The voice was singsongy and sweet, though undercut with a seething hatred. Wendy had to swallow several times before finding her own voice.
“I’m not . . . a little girl. And I was invited here by Peter.”
“You say his name like you know everything about him, but you DON’T!” The voice was rising in cadence now, angry and bitter, bouncing through the tree, louder than it had any right to be. “You have no business being here, Wendy Darling. Pan Island is for boys.”
Wendy whirled her head around in the darkness, and she caught the slightest hint of—she stifled a gasp—a wing! Opaque with a lustrous glow, it had the same texture as a dragonfly wing, with delicate veins running up toward the tip. When the wing flapped, the luminous dust tumbled down from its highest edge. Then, as quickly as she had seen it, it was gone.
“But you aren’t a boy either,” Wendy said clearly to the black night, her shaky voice betraying her courage. “I had hoped that we may be friends, since we are both women. I would very much like to be friends.”
“I would very much like to be friends.” The fairy repeated her last phrase, mocking her with a sweet voice. “I have never heard something so laughable. If you had any sense in that pretty little head of yours, you would take your brothers and leave this island.”
There was a hard thump that vibrated up the wooden bridge, and Wendy stared hard into the darkness, watching a glowing silhouette of wings, fluttering almost too quickly for her to see. Her sweaty hands grasped hard to the ropes at her side, and she planted her feet firmly.
“What do you think of Peter?” The voice laughed. “Do you think he thinks you’re pretty? So plain, I told him, plain brown hair, the color of dung, pale skin that has never seen the sun—what could he possibly see in this plain girl from London? You think you can come here and steal what is mine?”
Wendy cast her gaze down. “I don’t know what Peter sees in me, if anything. I did not come here with the intention of stealing anything from you.”
There was a long pause, then a hissing that sounded more animal than human.
“I don’t believe you.” The bridge rocked hard to one side, and then Wendy felt her presence growing closer, the glow of her wings the only thing Wendy could see. “But we’ll see.”
She gave a low whistle, its sound melancholy and sad. At that, all the lanterns on the island relit themselves, only this time they flared brighter, so bright that Wendy found herself temporarily blinded as the being walked toward her, only a slender shadow in the blinding white light. The wooden bridge began to creak and pitch uncontrollably, and Wendy let out a scream as she flew to one side, almost skittering off into the darkness. She pulled herself up to her knees, clutching hard a long piece of red fabric that someone had tied to one of the handles, wrapping it several times around her wrist, ready to plunge off the side of the walkway. As the fairy approached, Wendy felt a wave of heat coming toward her, washing over her again and again, each time growing in strength. The waves crept up her body, and suddenly there was an uncontrollable burning sensation in her hands. Another wave of heat washed over her face. It was as if her skin were blistering, though her trembling fingers confirmed there was no outward sign of it. She let out a moan as the invisible flames engulfed her body. The fairy leaned closer, and Wendy, her body seemingly on fire, emitted a curdling scream.
“Do you feel that? That is the feeling of magic, and it burns white-hot. If you so much as touch my Peter . . .”
“TINK!” Wendy heard Peter’s voice, and then a scuffle ensued. She closed her eyes and heard their voices arguing. Something hit the bridge with a loud thump, and then the heat disappeared, dissipating just as suddenly as it had washed over her.
“Wendy?” The voice was John’s, coming from the end of the rope walkway, back toward the Table. Wendy raised her blurry eyes and looked behind her. John stood at the end of the bridge, his arms tight around Michael. When he saw that she was okay, he turned away with a shake of his head. Something in her chest unclenched itself, and she found herself grateful for her brother’s concern, even if it was fleeting. She turned her head and looked up to see Peter’s concerned face looking down at her. He gently helped her to her feet. She looked at her hands—they were perfect, no burns of any kind, and when she touched her face, she felt only her own flushed skin. Peter’s face was contorted, his eyes vivid navy.
“Wendy, I’m so sorry! Are you all right? Oh, my darling, you must feel like everything in Neverland is trying to kill you.”
Wendy brushed her hair out of her face before noticing that the ends were singed, her patience short. “Indeed, I do.”