6. Wendy

Idreamed I was home, shadows lurking in the corners, my brothers crying somewhere unseen, a cold dread in my stomach.

But that's the only thing I remember as I sit upright, brought to wakefulness by loud voices that don't quite fit in my dream.

Where…? Oh. Right.

The Mad World.

Neverland.

An island. Or a nightmare, inhabited by four gorgeous, crazy boys.

And it's all real.

Figures that I'd end up in such a place. Maybe I hit my head and I'm in a coma. Or maybe this is the real world but it's an asylum for the mentally challenged.

I open my mouth to suggest my newest theory—maybe this island is a rock in the sea like Alcatraz but for crazies—when I realize they're all staring at me.

Tink, Colt and Wes are glaring at me, in fact, for some unfathomable reason, and it's scary.

But what sends a chill down my spine is the look in Peter's eyes.

It's one of blank confusion.

"What's going on?" I whisper, glancing at the others and back at him. "You're scaring me."

Last thing I remember was the Twins carrying Tink out of the room and Peter sitting in the armchair, a scowl on his handsome face, toying with his knife.

Now he's looking at me as if he doesn't know who or what I am.

He takes a step toward me, lifting his hand as if to touch, as if disbelieving his eyes, but he falters. His knees go out from under him and he goes down.

Before he hits the ground, though, Tink steps in and grabs him under the arms in a move that looks practiced. "Peter. Easy now." Holding him up with impossible strength, he drags him back toward the armchair. "Come on."

It's my turn to stare in incomprehension. "What's wrong with him?"

"Him? Oh." Tink sits Peter on the armchair, Colt joining him to settle Peter on the cushions. "Nothing. It's just… He gets flashes."

I stare. "Flashes of what?"

"The past? The future? Other planets? Who knows?"

I shake my head. "You're not making any sense. And why are you helping him? He tried to kill you."

"I know." Tink suddenly grins, straightening, patting Peter's shoulder. "He's been trying for a long time now. Man doesn't know when to give up."

"You are all so strange," I whisper and good God, I mean it.

"Right. We know." Wes holsters his gun. He has a belt holster at his hip like he's a cowboy or something.

Colt lifts a dark brow.

Peter is rubbing his eyes with his fists. "Goddamn headache," he mutters.

"It's a little problem he has." Tink taps his own temple. "Right here. Leaky memory."

"Shut up, Tink," Peter grunts, grimacing. He really seems to be in pain.

A part of me feels sorry for him, but the memory of how he hauled me here, of how he pressed me to the wall and got me off in front of everyone—of how he tried to kill Tink…

No pity, I tell myself. He doesn't deserve it. What am I even thinking? Falling asleep with these guys around, letting my guard down? You'd think that growing up the way I did, I'd know better.

It's quiet, I realize. They are looking at me as if waiting for something.

I scowl back at them. Eye the door. Grind my molars. I need to be compliant, make them lower their guard, too. That will be my chance to run.

So I bow my head and force my jaw to relax. "I'm hungry," I say.

The silence twangs like a chord. Their brows start climbing up their foreheads.

"She's hungry," Colt says after a long moment.

"Of course she's hungry," Wes says. "Peter grabbed her hours ago."

"A day ago," Tink says.

A day ago. Jesus. What will Charlie think? She'll be so worried.

But Peter pushes to his feet before I have the chance to work myself into a panic, dark hair bristling, dark tattoos seeming to writhe on his pale skin, and I remember I need to worry about myself more right now.

"Come on," Colt says, gesturing toward the back of the room where an arched doorway is half-open. How didn't I notice it before? "Let's grab some dinner."

"I'm not cooking," Tink declares, as if he's expected to, and I realize another thing: his wings are gone.

He had wings last time I saw him, right? And sharp teeth? Why does he look like a normal, gorgeous guy now?

"Whatever," Peter grumbles, advancing on me.

I take a step back. "What do you want?"

"You're coming with us." He grabs my wrist and pulls. "Come on."

"Ow. Let go."

He doesn't. Instead, he drags me toward the arched door. "Can you cook?"

The only thing I can cook is omelets but I don't say that. "I'm not your mother," I mutter.

"Oh, I know that," he says bitterly. "She was a junkie and she's been dead for a long time now."

Oh.

"Depression is a bitch," Wes says with a shrug, pushing the arched door open all the way for Peter to drag me through, not making a move to help me, the bastard. "She overdosed. Then of course his demented uncle took him in, and when he ran, he ran to the Dark Fae. Hardly an improvement."

"Jesus," I breathe.

"It was long ago, like I said," Peter mutters darkly, pulling me into a large space with a table and chairs and… a fireplace? "I don't remember her."

"Course not. Duh. You were little. And you tend to forget things." Wes clucks his tongue as he stalks inside and heads straight for the fireplace. "Guess it's up to me to cook again."

"Again?" Peter scowls. "What do you mean, again?"

"Peter, my man, I know your memory is going, but Colt and I have been keeping you fed for the past century. Try to keep up."

Peter scowls. "Damn."

"Let go," I mutter and try to pull my wrist away, free it from Peter's grip. "Why do you keep grabbing me and dragging me around? I'm not your slave."

"Feisty, this one," Wes says, running his fingers through his short blond hair, through the spikes in the front. "Fun."

"Screw you," I hiss. "All of you. What's this, a cult of some sort? A mafia gang thing? Are you serial killers, hiding in the wilderness?"

And yeah, I know I told myself to keep a low profile, not upset them, but seriously? Screw these guys.

"Okay," Tink says, giving me a narrow look, "did you miss the magical part?"

"I guess I have," I mutter sullenly.

"Then let me demonstrate," he says and opens his arms.

"Tink!" Colt has a frown on his face. "Stop showing off."

Tink shrugs. "She has to see to believe."

"See what?" I mutter.

Light sparkles in front of him, bubbles of brightness rising as if through liquid to slowly spin around his head, reflected in his eyes.

Those beautiful wings from before spring out of his back, trembling and shedding sparks of white light, and behind him… behind him, I think I see white towers and black trees and great winged creatures flying against a dark sky.

Whoa.

I take a step back only to be brought short by Peter's relentless grip on my wrist.

"Where are you going?" he demands, brow furrowed.

"That's… magic." I know I sound stupid but I can't help it. It's magic. Or is it a trick? Is he… an illusionist? Yeah, maybe that's it, he's making me think that he—

"It is magic, yeah," Peter says flatly. "We call him Tinker because he tinkers with reality."

"But… magic." I swallow hard. "Like… it's not an illusion? Can he really, I don't know… change reality?"

"It's not that simple," Peter says. "Or that complicated. There are other layers of reality, different ones. And he can make the boundary between the two vanish."

"Like…?" I try to think of fantasy movies I've watched. "Like open a portal?"

"No. No portals," Peter says. "He avoids breaking through to the other side. Mostly."

"Why…?" I swallow all my inane questions. "Wait, how do you know all this? Can you all do magic?"

"We have our gifts," Wes says cryptically, coming to stand beside me as Tink continues to play with the lights. "Each magic is different."

"Let me help you express yourself. My magic is better, is what you're trying to say," Tink says, his voice chiming like bells all around us. His wings tremble, shed drops of light. "Tink Bell the Fae Mongrel at your service."

"Show-off," Colt says again.

"Fuck off," Tink says, shooting him a sweet smile. "Convinced yet, Wendy?"

"Turn off your fairy lights and conjure up some food, will ya?" Colt grumbles.

I'm still gaping at Tink when the floating lights around him wink out and the other world visible behind him vanishes.

He huffs. "You know as well as I, Colt, that I won't be stealing food from the Fae just to fill your stomach and give our location up."

"Goddammit, stop bickering and arguing, all of you!" Peter roars and hauls me closer, against his side. I don't resist, partly in shock, partly because… it feels good to be held at his side, my boob pressed to his muscle-wrapped ribcage, his powerful arm coming around my back to keep me in place.

Instinctively, I raise my arms and wrap them around him, too, and he smells… delicious.

Somehow already familiar.

Sexy.

With a sigh, Colt lifts a basket and slams it on top of the narrow counter running along the wall by the fireplace. "We'll have the usual fare then."

"Yum." Tink bares those disconcertingly sharp fangs that remind me… of bad things from my nightmares.

Then again, what nightmares are ever good, right?