We walk to Hook’s territory, our Darling tucked safely between my brother and me, with Pan and Vane in the lead. The night is cool and the wolves are howling.
The air feels wrong and I’m not sure what to make of it.
But the wolves are a good sign. Nani always said wolves were a symbol of protection and strength. They better be a good omen for what’s to come. If we are to go against Tilly, Pan needs to claim his shadow and quickly.
Perhaps that’s what feels wrong—clashing with our sister is like a garment that doesn’t fit, that itches on our skin.
I don’t want to hate my sister and yet the anger feels very close to hate.
She knew what our father intended to do and she was going to go along with it. Disinherit us, marry a pirate, overthrow Peter Pan.
Have Bash and I not done everything we were supposed to do to become kings? We took the endless hours of court decorum and etiquette lessons. We studied ancient texts to learn the ways of our ancestors. We practiced fae magic and spent hours in the yard going over sword techniques and fighting stances until our legs shook and our muscles ached.
And what did our dear sister do? She learned how to embroider tapestries and how to whittle court gossip into sharp weapons.
She used us, in a way, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive her for it.
But the entire time we’ve been with Pan, there was always a little kernel of hope that she’d rescind our banishment and welcome us back into the fold, without condition or contract.
Now that hope is gone and the loss of it feels like the loss of a rib bone, like I can’t find a comfortable way to stand.
Darling holds back a step and hooks her arm through mine. “I can feel you brooding.”
“I’m not brooding,” I say while I brood.
“What is it?”
I look ahead on the road as Hook’s territory nears, which means if I took a left at any point in the road, I’d be headed toward fae territory. The pull on it is still very real and its nearness makes me ache.
Moonlight skims over Darling’s face as she peers up at me from beneath the feathered fringe of her lashes. “I’m angry at my sister,” I admit, “and I wish I wasn’t.”
Bash comes up on the other side of Darling and slings his arm around her shoulders. “He hates that we have to kill her.”
“Wait…you do?”
Darling sounds just as sick about the prospect as I feel.
“She’s not going to stop until we do,” Bash adds. “I’m fine with it. I’ve said my peace to the universe.”
“If only I could be so detached,” I retort.
“It’s either her or you, brother. You should always pick you.”
I frown at him over the top of Darling’s head. “She’s our sister.”
“And she betrayed us.”
True enough. I just want to take Tilly by the arms and shake her until she turns back into our dear little sister who looked up at us like we were her heroes. Back then we were. We would have done anything for her. In fact, we did.
“What happens to the fae court if she’s dead?” Darling asks.
Bash and I look at one another again.
What, indeed, Bash says. Do we plan to return to the palace? Send Darling between our houses like a child of divorced parents?
I turn back to the road and sense Pan’s ear turned toward us. I don’t think he can speak our language anymore, but sometimes I suspect he remembers a word or two.
I will do nothing to betray him. That, I am absolutely sure of.
We can figure it out if and when the time comes.
Of course it’ll come. Just like us in the Darling’s pussy.
I whack him upside the back of the head, which causes him to laugh at the sky.
“Quiet,” Pan says as we finally cross into Hook’s territory.
The air immediately changes once we’re in pirate land. It’s more chaotic but also somehow less wild than in Pan’s territory.
Like a joker stuffed in a three-piece suit. It’s as if the energy of Hook’s land is an echo of the man himself. He’s always been trying to be something he’s not. Less pirate, more gentleman. I heard he was born in England to a noble family, but there’s a reason he’s here on Neverland with pirates for crew and not back in his home country living a respectable life.
The fact that he has yet to embrace that reality might be part of the reason he’s such a world-class prick.
We keep walking, the gravel crunching beneath our boots. The closer we get, the more chaotic the night’s energy, and the hair rises along my arms.
“You feel that?” I say to no one in particular.
Our pace has slowed.
“What is it?” Bash asks, searching the darkness.
“That’s my shadow,” Pan replies. “It’s agitated.”
“What does that mean?” Darling asks.
“It means someone has it cornered,” Pan says.
