There was more than one voice now, female voices, trilling in cadence with the waves, an enchanting sound, like water trickling over bells. Wendy felt her skin tingle, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The enticing voice called out again. Wendy’s mouth began to water, for what she wasn’t sure, but she needed, she had to find out. She took a step deeper into the water, and then another. Slowly, she waded toward the voice.
“Wendy, come to us . . .” There were several voices singing now, their harmony piercing her eardrums, her skin crackling at music’s most perfect sound. She waded in deeper. She could not turn from them, for the sound was lingering just under the water, and if she could get to it, she could wrap her arms around whatever called her and press her lips into the cool blue and drink in the sound. She would swallow the melody whole, and it would consume her, and then she would be a part of it forever. She took another step, the water caressing her waist, kissing her ribs, absorbed in the sound . . . the sound . . . She heard another sound rising beneath the luminous noise, a distracting yelling, so harsh and ugly against the music sweeping through her. She turned her head away from it. Nothing mattered but the music. She felt the voices in the water, the water hands caressing up her thigh, the music a lullaby that cradled her in strong arms, forever comforted, never alone.
The music was all around her, everywhere, and she was in agony and ecstasy as arms tightened around her waist; for a moment, Wendy was confused at how music could feel so secure, so hard, like skin made of stone. She looked back to the beach, confused at how she gotten out so far, her skin still pulling her toward the sound, the voices reaching inside of her chest, strumming her soul. Oxley was running toward her, the water splashing around his ankles, his eyes wide with fear, his mouth open and screaming, and yet Wendy couldn’t hear anything but the melody, a melody that coaxed forth everything inside of her that she had ever hidden.
Then she was yanked underwater without warning.
She flailed her arms above, suddenly terrified, reaching, reaching back for the sky that was rapidly becoming smaller. The surface of the water flew away from her grasp as she was pulled deeper and deeper into the depths and farther and farther out to sea. Her legs were twisting and kicking, and she tugged desperately at the stone arm wrapped around her waist. Wendy opened her mouth to scream, water rushing in and filling her lungs. She was so deep now, deeper and farther from shore, the water becoming a dark navy as the fathomless ocean opened up around her. She sucked in water again, flailing helplessly as the water around her had become luminescent, lighting up from within itself, a thousand diamonds in her vision. She ceased struggling when she heard the song begin again, a balm to her rising terror. Her body stopped fighting the water that poured into her lungs, and she turned to look at the arms that held her waist, the arms like stone, and the voice that called her out of herself.
A figure rose up in the water. She saw a swirl of green and blue hair, and then a face came out of the darkness, skin hard like white marble and just as pale. Translucent purple and blue lips shimmered like fish scales as they opened slightly in front of Wendy’s face. The eyes opened, and Wendy tried in vain to scream as the stone arms pulled her lower still, a hand creeping over her mouth. From the surface, so far, far above, she heard a strange whistling sound, and a shadow passed overhead . . .
Peter Pan sliced through the water like a bird of prey.
The sea parted for him in a white line as he streamed downward toward her. Wendy fought to stay conscious. The stone arm gripped harder. Peter reached out for Wendy, and she struggled to free herself. Though the skin looked like cracked marble, it felt cool and soft as Wendy ripped at it with her fingernails. Peter raised his arm and with a snarl brought his golden sword slashing down; dark blood filled the water around them. The arm around her waist came free and floated down into the abyss. The lulling music in her ears dissolved into an unpleasant cacophony of high notes that resonated through the water, each one feeling as though it vibrated through her spine. The water tasted like blood. Wendy was drifting, spinning in the water. Her hair drifted past her eyes, and then she saw a face. At first she thought it was Booth, his brown hair curled in the waves, his blue eyes focused on her, but then she blinked and saw it was Peter, Peter’s face that she hadn’t even known she had missed until that moment, his green eyes widened, his bright red hair standing straight up in the water.