“No. Unfortunately you will not.” Peter shrugged, suddenly seeming uninterested in the conversation. Wendy looked back to the large island, growing closer with every minute, her eyes trying desperately to take it all in and failing. At the southern end of the island, resting at the bottom of the sharp green peaks, there was a small town, a long collection of rickety buildings, a few roads edging the top of a gigantic bay. The bay bristled with life—three ships rocked in the turquoise waters, anchored by a long stretch of beach with white sand. It wasn’t the sandy color of the dilapidated and litter-strewn beaches of London—no, this sand was a pure white, untainted by color, like a new lamb. Light shimmied and danced across the sand, reflecting on the faces of a half dozen gigantic ships that were overturned on the beach, their rotting hulls made beautiful by the contrast. Peter bit his lip as they flew to the east of the bay.
“The sand . . . it’s made of naturally crushed pearls that the waves deposit there! That’s why it’s called the Bay of Treasures.” Peter started laughing. “The Lost Boys call it ‘Booty Bay.’”
“And above it?” Wendy trained her eye on the collection of wooden buildings that looked to be about a mile long, all leaning against each other as if exhausted. Some were large and ornate, others crumbling.
“Port Duette,” he replied. “A place that you will see for yourself one day, but never without me . . .” He turned and looked at her, his vivid green eyes burying deep into her consciousness, his face etched with worry. “Only I can protect you here.”
She flushed, a tiny trickle of pleasure crawling over her skin. Wendy let her eyes run upward to the west side of the island, where a dozen thin waterfalls rushed down from the peaks above, disappearing into the depths of towering green trees. When she looked at them, the air shimmered and jumped, like watching a rock under a river. She blinked. There was something beneath the trees—something that winked in the sunlight and then concealed itself again. Shades of gray flowered from underneath the leaves, but then, with a breath of warm wind, they concealed themselves again. When she squinted, she thought perhaps she could make out dilapidated pearled archways—maybe?—and black fog winding itself between them.
“Peter, is that a city?”
“It was, at one time. That’s the Forsaken Garden. It used to be the fairy city, until they all died. It’s rumored to be haunted by all sorts of wicked creatures. We don’t go there because it’s too dangerous.”
“We?”
Peter unleashed his hypnotizing smile upon her. “The Boys. You’ll see. Any other questions?”
Wendy couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing. “Yes! About a thousand thousand!”
Peter squeezed her hand, and she felt a familiar warmth spread through her limbs. He had quite the effect on her. “I promise I’ll answer all of them. But for now, just take in the view.” A softness crossed his features. “Why, Neverland from above is my favorite sight in all the world.”
“And there?” John asked. “That wild forest beyond the Forsaken Garden?”
“Empty,” Peter shouted. “Abandoned, like the Forsaken Garden, abandoned by the natives who should have guarded it! I’ll take you flying there someday, John, the flying through the trees—well, there’s nothing quite like it!”
Wendy reluctantly forced herself to bite back her inquiries and focus on the incredible scene unfolding underneath her feet, teetering now directly above the massive island below. Without warning, Peter banked a hard right, and they were flying directly to the east of the island. Soon, the sharp white cliffs gave way to the endless turquoise sea. There was nothing below them but water and the occasional arching back of some flitting sea creature that lingered just below the surface.
“Peter . . . ?” Michael had finally found his voice. “Where are we going, Peter?”
Peter squeezed their hands before flying them in a dizzying upside-down loop. All the children squealed and laughed with delight. “Here’s the best surprise of all: We don’t live on the main island. We live in an even more magical place.”
“And where’s that, mate?” John laughed nervously.
“Just wait a moment,” Peter shouted. “Be patient, Darling children, and we will soon be there.”
The waves underneath their feet changed directions and began getting more violent as they flew away from the shore.
“Pan Island.”
“You have an island named after you?” John shook his head. “Brilliant! Do you live there alone?”
Peter laughed. “Ah, John, my friend, you have no idea what awaits you!”
John was unable to keep the joy off his face at being called someone’s friend. Without warning, Peter began spiraling downward in an ever-widening circle with the children trailing behind him, reminding Wendy of the birds of prey that she occasionally spotted soaring over the parks in London.
“There it is!” John cried.