Jane sees it too. She sees the moment Timothy slips on the slick mud and goes under. A hand reaches for his, only slightly bigger than his own, maybe an older brother, or even a sister. His arms churn at the surface, but his head keeps going under. Then doesn’t come up again.
Jane’s lungs squeeze tight, as though she too is drowning. Bubbles rise from Timothy’s lips, already blushed the color of dark plums. There are weeds all around in the murky green, wrapped around his leg, holding him tighter than the hand that tries to grab his wrist and pull him free. She feels the scrabbling panic in her own chest, the cold closing in, the feeling of being terribly and utterly alone.
Then suddenly not alone anymore. Not a weed wrapped around his ankle, but a hand, pulling him down to the other side of the world.
Jane shoves the thought away with such violence it’s almost a physical thing. That cannot be what happened. She refuses to believe. She’s let her own imagination run wild. Timothy has a loving family back in England waiting for him, and they’ll be ever so glad when she brings him home.
Jane wills her pulse to slow, letting out a shaky breath. She pulls Timothy closer, fitting his body against hers, even as it remains rigid. In this moment, Jane decides she would like to be a big sister after all. Not just any big sister, but Timothy’s. If they can’t find his family then he’ll come live with them, as simple as that.
“It’s all right,” she says, finally unsticking her tongue. She squeezes his arm to punctuate her words. “I’ve got you now, and you’re safe. I won’t let you fall ever again.”
SHADOW PLAY
“You can’t do this. Let me go.” Peter is back to fighting and squirming in Wendy’s grasp as she drags him deeper into the cave, even as his shouts fade to a whine.
Everything inside her is held in a delicate balance. She keeps putting one foot in front of the other, not looking at Peter. If she does, that balance will collapse.
There’s a scent to Peter, above the struck-match-and-ash scent of this place—fear. A boy smell, like any other lost child. She must be the girl made of ice, the one who survived St. Bernadette’s. She must be the mother who came all this way to find her daughter. Nothing else. She cannot be the girl who flew the skies of Neverland. And she certainly can’t be Peter’s friend.
“What are you going to do?” Tiger Lily asks. Her voice is soft, and Wendy glances her way. Tiger Lily holds herself alert, as if sensing the thing that awaits them without knowing precisely what it is.
“I’m going to put him back together,” Wendy says.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s known ever since she stood at her window and looked out at the night. The part of her mind standing behind a locked door was still hers, and she knew, even though Peter tried to rip the knowledge away. She filled her pockets with everything she needs—needle and scissors and thread. It’s the first thing that ever made her useful to Peter, and now she will finally stitch him whole.
Peter shivers in her grasp. Wendy lets go of his ear, taking his shoulders and turning him so she can see his face. He isn’t crying, but his eyes are wide.
“You can’t,” he says again.
“I can, and I will. Look.” They’ve arrived; she turns him again, making him face the thing in the sloping bowl of stone.
And she makes herself look as well.
The shadow creature is smaller than Wendy remembers. Still, when it snorts the ground shivers, and she has to force herself not to flinch away. The air around the monster shimmers with heat. Its edges are ragged and tattered, hard to see.
Wendy looks to Tiger Lily. Her friend’s expression is difficult to read. The cavern’s ruddy glow traces the seams of Tiger Lily’s face, threading her skin with fire. If she’s afraid, it doesn’t show in her eyes.
Wendy keeps her hands on Peter’s shoulders, holding him still, not allowing him to look away. He stares at the creature, and Wendy tries to guess what he’s thinking. How long has it been? Does he still recognize his shadow? Does it recognize him?
“You don’t have to stay.” Wendy speaks to Tiger Lily without looking away from the creature, mesmerized.
Is she being cowardly? If she’s wrong, if this kills Peter, or makes him into a monster entire, will Tiger Lily go with him? What about Neverland? Wendy’s stomach tightens, fear and guilt knotting inside her. In Tiger Lily’s cave, she swore she would choose Jane if it came to it, and she will not back down. But now, with Tiger Lily at her side, staring down Peter’s shadow, something cracks inside her.
Wendy sees them as girls again, alone among a sea of boys. Running, splashing each other in the stream, climbing, staging their own private wars and proving themselves every bit as fierce and adventurous as Peter and his small army. Telling Tiger Lily stories of London. Lying together in the grass and naming the stars.
She’s seen Peter glance at Tiger Lily more than once, his expression puzzled, like he’s trying to remember something lost. Does he even recognize her, who she used to be, and what he’s done? Wendy thinks of the last time they were in the cave, claiming the bones she’d seen didn’t belong to anyone. Is he really callous enough to hurt without memory, to not see the people he causes pain? If all his darkness is in the shadow then maybe it’s true. Except she’s seen the light in his eyes, the way it changes like liquid fire. Peter was
