I sense that somehow, in the time he spent in my womb, a connection formed that has not yet been broken, no matter the Sister’s efforts. Even his smell is precious to me, and I breathe it in just once.
I cannot linger here or it will all be for nothing. But if that is going to be the case anyway, I wanted one breath. One moment.
I turn to leave. To steal my child out of this dreadful place. To run forever, he and my husband and I, fugitives from the Sister, hidden by the magic that keeps her from seeing our tapestries.
But I cannot allow myself to imagine that beautiful life on the run, not until we’ve stepped foot out of her lair. No, not even then. Not until we’ve set foot out of Neverland.
Getting back will be trickier. But we have a plan for that as well.
I take a step toward the door. One step closer to our freedom.
Someone calls my name.
It’s not my husband.
CHAPTER 58
Ashadow forms on the other side of the nursery. No, not quite a shadow—a figure—one with wings. My heart sinks as Peter steps carefully into the room from a door I’d failed to notice when I entered. It’s one off to the side of the nursery, hidden in the wall, its edges obscured by the decorative divots in the onyx wall. My heart palpitates, because on the other side of the door is a bedroom. Inside is a massive bed made of bone.
Of course the Sister would set up the nursery so that she would have easy access to it.
“Wendy Darling,” says Peter, “it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
My heart turns to lead within me as I feel my son root toward my chest, then attempt to suckle at my shirt. When he finds no milk there, he begins to whimper. Anger, fear, and hatred rise up within me, and I can’t tell who it’s directed more toward—Peter, or the Sister gliding in behind him.
She has her hands at the nape of Nolan’s neck. His arms are tied behind his back, and he stumbles forward.
“Darling, run,” my husband rasps, but it is too late.
There is nowhere to run. Not when Peter gets to me before I can even take my first step toward the door where I entered.
“Wendy Darling, I’m so sorry,” he says.
I stare at him blankly, and the Sister, studying the interaction between us, actually has the audacity to laugh. At first, I think she’s laughing at me, but then she says, “Do you really think she believes that, Peter? That you weren’t the one to betray her?”
“Wendy, I didn’t,” Peter says, eyes insistent. But those eyes have lied to me more times than I can count. When he glimpses the incredulity in my stare, he shifts his strategy. “I know you’ll be angry with me for a long while, but your son will be safe. That was the deal I struck, you see. I didn’t forget about you when I made the bargain.”
On his neck, a fresh bargain in the shape of a cradle stains his flesh. I would answer him, but it would do no good, and it is not worth my breath.
I pivot slowly back to the Sister and Nolan. Upon losing my attention, Peter’s voice heightens. “Wendy, the three of us will be just fine. As long as we’re in Neverland, as long as we don’t leave, the Sister is going to allow you to raise him. I know you’re upset now, but I gave you eighteen years of his life back. Even more than that, really. If we just go along with her plan, you never have to lose your son completely.”
I ignore him, although it’s less of a conscious effort and more the fact that there’s a roaring in my ears blocking him out.
“I don’t care to listen to another word of yours, Peter,” I say. Instead, I look at my husband. There’s apology written in the wrinkles between his brow.
“I’m so sorry, Darling,” he says, and it breaks my heart that he feels as if he’s failed, when this is all my doing. A stupid girl, yet again seeking help from someone I never should have trusted, because I believed he was our only hope.
“Oh, don’t look so sullen, Wendy Darling,” says the Sister. “In a way, you’re getting what you wanted. You can’t have it all; none of us can—a lesson you’ve never seemed to learn. Count yourself fortunate to have someone willing to bargain on your behalf,” she says, looking at Peter. “He didn’t have to do that, you know. And he withheld information from me—told me he knew of a plot that you and your husband had to take your son back. One that would work if he did not reveal the details. Except he left out the relevant detail that you had already infiltrated my home until after I promised to let you raise your son.
“I’m less than fond of the idea of giving up sole keepership of him,” she says, looking at my child with such adoration, it makes me want to wring her neck. “But, as I said, we all must learn to compromise.”
“You can’t have him,” I say.
“The deal is contingent on your cooperation,” says the Sister.
“And you assumed I would?” I say, spinning toward Peter. “You really don’t know me, do you?”
By the way his face reddens, one would have thought I slapped him.
