“Well.” Charles grins. “What a treat!”
He pushes his glasses up his nose, eyeing Peter as best he can in the fading light.
“Oh, that wonder of yours will bottle nicely.” He nods at Peter, who stares at him unfazed.
“Peter.” I shake my head at him. “Go. He’s awful. He—”
“He’s no match for me, girl,” Peter says with a big grin as he jumps down from the window and waltzes into the room.
Charles considers this briefly. “Potential heir,” he says to himself. “I wonder what powers you possess?”
“More than you,” Peter tells him coolly. He lifts his hand from his side, and then from behind him, water rises from the ocean that seems to be under Peter’s control. I’ve never seen him do this before.
Peter thrusts his hand towards Charles, who’s knocked clean off his feet, tumbling into his precious shelves.
Peter sniffs a laugh and walks over to him casually. He summons the water again, blasting him in the face for what feels like too long.
He’s calm while he does it. Watching on as the man scrambles to try to get away from the water.
“Peter!” I call his name, shaking my head. “Stop!” I tell him, worrying he’s enjoying it.
That gives Charles a chance. He reaches for a jar that’s fallen to the ground—a shimmering, deep blue liquid.
He cracks it open, his eyes eager, and then he drinks it.
Peter looks over at me, confused. Our eyes catch, and honestly (surprisingly?), I feel relieved to see him.
And then something unexpected happens.
The blue shimmers through Charles. Down his throat, through his arms, down his body to his toes, and then he snaps his fingers, and Peter unwillingly flies through the air towards him.
Charles grabs him by the throat with one hand and rattles the empty jar in my face.
“The soul of a wizard.” He gives me a pleasant smile. “A strong one too,” he says before he squeezes Peter’s throat.
Peter starts choking, and I lunge at Charles, but he knocks me back.
I fly across the room, falling onto some of the shelves.
Charles lifts Peter into the air, dragging him under a light, and then he adjusts his spectacles. He looks over at me, and his head pulls back.
“How wrong you were,” he tells me, intrigued and annoyed. “Did you not know, or are you dishonest?”
I stand up with a frown, eyeing him carefully. “Did I not know what?” I ask quietly.
“That he loves you,” the bad man says, and my wide eyes fall on Peter’s.
His are wide too with this horrible fear. It’s not just fear for his life, not fear that a madman is choking him. It’s fear that I now know what was just spoken.
My eyes fall from Peter’s and back to Charles.
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, weakly, maybe.
The man gives Peter’s throat one last squeeze before he slams him to the floor.
Peter sputters a bit. It’s just for a few seconds that he’s down, and then he’s back on his feet again.
“Daphne,” Peter says to me, but he doesn’t move his eyes off of Charles. “Go stand by the window.”
“No, Daphne,” Charles says, then he snaps his fingers, and blue, shimmering ropes spring forth from his hands and tie me to a mast in his room. “Don’t.”
Peter stares over at me, eyes wide and worried like I’ve never seen them before. He looks around, trying to figure out what to do next. He dives for the shelf, grabbing one of the jars, knocking them off, trying to smash them on purpose, and Charles just laughs.
Peter grabs another, trying to open the jar himself.
I shake my head at him. “Only his hands can open them!” I call to Peter, and Charles moves in towards him, smiling.
And then it happens rather quickly. A silver glint and a flash of a smile from Peter, and his sword’s in his hand. With a swift flick of the wrist, he cuts Charles’s hand right off. It falls to the ground with a thud, and Charles cries out in pain, falling to his knees.
Peter grabs the hand, manoeuvres it to open the jar, and then pours it out.
“No!” cries Charles, trying to reach for it, but the shimmery gold spills onto the floor and evaporates.
Peter laughs, pleased he’s found a way to hurt him, then he grabs another and another and another, opening them all.
Charles scrambles after him as he tries to nurse his wound where his hand was severed.
Peter grabs a jar that’s dark green and swirling around. He opens it, tossing it at Charles, and for a moment, it seems he’s swallowed by this cloud of green.
Peter flies over to me, trying to untie my magic ropes, but he can’t.
“Are you okay?” He touches my face. “You’re bleeding.” He pulls out his knife and starts filing away at my binds. He frowns. “It’s not working.”
“Nor will it ever,” Charles tells us with a sneaky grin. “Blood magic. Ties that bind.”
I’m starting to hate magic, I think.
I look back at Peter, try to catch his busy eyes that are alive with the excitement of adventure. “Peter, you need to go. There are things he wants to take from you, really terrible things,” I tell him.
Peter shakes his head. “He’s not getting anything from me.”
“Peter, please.”
“Be quiet.” He gives me a look. “I’m saving you.” He pecks me on the lips, and I blink, stunned, then he flies back to the shelf. “Essence of lightning!” he reads from a jar out loud, beaming. He uses the hand to open it, then shakes the jar empty and onto the ground.
“No!” Charles yells but—
It feels like time and light crack open for a second. The sound of it is unparalleled. I’ve never heard a sound as loud as that. It feels warm. Like someone threw a cup of hot water at me.
When I can finally peel my eyes open, I see that the cabin’s been blown apart.
I’m still tied to the mast, but it’s fallen. One of the shelves fell in the explosion and is pinning me down.
“Peter!” I call for him.
I hear him crow. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll kill them all and be back for you!”
Then—silence.
Well, not total silence, actually. I can hear something…
Rushing?
Something rushing.
Water?
Water. The ship’s sinking.
I breathe out this sigh that’s partly made of a cry and stare up at the ceiling that’s not there anymore.
It’s just a dark night sky and an impossibly bright moon.
A funny way to die, I suppose.
Magically tied to a sinking ship.
A bit of a metaphor for my last few months, I suppose.
The water’s rising now, rather a lot. I’m still pinned under the shelf.
“Peter!” I call for him.
Perhaps this is stupid to do, alerting or reminding Charles of my presence, but also, it’s my only chance.
Charles looks over at me, pinned with the water rising. He sniffs a little laugh. “I guess you’re drowning either way tonight.”
“Please, wait,” I call after him.
Deep from within the belly of the ship, I hear groans and cracks, and then Charles runs, holding what he can, which isn’t much.
He darts from the room, and I hear Peter crow a laugh from a distance.
The ship groans again and collapses in on itself a bit.
The shelf on top of me shifts but in a worse way, one of the shelves splintering off and driving through my arm.
I let out a cry of pain.
And then—a flash of shimmering light and the shelf flies off me, flung across to the other side of the room.
A tattered little Rune climbs up my chest and gives me a tired smile.
I sigh, relieved.
She jangles, annoyed.
“He’s fighting the pirates.”
She jangles more.
“Jem and I? No. We’re not—we’re done. I don’t want to. Rune!” I yell, exasperated. “It’s not the time!”
She stomps her foot and flies herself around the mast, moving it vertical again, but as she does, the ship makes a horrible lurch, and I fall through the floor I’m sitting on.
And I expect to be winded the second I hit the ground beneath me, but I don’t hit ground. I hit water.
And then I’m sinking.
I see a dart of light shoot through the water as Rune tugs and heaves at the binds, but they don’t budge. I see flashes of light—her throwing all the magic she has at it—but they never get any looser, and I’m going down with the ship.
She keeps trying, and I don’t know how to tell her that there’s nothing she can do.
I’m swallowing a lot of water, and I can feel my body filling up in places you don’t want it to.
People say that drowning’s not so bad, but actually, I can’t say that I’d highly recommend it.
Then Rune shoots out of the water and away.
I don’t know where she’s going. Maybe she’s saving herself. She should. That doesn’t sound like her, but I hope it’s what she’s doing.
I can’t help but wonder if Peter’s forgotten about me. It feels like something he would do. Bedazzled by the potential victory in front of him rather than his drowning love in the water.
That’s something though, isn’t it? That he loved me? A feather in my hat. How many people can say that about Peter Pan? I might be the only one. The only person in the history of time who Peter Pan has loved, and I will pay the price for it as I lie here dying while he’s off fighting to save me.
At least someone loved me here, I tell myself, trying to distract myself from the pain.
At least Peter loved me, and at least I’ll be dead so I’ll never have to admit to him that he was right all along about Jamison.
This is going through my head as the ship and I hit sand.
We’ve sunk. Hit the seabed floor.
We’re not too far out from the shore, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. You can drown in a few centimetres of water, and I think we can all agree I’m in much more than that.
My ears and my eyes are stabbing from the pressure of the water, and the pain feels almost unbearable. The water has risen also now over the head of my hope that I’ve any chance of being saved.
Hope is a terrible thing, isn’t it? Poking its awful head out in the darkest places. I should be relieved when it’s snuffed out once and for all.
My brain starts to feel floaty and strange.
Strange that the island lives off it, don’t you think?
Maybe mine will leave my body and fill that well up a little bit higher.
Dying is so strange.
An awfully big adventure, that’s what Wendy used to say Peter said.
Maybe he thinks he’s doing me a favor.
Imagine.
I suppose he’s not necessarily wrong. It probably isn’t just eternal blackness and nothingness. There’s probably more. Maybe it will be better.
I’m feeling foggy. Woozy. I feel like I’m drifting away someplace.
They said all children grow up, except one.
But maybe it’s two now. This is it. I’m only eighteen.
Eighteen and I’m drowning. But then, I suppose I’ve been drowning ever since I arrived in Neverland. Literally, since the day I arrived, if you think about it.
But then also, in a worse way. I’d probably take water in my lungs over the feeling I felt when I heard Jem speak about me.
I hate him for that. I hate him more for still being the prevailing thought in my mind as I drift off here now.
His perfect nose, his bud pink lips, how they felt when they dragged over my skin. His accent that I could scarcely understand. How it felt to be held by him, even if it was all pretend, and I know it was. I suppose, at least, I was afforded the chance to love someone before I die.
And then, light.
I suppose this is it then.
Heading towards it and all.
You know the drill…
And that’s when I feel water rushing around me. Something rushing to the surface.
Me?
I’m rushing to the surface. Something’s dragging me there.
It must be Peter.
I’m looking for golden hair or the eyes of summertime.
But I feel confused, because I’m sure all I can see is a water planet.
I think we reach the surface, and I can feel my body shaking and convulsing as I vomit up water. I try to breathe, but I’m choking.
My lungs are aching like my heart is.
And then I black out.