“Please.” I close my eyes, trying to think. Trying to find a way out of this. “Please, just let her go.”
“Not until you surrender to me completely,” he taunts. “Not until you vow to sacrifice your power and your life to me. Once you do, I will finally be able to finish what I started ages ago. Once the Queen has fallen, I will control the boundaries between our worlds, and only then will your dear Olivia have any chance of returning.”
I consider it—really consider it. I know what’s at stake, just as I know that even as we speak, the Fey are already taking back their world. When that happens, every human in Neverland is doomed. “What about the rest? Your boys and Rowan’s crew?”
Pan chuckles, a dark dangerous sound that is more derision than mirth. “What few who remain may have their choice.”
I take a step back, away from him, my mind racing with possibilities—none of them good.
But as I’m still struggling with my decision, a rustling comes from the deadened brush, and two ragged-looking boys emerge. They’re dragging Rowan between them—his face is bruised and bleeding, and a dark stain is spreading across the front of his drab-colored coat.
“No—” I step toward him, but Pan steps between us, Olivia still in his grasp.
“Ah, Rowan. How delightful of you to join us,” Pan drawls. “Gwendolyn was just deciding how much she values the life of her friend.”
Rowan coughs, blood dripping from his mouth. “Too late, Pan,” he says in slow, halting words. “You’ve lost.”
Pan smiles. “No, my dear boy, I don’t think I have.”
“Any minute now the Queen will be coming for you.” Rowan tries to struggle, but the boys hold him tight.
“True enough,” Pan says, “but by then Gwendolyn will have made her choice. Because she knows I am her only hope of stopping the Queen. Of saving her dear friend.”
Rowan practically growls, his breaths coming in difficult bursts. “Villain,” he rasps.
“No, boy. You’re quite mistaken. Have you not heard the story? I’m the hero of this piece—the victor,” Pan says. “It was I who conquered the Queen of this world. I who ruled over the Fey, Light and Dark alike.”
“You who murdered the helpless,” Rowan chokes out, his face contorted with hate.
“Well, yes, that was unavoidable,” Pan tells him pleasantly. “Though that ridiculous story did help.” Pan looks at me, his eyes alight with amusement. “Imagine my surprise when that first boy gave himself willingly to me, all because he mistook this world for something out of a storybook. As entertaining as it always had been to listen to their screams, it was so much easier to just play along.”
At first I don’t understand the meaning of his words. And then all of the things Rowan told me about him, about this world, come back to me. “You’re not really Peter Pan?” I say, finally comprehending.
“Of course I am,” he says pleasantly, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Ask any of my boys.”
“Nothing but lies,” Rowan says, barely able to get the words out between his painfully gasping breaths. “The boys never see through them.”
“But you saw through them, didn’t you?” Pan asks, his voice sharp. “When you first arrived, you were like all the others—broken, lost, wanting to believe in a place where you could forget every miserable part of yourself. Like the rest, you wanted to believe I was who I said. You were much too old for fairy tales, Rowan. You should have known better.” His expression goes murderous. “And I should have killed you when I had the chance. Luckily, fate has given me an opportunity to right that particular mistake.”
The walls of the fortress tremble, sending bits of debris and chunks of the crystal ceiling careening to the floor. Pan turns to me. “I’m afraid our time runs short, my dear.” He presses the knife against Olivia’s throat, and she closes her eyes, her face contorted in fear, in pain. “Do you care for your friend enough to save her?”
Olivia whimpers, her eyes flying open. For a moment I think it’s my Olivia peering through those green depths.
“Do you care enough to save them all?” Pan tempts. “Give yourself over to me, and I will defeat the monster you have unleashed.”
“I . . .” I can’t say the words. Even though I know it is the only choice, the only way to get Olivia home, to save Rowan and the others from the danger we’ve unleashed—I’ve unleashed.
“Or perhaps you need more of an incentive?” Pan’s beautiful features brighten in anticipation as he gives a tight nod to the boys holding Rowan. At his signal, one of them pulls Rowan’s head back at a painful-looking angle and the other raises a knife to his throat.
“No!” I shout loudly enough that the boys look to Pan.
“It’s your choice, Gwendolyn. You will die in this world one way or another, but you can decide who must die with you. Give yourself to me, and perhaps the ones you profess to love will have a chance. Perhaps I will be merciful.”
“Don’t,” Rowan says, panting, his voice weak. His eyes blaze with fear, with fury. With pain.