They rise, landing on a wide rock ledge. Jane gulps at the air, trying to catch her breath, and all the while, all she can do is gape at her mother. She feels like a landed fish, snatched from one place and dropped into another where nothing makes sense anymore.
How can her mother be here? Is she dreaming? Did she fall and hit her head on the ground? Worse, is she dead?
A tremor passes through Jane, and it has nothing to do with the shaking ground. She wants to bury her face in her mother’s side, but her mother looks so fierce and wild with the wind howling around them and the cliff side trying to shake them off that Jane doesn’t dare. The woman before her is her mother and a stranger both.
In an instant, her mother’s face changes. She makes a sound between laughter and a sob, closing the space between them, and touches Jane’s face. Her mother’s eyes are wet, and her expression says she cannot believe the reality of Jane either. Then her mother throws her arms around Jane, hugging her so tightly Jane can barely breathe.
When her mother finally lets go, Jane has so many questions she wants to ask, but the words that tumble from her mouth are, “You flew.”
She wants to ask how her mother can be here, and how she found her. She wants assurance that her mother really is here, despite the seeming solidity of her arms, and to be certain this isn’t another of Peter’s tricks. But she can’t get past those first words. Her mother—teller of stories, healer of wounds, setter of bedtimes and rules—can also fly.
And of all the responses her mother might make, the one she chooses surprises Jane. Her mother throws her head back and laughs.
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
Strands of her mother’s hair escape the braid trailing down her back. Her cheeks are flushed, her clothing smudged with dirt, and the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“Jane!” Timothy’s voice rises from below, sharpened by panic, and fear rushes back in, kicking Jane in the ribs. She looks to her mother.
“That’s Timothy! We have to help him.” Jane takes a step toward the cliff edge, but her mother catches her, holding her back.
“Stay here. I’ll get him.” Without a moment’s hesitation, her mother steps off the stone ledge. Jane squeaks, but her mother doesn’t fall. She soars like a bird, swooping down to gather Timothy in her arms and carry him to where Jane stands. Timothy immediately plasters himself to Jane’s side. She touches his head to reassure him and herself both and feels the sweat-dampness of his hair.
“Are you all right?” Jane asks. “You’re not hurt?”
Timothy nods, then shakes his head in rapid succession, remaining buried against her side. Jane feels his muscles quiver as if they were her own.
“One more,” her mother says with a wink, and she spreads her arms, jumping into the wind once again.
It’s no less frightening this time, but Jane watches more closely now, allowing herself to be amazed as her mother’s clothes ripple around her. She’s studied the way birds’ and bats’ wings work, and this is nothing like that at all. It isn’t even like a kite, gliding on the breeze. It’s like nothing Jane has ever seen before. Her mother skims almost to the ground before she swoops back to the ledge with someone else wrapped in her arms.
Jane thinks it’s a woman, but she can’t make her out properly until her mother lets go and steps away. When she does, Jane can’t help the startled kick of fear against her heart that makes her back up a step. The woman looks like the pictures of preserved mummies she’s seen in books. Yet she’s clearly alive, even though her skin is the color of bark, dried and clinging close to the bone. She looks fragile, as though she might crumble at any moment. Instinct makes Jane put a protective arm around Timothy, and she almost tells him not to look.
Even as she makes the motion, shame floods her. Her mother would never deliberately put her in danger. She specifically went back to bring the woman here. The feeling of shame turns to embarrassment as her mother gives Jane a pointed look. Jane makes herself let go of Timothy and move closer again, looking at the woman to show she isn’t afraid, while also trying not to stare.
Fresh questions flood Jane’s mind, but she holds her tongue. She’s seen so many impossible things in Neverland. Maybe the woman really is a mummy. She wants to ask how it felt having her organs removed, and whether her brains were really pulled out with a hook through her nose, but every single question that pops into her mind seems terribly rude.
“This is Tiger Lily,” Jane’s mother says. “My friend.”
Her mother emphasizes the last words, making Jane glad she did hold her tongue. She hopes the dark is enough to hide her blush. She isn’t quite certain what to do next, and ends up with a clumsy curtsey, then holding out her hand.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Tiger Lily.” Jane uses her most grown-up voice, hoping she doesn’t sound too foolish, hoping she’s made her mother proud.
Tiger Lily’s eyes shine with amusement, making her appearance even more unsettling. She inclines her head, a stiff movement, as she takes Jane’s hand. Despite Jane’s fears, Tiger Lily’s skin is smooth, if dry. The fingers don’t crumble beneath Jane’s touch, but there is a lightness to her bones as Jane shakes her hand, her grip nothing at all.
“Hello, Wendy’s daughter.” The faintest of smiles touches the woman’s dry lips.
“I’m called Jane.”
