“Gwendolyn.” Rowan’s voice is tight, urgent. “If there is any sort of Fey magic you might consider working, now would be the time to be doing it.” He glances at me, taking his attention away from the beasts only for a second. “A rescue, perhaps?”
A rescue? I look up at the sheer cliff face behind me—I doubt I can make something that big disappear. There’s no way to climb it, and no way to get around these creatures. No way to escape.
Rowan sends me another impatient look, his sword at the ready as one of the beasts gnashes its horrible teeth and lets out a growl that sounds like the grinding of bones. Its long arms are tipped with massive clawed hands that swipe at him.
He swings his sword savagely to fend off the blow, but the tip of the monster’s claw catches his arm and shreds the sleeve of his coat. The rods of his arm glint beneath the gaping tear. “Anytime now, lass,” he says, turning to ward off the second beast before it can lunge.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, my voice rising in panic. The second beast is watching me with those bloodred eyes, but Rowan darts in front of me before it can attack.
“We both know what you did in the tunnel, Gwendolyn. Try something. Anything,” he demands, his voice tight with more than impatience as he swivels to account for the other beast’s location. “You’re half bloody Fey, aren’t you?”
“I—” The second beast lunges for me, but I stab at it with the dagger. Surprised, it backs away, shifting uneasily on its strong legs as it considers me with its burning eyes. “I don’t know how.” I clench my hands into tight fists. I’m still not sure what made the rock disappear in the tunnels. I have no idea what I finally did to get him out of that prison.
“Figure it out,” he snaps, fending off another attack. “I have bet everything on you—my life, my friend. My crew.”
“I know.” My voice comes out angrier than I intended. “But it’s not like I asked for this. It didn’t come with a set of instructions.”
“You don’t need a set of bloody instructions, Gwendolyn. It’s what you are. And if you don’t stop running from it, we’re not going to be making it out of this particular mess alive.”
I take a shuddering breath as the truth of what he’s saying hits me at full force. He’s right. After all the horrors and mistakes, if we die here, at the hands of these monsters, it will be my fault. Because even with all I’ve seen, all I’ve done, there is a part of me that is still afraid to accept what I’ve come to know about myself. Because accepting it means letting go of the brittle belief that I could be a simple girl, a normal girl.
Because I’m not a normal girl—I’ve never been one. My mom knew that when she uprooted us time and time again. She knew that when she took a knife and sliced into my arm to try to protect me.
With the gaping, horrible maws of nightmarish beasts open before me and the deadly height of the cliff behind me, I have a choice. I can keep clinging to that fragile story of what I thought I was and I can die, devoured by those terrible mouths. Or I can admit that maybe I’ve always been something else—something more.
“Gwen,” Rowan says, taking another swipe at the first beast when it gets too close.
My head snaps around, and my eyes meet his for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever called me that. All along he’s used the stiff formality of my whole name to keep me at arm’s length. But for the space of a heartbeat, his expression is open and trusting . . . and hopeful.
“You can do this, lass. Get us out of here.”
Then the moment is over, and he turns again to lunge at the monstrous Fey that have corralled us.
The time to be scared, the time to deny is over, unless of course, I want to die. Unless I want him to die with me.
I turn and press my hands against the rough surface of the cliff rising up behind us, tracing the rock tentatively with one finger, testing it. Nothing happens. Resolved, I lay my palm against it and I focus, just as I did when Pan asked me to. Just as I did when I felt the warmth flare beneath by palms near the edge of the trench. And as I did in the dark tunnel, when I wanted to destroy the bars that kept me from Rowan.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the erratic pulse of the rock beneath my hands. At first nothing happens, but I will not give up. I draw all my attention—everything I am—to the place where my skin presses against Neverland. The beasts growl, inching closer, but I do not let myself think, It’s not working. The idea is there anyway, just below the surface. Taunting me. Threatening me. But I ignore it, and as I’m about to give up, the rock beneath my hand grows warm.
I force myself to hold steady as the warmth spreads through my fingertips, across my palms, and begins to creep up my arms, heating and burning as it climbs toward my chest. But when it reaches my elbows, the heat begins to sear me from within. I clench my teeth and force myself to ignore the pain, but when the heat reaches my shoulder, the burn flashes even hotter, and I wrench my hands away.