Even as Old Willow's turquoise pendant hung from Rosemary's neck, Gwen knew better than to ask about the redskins. She had seen it even in the reality around her—their myth had died out. New tall tales had taken their place, and new magical entities had begun populating the fabric of children's imaginations. After all, Rosemary did not live in Peter's Neverland, she lived in her own. Gwen smiled at the mention of the raven witch, knowing she had done her part to help craft the paradise her little sister had spent fifteen timeless years living in.
“That's wonderful,” Peter told her, grinning ear to ear as he looked at the flying girl and envisioned everything she told him. “We've got some things to tell you, too.”
“The mermaids said you would!” Rosemary exclaimed. “They looked at the planets and told me all sorts of stuff about how I should come here!”
Peter pulled a water-stained paper out of his pocket and unfolded it as Rosemary hovered over his shoulder and cooed at the hand-drawn map. “I was in the Anomalous Activity headquarters last week, and this is what I know,” Peter began. “They're focusing their resources on their teleporter, and it's starting to work pretty well.”
“You mean it doesn't swap people's hands or put their belly buttons on their backs anymore?”
“And its range is almost limitless,” Peter explained. He gave her a sketch of the device and elaborated on these points. Gwen watched the transaction, relieved that she could facilitate it. Peter and Rosemary's discussion carried great intensity, but she felt removed from the matter. This was a battle for lost children, fairies, aliens… not an ordinary adult like her.
“You should have this, too,” Peter told her, searching his deeper jacket pockets until he found a leather pouch, sealed tight. Handing it over, he told her. “There's wind inside of there, in case you ever need to make a monsoon or blow Neverland a little more nouth. It might help if they start trying to teleport onto the island.”
“Oh thank you, Peter!” Rosemary cried, embracing him. He hugged her, happy to help her and happy to help Neverland. He couldn't fight anymore, and now that he belonged to the mortal world, he would not live so long as to see the end of this ageless war. But he could still aide those who now defended everything he had always loved and believed in, because some things never got old and grew up.
Gwen knew her smile and eyes hadn't dimmed in the years since her youth, but when she looked at Rosemary she saw a glittering vitality in her features that she and Peter had lost. The moonlight no longer lingered in their eyes, their smiles no longer radiated starlight. That privilege belonged only to those who inhabited Neverland.
Rosemary's smile faltered and she sank to the ground in front of Gwen. Comprehending just how much bigger her big sister had grown, she wrapped herself around Gwen's legs and told her, “I miss you. I wish you could come back to Neverland and have more adventures with me.”
Gwen leaned down and patted Rosemary's poofy hair, startling a few fireflies that had nuzzled down in the comfortable fluff. They lit up and flew out, milling about the air in a languid dance. “Me too, Rose. I wish it more than anything else in the world.”
They had nothing more to say, nothing more to do. Rosemary took her bag of wind and intelligence information and then said her silly goodbyes, unable to comprehend that she would let months or years pass before she returned again.
“Tell Blink I said hi, and don't let Jam boss you around,” Peter told her. “And tell Newt Salazar—I mean Sal—says hi.”
“Will do!” Rosemary told him. With a quick whistle to Chickweed and her fireflies, Rosemary called her luminous entourage to her. Gwen, lost as she watched her sister scamper to the window, had no parting words. She watched her sister dive out the window and into the sky—as innocent, happy, and heartless as ever.
Gwen and Peter plodded back downstairs, slower than they had come up.
“I guess I should get going, too,” Peter announced, looking at the clock as if its numbers had any bearing on his life. Peter, at his best of times, lived a standard hour behind the rest of the world. Gwen had invited him over an hour early tonight; he'd still managed to arrive half an hour after James and Lasiandra.
Peter tended to head to bed early, though. People who didn't know him accused him of being a tired old man. They couldn't see he was just a tuckered out kid who would rise with renewed energy and joy as soon as the sun came up. Staying awake in the pointless dark of the night—that was an adult thing.
“You can stay here if it's easier,” Gwen told him. “Your toothbrush is still here from last time, and the hide-a-bed is easy enough to fold out. I'll probably be gone by the time you wake up, though.”
“I'm good,” Peter told her. “It's a long drive, but I'd rather just do it and be home.”
She walked him to the door, admiring her friend. His nose was still just a little crooked from when he'd broken it back in high school. He had refused to go to the doctor that day until they'd stopped for tacos. Gwen still remembered eating a burrito in the waiting room, listening as Peter explained to the receptionist that he'd fallen out of a tree, never admitting he'd leapt out, forgetting that he couldn't fly. His smile now was full of fillings and his car was covered in dents. Peter Sweet carried all the eclectic scars of someone who had never gotten good at being an adult. Yet he was so much happier than
