15. Wendy

"Ilike it," Tink says as I walk back into the house, morose and wondering why the hell I didn't take the chance to run away instead of coming back, doing Peter's bidding.

He's standing by a fireplace that hadn't existed when I arrived. Had it been there when I'd last been inside the sitting room?

"You like what?"

He lifts a brow. "That you're wearing my clothes."

"It's only your stained T-shirt," I mutter, tugging on the hem, "since I couldn't find anything else to wear. I could hardly go around topless."

"I don't see why not." Tink winks at me—but I remember him leaning over me where I was tied to the bed, laughing at me, and my smile fades before it fully forms.

"You're aroused by us,"he'd said, "you lust after us, you like us touching you, kissing you. But we never did any of that for you. Only for ourselves. For our own pleasure. Our own excitement."

"What would you rather wear, then?" Tink comes to stand beside me, resting a long-fingered hand on the mantel. "I'll find it for you."

"Find whatever I want? Like, how, are you going to snap your fingers and use magic?"

"Nah. We have a trunk full of clothes." Doubt crosses his gaze. "If it's still here. Do you want a dress?"

I shrug. "Sure. The weather is warm. A dress will do just fine."

He lift his hand off the mantel and touches my hair. A dark spark flares in his eyes. Then he turns, his hand falling away. "Stay here."

So of course I follow him—not sure what this small show of rebellion will help with, but at least it feels good—where he kneels down by a wooden, carved trunk behind the sofa.

"Aha!" He opens the lid and rummages inside. I look down at his glossy head, the dark hair and pink streaks that don't look dyed but rather like they grow like that straight from the roots, and his wide shoulders. He's still dressed in the ratty T-shirt he had on when I arrived here, long legs clad in worn jeans. "Here it is. Sometimes when the island shifts, things get lost."

"It has happened before? That the island changed?"

"Oh, yeah. We're not sure why and how, but we think maybe the island has been shaped after every Wendy's dream."

"And you said it changed now?"

"In some ways. Turned out quite well, wouldn't you say? Can't say I cared much for living underground." He pulls a wad of pink cloth out of the trunk, drops it back inside, pulls out something blue. "Maybe having sex isn't such a bad idea, if it fixes houses like that. And to think I haven't even shown you my sword yet." He winks at me as he shakes out a white dress. "What do you think?"

"About your sword?"

He laughs. Turns his head to look up at me from where he's kneeling. "Wait till you see it. It's huge."

"Do all of you have such a big ego or is it mostly you?"

"Only I have a sword," he says solemnly. "The others have daggers, at best. They can't compare to me. It's not ego, it's a fact."

"Are we still talking about weapons?"

He returns to his rummaging with a snicker and a shrug.

"Yeah, most probably not." I sigh. "Where did you get these dresses?"

"I don't cross-dress if that's what you're thinking." He frowns. "Though I bet a dress would look good on me. I have the legs for it."

"Tink—"

"You don't think so?"

Muscular, long legs, sure, but I'm not going to play along, or compliment him and feed his ego. "Who did the dresses belong to? Did you steal them from the real world?"

"No." He shakes his head. Doesn't look up.

That's a big fat clue, right there, his refusal to meet my eyes or explain. Which means…

"They belonged to the other girls, right?" I breathe. "The ones who came before me?"

A pause. Then, "Yeah."

"What did you do with the girls? You said they jumped off the cliffs, Hook said they're buried. So which one is it?"

Tink rubs at his eyes. "Those whose bodies we retrieved are on the island. There's a cemetery with a memorial for them. We call them the Golden Girls."

"Jesus." I draw an uneven breath. I can't speak for a few beats and he also seems to fall still, as if waiting for me to go on. "There is a song about that," I say eventually, my mind going through strange leaps. "About Golden Girls."

"I bet there is," he mutters.

Golden. That reminds me of Peter's golden acorn pendant, and of my own silver thimble. I reach for it and a small gasp escapes me.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I lost… I lost my pendant. A thimble that used to belong to my mom." I look around, bend to look under the furniture. "Have you seen it?"

"Nope. Maybe it fell in the woods."

"I need to go look for it."

"Certainly not. No time for that now. I'm just going to… Ah." Tink pulls something else from the trunk—flat ballerina shoes—and rises to his feet, towering over me. He thrusts the dress and shoes at me. "Here."

Still saddened by the loss of my pendant, I look down at it without much interest. "How do you know they will fit?"

"I have a good eye for sizes. Go on, try them on."

Struggling to put out of my mind the fact that these items belonged to dead girls, dead girls who bear my name, I clutch the dress and shoes to me. "Turn around."

"What?" His dark brows draw together. "You are aware that I saw your pussy stuffed with a gun, right?"

"Thanks for reminding me," I grumble, my face suddenly too warm. "Now turn around."

I don't really expect him to obey, but he shrugs and turns his broad back to me. "Hurry up," is all he says.

"Why?"

"We're going out."

* * *

"Going out where?"I ask as I push down my skirt, standing naked in the living room. Instinctively I put my hands over my breasts to cover them.

Which is stupid. He's not even looking.

Is he?

I don't know why I feel so vulnerable, standing without any clothes in front of him. After all, he has his back turned and like he said, he's seen it all already, but there you have it.

"It's the anniversary. There's a tradition. We go to see the mermaids dance." He turns his face to the side and winks. "You can't say we don't take you places."

"Ugh, those horrible creatures?" I lift the dress, hold it against my body. It smells of dried herbs. "Why should we watch them dance? And an anniversary of what?"

"Tonight, we have a sort of truce," Tink says, and I don't immediately see how that is an answer to my question. "An unspoken promise that we can meet under the night sky and not try to kill each other. Hook and his gang will be there, too. Even the Reds sometimes come."

"The monsters?"

"The very same."

The dress fits me fine, the hem hitting me right above the knees, the cleavage modest—which is good, since I don't have any panties, or a bra for that matter, and my boobs are not on the small side.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to sneak a look," I say as I slip my feet into the white ballerinas which, surprisingly, also fit.

"Oh, there's the mirror." Tink gestures at a mirror that again hadn't been there this morning as he turns back around.

Oh my God.It shouldn't surprise me that he was ogling me, and also it shouldn't matter, like I said before, but it still annoys me.

"You're an asshole."

"Surprised?" He grins. "Not much entertainment to be had on the island, doll. I'll get what I can."

"Before I'm gone, you mean, buried with the other Golden Girls?"

He gives a small sigh. "Nothing personal. Ready to roll?"

It's hard to stay angry. I guess, when shock after shock hits you, you quickly grow kind of numb. "Were you well entertained by me, at least?"

He tips his head back a little, observing me from under his lashes. His voice drops an octave. "I sure was."

"Well." I ignore the fresh wave of heat washing over my face and neck. I live to please, as it turns out. "Where are the others?"

"We'll meet them there."

"Which is where?" I ask. "Don't tell me on the beach."

He shoots me a quizzical look. "Well, we're going to the mermaids, so… yeah?"

"Shit." I take a calming breath. It doesn't do jack. "Shit!"

"You still haven't told me why you hate the water," he says.

"What does it matter?" I glare at him. "Apparently, we're going anyway, or is there a chance I could pass on today's anniversary celebrations?"

"No," he says. "Let's go."

* * *

"You still haven't toldme what anniversary it is today," I say.

"Can't you guess? No?" We're walking side by side down a path through the trees, in a different direction than the town or where I'd found Peter earlier, the moon shining in the sky, and Tink… he seems to be faintly glowing in the dark. "It's Peter's birthday."

"His birthday?"

"You like repeating words I say, I see."

I huff. "But why call it an anniversary?"

"Because it's not his real birthday, of course."

"Oh, of course," I grumble. "Makes perfect sense. Not."

"The anniversary of his turning," he says slowly, as if explaining things to an idiot.

Which doesn't amuse me. "Turning what?"

"Not what. Into what, that's what you should be asking."

I sigh. "I give. What has he turned into, then? He seems perfectly human to me." I reconsider that. "Well, apart from the wonky shadow and the fact he can travel between worlds. The fact he's a psycho falls well within human nature, I'm afraid."

Tink snorts. "Human? He hasn't been human for a very long time."

"What happened?"

Tink is silent for a while as we trudge down an incline and he helps me across a brook. I wonder if it's the same one I heard in the clearing where Peter was earlier.

"Did you know that Peter self-harms?" I ask.

"Come again?" Tink frowns.

"He uses a knife to make cuts on his arms."

"Oh. That."

A wave of anger hits me. "You know about it. You don't care?"

"Seriously, Wendy girl, after everything you've seen and heard, after everything that has been done to you since you arrived, this is what spooked you? We're all damaged, or haven't you noticed?"

Yeah, he's got a point. "So what is Peter?"

"Who knows?"

"Try again, Tink."

He rolls his eyes. "I guess… I guess it doesn't matter much now if you know, since you can't save us."

"So tell me."

"Well, it started with Peter and Hook. They were the first. Maybe… maybe Hook was first. They don't talk much about it. Fact is, when Peter arrived here, it seems Hook was here already."

"And they fought?"

"No. No, at first, they were friends. More than friends, if you catch my drift."

I stare at his stony, handsome profile. "Really?"

"Yeah. But Peter came here willingly. He ran from home. Whereas Hook… I heard rumors that he was taken."

"By the Fae?" I want to know.

"That's right. Peter wanted to get away. I doubt he planned to get stuck here. Bringing a human here, trying to turn him into a Fae… it drives people mad. Destroys their shadow. He's barely clinging on to his. He was chosen to be king of the island. Hook didn't like that."

"Shadow is the soul," I whisper.

He shoots me a funny look. "Where did you hear that?"

"Peter said it."

"Damn. You know what, enough of this," Tink says harshly, grabbing my arm and hurrying me down the path. "You need to stop asking so many questions."

"Because you'll lose me soon?" I ask through gritted teeth. "Because you're afraid you might like me and then watch me go mad and jump off a cliff?"

He says nothing but his jaw works and his brows draw together. He drags me along so fast I skid on the path all the way to the shore.