out of the water and I give him my back as he pulls his shorts back on and fastens them.

I pluck at the skirt’s edge. “Where did you get these clothes?”

“They were left behind,” he answers vaguely.

When? “By whom?”

Peter rakes golden fingers through his wet hair. “I’ll show you tomorrow, at first light.”

Only Bones’s window glows with candlelight when we return. Lazy ribbons of smoke curl from the coals flaring and dying again in the fire pit. The only noise is cricket song. I now remember the sound from stargazing on the rooftop with Belle on long nights when sleep refused to come easily.

When Peter pauses at the bottom of the steps and waves for me to go up ahead of him, I shake my head. “You first.”

“Why?” he asks, curious.

I pluck at the hem of my skirt. “Because this is obscenely short and I’m not wearing my bikini bottoms.”

A wicked gleam flashes in his eyes. “I fail to see the problem.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Sleeping under the stars would be no hardship for me.”

He snorts. “Until a tarantula on the hunt creeps over your skin.”

I shudder at the thought.

He chuckles as he moves past me, brushing his arm against mine on purpose. While Peter climbs the ladder and moves inside, I hang my bikini over the porch rail to dry. Movement catches my eye as Bones cracks his door and peers over at me.

My ribs tighten. Did he wait up to make sure Peter brought me home?

He gives a subtle wave and pushes his door closed again.

Why would he worry?

I take a deep breath, glancing at the other treehouses. Their windows are dim and there’s no sound or motion from any of them. I look back to Bones’s and wonder if he’s still watching from the darkness…

Slowly turning, I pad into Peter’s home. When I don’t see him in the main living area, I make my way into the bedroom, where I find him rummaging through a wooden chest I don’t recognize. “Was that here before?”

“I had it brought over when I realized it may have some things you could use. Like this…” He pulls out a blanket made from stitched-together pieces of cloth.

Articles of clothing, I realize when I see buttonholes in a few plaid-patterned shirts and denim remnants. A little piece of white cotton covered in eyelets embroidered to look like daisies catches my eye. There are khaki panels next to woolen ones. Black and white stripes alongside red fabric with pale polka dots. There is puckered, pale blue gingham.

My thumbnail rakes over the faded stitching.

“In case you get cold tonight.” He gestures to the trunk. “There are some clothes you might be able to salvage at the bottom. Tomorrow, you can rummage through to see if you can use anything.”

I fold the blanket over my arm. “Thanks.”

He inclines his head.

I offer a tired smile and start toward the chair when Peter’s arm darts out to stop me. “Unless you want to share the chair, you can take the bed, .”

“I don’t want to take your bed,” I argue.

“I insist.”

I slowly turn on my heel, move to the bed, and carefully spread the patchwork blanket over the thin, stuffed mattress.

“There’s fresh water to drink and mint leaves to chew in the other room if you’d like to freshen up,” he offers, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

I thank him and move past him to the basin, drinking cool, clean water and scrubbing my teeth as best I can.

When I slip under the covers and nestle beneath the quilt, Peter sees to his needs in the other room, then settles into the chair he claimed. He stares at me, unblinking, until I roll over to face the wall. Even then, I can still feel him watching me.

It takes a long time to relax enough to fall asleep, especially with my back to him.