“There’s nothing. You’re all right!” Jane throws her arms around Timothy, hugging him as tight as she can.
Timothy doesn’t move, doesn’t put his arms around her in return. When she draws back, his face is solemn.
“Arthur got me. I’m kilt now. I can’t move. Those are the rules.” There are tears in Timothy’s eyes.
Jane stares at him, uncomprehending.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. You aren’t hurt. See?” She plucks at his shirt, showing it whole.
“Those are the rules,” Arthur says behind her. His voice sounds funny and muffled.
He’s still cupping his nose. When he draws one hand away it’s smeared red, and Jane feels a nasty surge of satisfaction.
With Jane’s arms no longer around him, Timothy sinks to the ground, drawing his knees up against his chest and hugging them.
“Get up.” Jane is unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with you!”
Timothy presses his lips together, his face a picture of misery. Jane wants to shake him. It’s only a silly game. Why must boys be so infuriating?
“You. This is your fault.” Jane lunges at Arthur with a clumsy swipe, ready to hit him again and break his nose for real. Even though he’s still armed, he jumps back.
“Jane!”
At her mother’s shout, Jane spins around. Her mother takes a step toward her, then freezes as Jane feels herself yanked backward, her feet going out from under her. Peter! She forgot about him. She kicks her heels, scrambling for purchase on the stone, but Peter’s grip is unshakable.
“Let her go.” Her mother’s voice is hard, but Jane hears the tremor inside it.
“Stay where you are.” Peter hauls Jane upright, flourishing his sword; there’s glee in his voice.
Jane considers stomping on Peter’s foot, but she’s afraid he’ll do something to her mother if she does.
“Let her go, Peter.” Her mother’s voice is firmer this time. Jane feels Peter tense.
“Leave her, and you can have me,” her mother says.
“I don’t want you anymore, you’re… old!” Peter hurls the word like it’s the worst thing he can think of, but there’s uncertainty in his voice.
“I’m the only Wendy.” Her mother takes another step. Jane tries to keep very still, but her heart betrays her, beating wildly.
“Mama, don’t.” Jane barely manages a whisper. Her mother can’t really mean to give herself up to Peter, can she? Jane takes a shuddering breath, tears slipping free as fear and exhaustion catch up with her. All of this is her fault. If she hadn’t gotten stolen in the first place, her mother wouldn’t be here, and none of them would be in danger.
“Peter.” Her mother’s voice shifts again.
Jane stills, done feeling sorry for herself. She knows that tone; it is a tone that is not to be questioned or disobeyed. She’s seen it work on her father, even her uncles, and certainly more than once Jane has felt its power for herself.
The look in her mother’s eyes matches the tone, but it’s so much worse. It’s a look Jane has never seen on her mother before. Burning and dangerous and stealing the breath from Jane’s lungs. It reminds her of the look Peter used to hypnotize the boar, to hypnotize her and make her take its meat.
“Let. Her. Go.” Her mother separates each word, dropping it like a stone. Jane’s legs tremble.
Peter’s grip slackens, and she almost collapses as he lets go. Her knees want to buckle, but her mother is there to catch her. Instead of folding Jane in her arms, she holds her by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. It reminds Jane of the day in the park, and the girl who knocked her down.
“I need you to stay with Timothy,” her mother says. “I need you to be brave one more time.”
Jane wants to shake her head, but there’s that look again, and she swallows her words. Everything is happening too fast. She only just found her mother, and now she’s losing her all over again. Jane curls her fingers around the empty slingshot in her hand, needing something to hold. She’s dangerously close to flying apart, her whole body vibrating even as she forces herself to remain still.
Her mother gives her one last assessing look. She wonders, suddenly, whether she looks different in Neverland too. Not as fierce as her mother, but changed. Her mother’s hands slide from Jane’s shoulders, and she steps away. Tiger Lily moves to stand beside her mother, dragging the boy who isn’t Arthur with her.
“What now?” Tiger Lily asks.
Jane’s mother doesn’t answer. Jane wants to shout, tell her mother to stay here, because if her mother does whatever it is she plans to do, something terrible will happen. But she promised her mother she would be brave, and be good, and she promised Timothy she would protect him, and she intends to keep her promises no matter how much it hurts. She holds her tongue, watching with stinging eyes as her mother straightens and holds out her hand.
Jane is amazed when Peter approaches. He drops his head, looking very much like a dog that knows it’s been naughty. She can’t see if there’s a sly expression on his face, but she suspects not. For this moment at least, he’s just a little boy. Something big and complicated turns over inside Jane’s chest. Her mother is her mother; she can’t be Peter’s mother, too.
Peter lets his sword fall. The sound of it clattering against the stone is the loudest thing Jane has ever heard. Peter reaches for her mother’s hand. Their fingertips brush. Her mother’s expression is set, steady, and at the same time there’s a sadness just below the surface, so vast Jane can’t begin to understand. A sob wants to break free inside her, but then
