Tinkerbell twisted the wand in her hand, looking between him and Trisha. “Peter, but…”
“No, Tink,” he shoved a dirty lock of hair out of his eyes, “she was with him, which means she is not our friend. We have to find out why she is here and what she knows about that mermaid.”
“Oh my God,” Trisha threw her hands up, momentarily forgetting her nakedness.
Tinkerbell’s eyes widened as the cloth slipped, then a glittering rainbow spray of power flowed from the tip of her wand, tingling like static against Trisha’s skin. When the color cleared she was wearing a dress. Lifting an arm she stared at the material. The threads were white as snow, covering her from her breasts to mid-thigh and when she moved it was tacky to the touch, reminding her of a spider web the way it clung. Curling her nose she decided not to ask, because if it was a spider web, she’d do something really embarrassing. Like rip it off and squeal like a deranged, little girl.
At least it was pretty, in a spider-webby kind of way. She suppressed another shudder.
“If you want to know something,” she continued, “just ask me, I most certainly don’t need to be tried by, what I can only assume must be your lost boys, to determine my guilt or innocence. Far as the mermaid, I don’t know anything about her, not really, just what others have told me. I don’t belong here and I just want to go home. Now.”
Peter crowed like a rooster, then laughed, throwing his head back as he floated in front of them.
“Your boy,” Trisha stressed with a sneer, “has no manners. As you can see he yanked me from the bed without even allowing me to put on a stitch of clothing. Make him send me back.”
“Tinkerbell, doesn’t control me. I am the master of my own destiny and I say you must be tried.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he crowed again.
This time louder and longer. Suddenly the forest erupted into a thunderous cry of crows. It came from within every tree branch, and then faces began peeking out.
Small, dirty faces. All of them boys.
Trisha’s eyes widened as she watched boy after boy after boy scale down from the heights of the trees. How hadn’t she seen them hiding? They’d been so still, she’d never even realized how many pairs of eyes had been on her, watching her. She shivered at the thought.
And as they came out of hiding, she figured out why she’d missed what seemed so obvious now. They were all camouflaged; wearing leaves and bark as clothing. What she’d assumed to be dangling roots from branches was actually a sophisticated pulley system that helped them get down with ease.
They moved like marching ants, when one would land on the ground he’d get into single file behind the one in front of him, all coming forward to form a circle around their leader.
Hard, little eyes stared at her. Some kids were young. Like ridiculously young. Two, three maybe. Others looked older, but none looked older than Peter himself.
An army of tiny people, she’d laugh at the absurdity of it, if it weren’t for the fact that they didn’t look like a bunch of sweet, innocent boys. She took a miniscule step back.
“Peter, now stop it. Think of what you’re doing. Should the fairy council learn of this I could be de-winged,” Tinkerbell zipped in front of him, waving her small hands in his face, her pearlescent wings buzzing furiously behind her back. “A fairy is never to interfere in the machinations of a godmother, ‘tis the law, child.”
“Not my law.” His bird chest puffed out. “Lost Boys,” he cried as the last child settled into place, “she is our prisoner!”
A great squawking cry rose up as all the boys joined in with jeers and shouts of “Hoorah!”
There had to be at least fifty boys. Mouth going dry, Trisha couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was really here. Had it only been two days ago that she’d been set to play Peter Pan? It made her feel absolutely stupid now to think of it. How had this terrible kid become immortalized this way and Hook had gotten the shaft?
Sure, Hook might be a killer and a bit of a wino now and again, but not once since the moment she’d landed on his ship had he treated her with anything other than kindness. Then here comes Pan, the hero of every childhood tale, and he’s ready to throw her in jail. Or maybe even to Tic-Toc, who knew with this wild child?
“What should we do with her?”
“Burn her at the stake!” a small voice cried.
Eyes growing wide, Trisha couldn’t believe what was happening, mob mentality at its worst. Why the hell was Tinkerbell just floating there, when was she planning to step in and end this nonsense?
“You will not burn me at the stake.”
Peter frowned, rubbing his jaw as if he were really giving the idea thought. Staring at Tinkerbell, Trisha jerked her thumb at him. “Any time you’re ready to step in and stop this mob…” she nodded, letting the rest of her thought dangle.
“No, too violent,” Peter finally said.