Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,103
to Peter?” Skipper asked in a low voice. “About me?”
“Or me?” Slightly added. “Is everything all right again between us?”
Wendy almost choked. “All of Never Land is in danger. Did you miss that part? I have left Peter tended by a tiny fairy while a pirate ship is coming after him. I’ve been nearly drowned by mermaids, fought off thysolits, escaped the realm of the First, and flown all over this bloody island. Somehow, during all of that, I may have neglected to launch into an invective against misogyny or a monograph about the necessary skills of a great leader. We don’t have a lot of time here, is what I’m trying to say. Do you think you could get over your personal grievances and come to his and all of Never Land’s aid? Are the Lost Boys really going to sit around while everything is destroyed around them?”
“Of course we’ll help,” Slightly said, pulling out his rapier and brandishing it. “That was never a question!”
“We’d never abandon Peter if he was in trouble,” Skipper mumbled as she put one hand on her scimitar, the other on her bow. “Whatever our problems are.”
“For Peter!” the twins said together, drawing the little knives that hung from their waists. “And Never Land!”
“LET ME AT THOSE PIRATES,” Cubby roared, pushing up his sleeves and baring his meaty fists.
Tootles just narrowed his eyes and growled.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Wendy said. “I’m going to fly ahead and see how they’re doing. How long do you think it will take you to get there?”
“Forced march?” one twin asked.
“Several hours,” the other answered.
Wendy began to open her mouth, feeling her panic grow.
“We could use the tunnels through the Cenotaph Caves,” Skipper suggested quickly, seeing her look.
“Just what I was thinking,” Slightly said with a frown. “They lead right into the back of the cove. And maybe we could ask the Elephant Wheels for help. Let’s say four hours, max. Depends on the cooperation of the various parties involved.”
“All right, well, I suppose that sounds feasible,” Wendy said uncertainly. Elephant Wheels seemed interesting. The other…perhaps a little dangerous. She worried about Tootles. “Pegleg Point, by the three clustered palms. If we’re not there, it’s because we’re hiding in the jungle from the pirates, who have already arrived.”
“Aye, aye, madam!” Slightly said with a bow, doffing his cap.
“Hmm. You’re doing this all in a dress,” Skipper observed.
“Not much of one, really,” Wendy said with a smile.
“To arms, men—ah, mates!” Slightly cried, raising up his rapier.
“TO ARMS!” they all shouted.
The fox boy threw back his head and howled. The rest of the Lost Boys joined in, each in his or her own way, crowing, barking, screaming, roaring.
“Yes, well, all right,” Wendy said. She gave Luna another good solid scratching on her head. “You make sure they find me. And remember where they are going.”
Luna barked once.
Wendy wished the wolf could meet Nana; she felt somehow sure they would get along splendidly.
The heroine appeared above the jungle like a tatter on the breeze.
Wendy had become just another one of the strange Never Land flying creatures, she realized; had anyone, even her own parents, looked up and seen her—well, they wouldn’t have seen her. They would have seen a tanned, lanky fairy thing without wings, in strips and bandages of once-blue cotton, performing some unknown task within the realms of the magical island. And considering how many denizens she had interacted with—and almost grown comfortable with—she thought she was also well on her way to being accepted by the natives as just another weird flying creature.
Well, maybe not by the First. They were rather cranky about all the newcomers and dreamers who changed their world.
(Who could blame them, really?)
Although she had figured out their trap, so maybe that accorded her a smidgen of respect.
But unlike the endlessly cheerful and vicious full-time residents of Never Land, Wendy had hollows around her eyes from the constant flying, fighting, running, bleeding, strategizing, and worrying.
Peter’s shape could easily be distinguished among three palm trees on the beach. A tiny golden glow shone against one of the harsh, tree-shaped shadows.
Wendy tried not thinking of herself as a ragged facsimile of a Greek god, but she did land as she imagined one might: delicately, cloth whipping around her, arms raised. Not for balance, but for effect.
Immediately, the golden glow zipped up and around her madly.
Peter is hurting somehow! They’re doing something to him or his shadow, like you said they would!