AFTER THE NAP PETER HAD SUGGESTED, which did turn out to be sorely needed, Wendy moaned as she peeled off her sticky shirt and pants, soaked with sweat and flicked with blood. Kitoko’s blood. The air rushed around her skin as she washed herself with the bowl of water, longing for soap that she highly doubted existed anywhere on Pan Island. There were a few dresses that had been laid out for her by some Pip earlier in the day, and Wendy decided on a simple white nightgown, pale pink stitched flowers dotting the neck, the cut of the gown a bit lower than her liking, no doubt a sleep frock that once belonged to a pirate’s mistress. She slipped on her black shoes and tied up her hair with a light blue ribbon that she untied from the hammock. She gradually made her way down to the Table, not even flinching as she slid down the trunk this time, her legs wrapped around it like some sort of primate, feeling miles away from the lady she once was. She was still very far from the Table when she started hearing their voices, the feral shouts and insults of the boys, like a roar through the tree, unhinged in all their maleness. With a sigh of resignation, she continued on her way, eager to spend some time with Michael and—dare she hope for it?—Peter.
Hundreds and hundreds of candles flickered and leapt as she walked toward the Table, following the funnel of noise that seemed to circle around her the closer she got. Before she even entered the room, she smelled the feast, and to her dismay, her mouth began watering. The aroma of mushrooms and cream, butter-soaked beef, and pungent berries swirled in her nostrils. As she ducked into the hot room, filled to the brim with screaming and laughing boys, her eyes took in the enormous piles of food that covered the circular table. Pips were racing up from down below, covered in sweat and carrying the food with their bare hands before plopping it down messily in front of the ravenous boys who tore at it like animals. Plump shrimp dusted with herbs and piles of white corn disappeared into hundreds of mouths? each one noshing the food, crunching and talking as they reveled in the stories of the day.
“Here!”
A Lost Boy handed her a hunk of meat, charred and crusted in all the right places. Wendy’s stomach betrayed her emotions, and she found herself biting at the edges before she could stop herself. The meat was tender and perfectly cooked, and she was barely aware of the juice dripping off her chin until she had polished off most of it. Wiping her hand on the back of her dress, Wendy grabbed a piece of dark brown bread before making her way toward a towering pile of wine bottles, stacked haphazardly on a rickety table and adorned with hundreds of daisies.
She reached out, her fingers trailing along each raised glass, red, white, sea glass, all filled to the brim, all waiting for the ravenously hungry boys to descend. Her eyes filled with tears, looking at the bottles, remembering what the cost of this tower of debauchery had been. She remembered how the pirate’s hand didn’t shake as he drew the knife across Kitoko’s throat. She remembered the growing desperation of Darby’s cries. Wendy stared up at the bottles, a whisper in her mind encouraging her to break them all. Instead she started to turn away, until a smaller bottle at the base of the pile caught her eye. It had a small tag on it that read Wendy. Her hand curled around it as her mouth fell open in shock—it was the same small rose-colored bottle that Peter had given her, the same bottle that she had left at the Vault. When had he had time to grab it? He must have gone while she was sleeping. The nerve of that boy—and the romance of him. It took her breath away.
She turned it over in her hand. Such a lovely little thing couldn’t hurt, she mused, and it was so pretty. Closing her eyes, she willfully pushed the violent memories of the day away and uncorked the bottle, taking a huge swig without thinking. It was strong, like taking a sip of sweet fire. The honeyed liquid filled her mouth, a sharply pleasant burn traveling down her throat and into her belly. It warmed her from within. Wendy gave a small laugh. She hadn’t expected it to be so . . . good. Without thinking, she took another drink, feeling reckless and buzzy all at once, like a very grown-up girl indeed. A shadow passed overhead, and she looked up to find Peter hovering above her, delicately fingering a lock of her hair.
“Such a pretty color, like a newborn fawn.”