I ignore him. “—with other boy…friends of mine.”
Peter’s face clouds over instantly. “You have other boy friends?”
“Male friends,” I clarify with an eye roll. And when he still looks equally horrified, I offer him a shrug. “Back in London?”
“Who are they?” Peter asks sharply, jumping straight to his feet. “How tall are they?”
“Well, one of them is quite tall.” I think to myself. Jasper was a tower.
“Which one?” Perter scowls. “What’s his window street?”
I look over at him confused and give him a little shrug. “I’m…not sure.”
Peter squints at me annoyed for a few seconds before he shakes his head like I’m an idiot. “He’s not taller than me.”
“Jamison is taller than you,” I say without thinking, I suppose. Just rolls off the tongue. I don’t know why.
His face clouds over. “Who’s Jamison?”
I swallow, a bit nervous, because I mean, if anything was going to send him—and I really don’t like to send him—fuck. I could have said no one. Probably I should have, really, but I don’t because it wouldn’t have been a lie I liked to tell. He is taller than him, in every single possible way.
I swallow before I say it.
“Hook,” I tell him with a shrug like I’m not nervous, like I’m not wincing already.
Peter just stares over at me, incredulous, as though I’ve grown a whole other head. “Jamison?” He blinks.
I feel nervous suddenly, so I just shrug a bit. “Well, that’s his name.”
Peter glares at me. “You know his name?”
I shrug again, trying to play it down. “It’s just his name. I didn’t give it to him. It’s just what you call him.”?
Peter stares over at me, brows low and his eyes dark as he shakes his head. He nods his chin in a direction away from him. “Go stay in Jamison’s bed tonight.”
* * *
* I only suspect as much because for a brief moment, I’m in a kind of agony that makes my eyes go funny, and I fall to the ground, and I think the fall may have knocked it back in.
* I don’t know how many, to be precise with time here, you know?
* I mean, it’s technically not what I call him, but Peter need not know that.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I didn’t go and sleep in Jamison’s bed, though perhaps I should have.
However, I did leave. I went into the woods and walked till I got lost and confused in the dark.
Some fairies found me—friends of Rune’s, I presume. They made me a bed of clover and a patchwork quilt made of leaves.
It was a lovely sleep, actually.
Probably one of the better ones I’ve had since being here. Rather peaceful.
I’m woken with a sigh, and the clover tickles me awake.
I peer up at Peter Pan, arms folded over his chest, eyebrow up.
“There you are.” He rolls his eyes. “Wondered where you wandered off to.”
I sit up, frowning already. Why am I always frowning with him? “You sent me away.”
“You left,” he tells me.
I stand up quickly. “Because you told me to!”
Peter makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Girls take everything so seriously…”
“Yes.” I give him a look. “This is so obviously me just blowing this right out of proportion. It’s not as though you kicked me out of our house* after leaving me on an island with a fucking centaur to die.”
He shrugs and gives me a condescending look. “It was a minotaur.”
I let out a little cry of frustration and stomp off.
“Where are you going?” He flies after me.
“Away from you,” I tell him.
“You don’t know these woods,” he tells me in a voice I don’t like. I wouldn’t say it was entirely a threat, nor would I necessarily say that it wasn’t.
I give him a look. “I know them better than you think.”
“Yeah?” He lands in front of me. “How?”
“Rye,” I tell him defiantly, and Peter looks away, annoyed.
“You can’t make it to the Old Valley from here by yourself.”
“Yes, I can.” I glare at him. “I’ve done it a million times.”
“Go then.” He nods his head in its direction.
“I will.” I shrug.
“I’m not coming for you if you get lost,” he tells me. “Or if a bear attacks you or something, you’re on your own.”
“Yes, Peter.” I give him a look. “It appears I have been all along.”
He frowns at me, confused, and I walk away.
I don’t go to the Old Valley though. I want to be farther away from him than that. There’s a breeze that tugs me through Preterra, through Haustland, and I know where I’m going now. I know where it’s taking me.
It’s taking me to her.
I’ve only been the one time with Jem. I don’t know the way, but the breeze leads me. I don’t know why it’s being nice to me when Peter and I are at odds. Maybe this is his way of making sure I don’t die. He won’t keep me safe himself, but he’ll have nature do it. It seems as lazy as it does lovely.
It’s a bit of a walk.
A few hours.
I don’t have a coat again, and I already feel as though I’ll cop an earful for that.
It’s worth saying, the breeze is a good guide; she keeps me right. Nudging me gently if I stray from the path up the mountain.
Rune joins me a bit of the way up. She tinkles hotly, and I give her a wry look.
“Oh, heard about that, did you?”
She jingles louder.
“I didn’t know how to call you! I would have if I knew.”
She clangs loudly.
“He didn’t leave me. He forgot about me.”
Rune’s whole face goes red, and she pokes me in the forehead.
“No, I know.” I sigh. “No, it really isn’t much better.”
She gives me a look, and her little eyebrows go up.
“I do like Jamison.” I tell her with a frown.
She tinkles.
“Yes, that way.”
There’s some exuberant jingles, and I give her a look.
“I don’t think that means anything though.”
She chimes gently.
“Sometimes I think he does, then…” I shrug. “He’s quick with his words.”
Then that mouthy fairy tells me that Peter is quick to forget, and I give her a look, but I wonder if she has a point.
I like the walk up to this mountain; there’s something cleansing about it. The higher I climb and the deeper into the altitude that I get, the better I feel, and I decide I should do this more often. Walks alone, the breeze and me—and a fairy who yells at me for things I’d imagine a mother might too.
When the ground starts to get snowy and my teeth start chattering, Rune lands on my shoulder and stomps impatiently before, from completely out of nowhere, a white feathered cloak cascades down from my shoulders.
“You’re very good to me,” I tell her with a fond smile.
And she says something along the lines of “someone ought to be.”
When we get to the top of the mountain, Itheelia is standing there waiting for us.
She looks at me, eyebrows up and intrigued. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I say a bit quieter than I feel she’d like, but I’ve gone shy. I don’t know why I’ve walked up a mountain to see the mother of the boy I’m very rather sure I have feelings for.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, and it’s neither annoyed nor delighted by my presence.