Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,32

seen through older eyes were not harmless. They were diabolical.

“Never Land isn’t just a simple place of childhood dreams—because childhood dreams are actually never simple. Oh, I do wish I could write that down in my little notebook.”

Her face suddenly constricted into a cartoonish expression of terror as she recalled a younger John, furious at the Shesbow twin who had tweaked his cheek and giggled at his hat and glasses. “Girls shouldn’t be allowed to talk at all,” he had growled at her. “To boys, anyhow.”

How had the rest of the conversation gone? Had he made an exception for his sister? Had Wendy laughed and remonstrated him?

More to the point, was there some sort of horrible punishment zone for girls in Never Land devised by the fiendishly clever—but undeveloped—mind of a preadolescent John?

Luna was watching with giant unblinking yellow eyes as Wendy worked out all these things, far more patient than anyone Wendy had ever known.

“We must be on our guard,” she said, kissing the wolf on her nose. “This place is tricky. Far trickier than I ever dreamed. The dangers I expect are not the only dangers. Who knows what other horrors my little brothers dreamed up? Then again, if Never Land were as simple as my own childish fantasies, it would be no fun at all. Toffee trees and mazes easily solvable by a simple application of left left right left. Where’s the challenge in that? I am sixteen now, whether or not I am an adult. I should expect more!”

Wendy dusted off her dress. The sun had moved slightly in the sky; ideas and creatures might be eternal in Never Land, but still night came. Time still existed. Decisions had to be made. Luna pranced back and forth in front of her, yellow eyes gleaming with excitement. Ready to go.

But where to?

The Mermaid Lagoon. Obviously.

Peter Pan often visited the mermaids in her stories. Maybe she would find him there, or get help from the friendly locals. But also…

Mermaids!

And they would be very helpful in a maritime war waged against apocalyptic pirates.

And maybe along the way Wendy could look for fairies. They were powerful little denizens of Never Land, weren’t they? Surely they could use some magic or something against Hook.

(Plus: fairies!)

And…what about the Lost Boys, by Hangman’s Tree? Maybe she should find them first. They would know where Peter was. And they would be terribly useful—how many stories she had written about their battles with the pirates! And how lovely it would be to have a visit, too. All of those clever things Wendy had invented for them, like the slides down to the hideout from hollow trees…How marvelous to see it in person, to understand how Never Land had worked out the details. Maybe Peter would even be there already!

She gulped a little at the thought.

Or…maybe the Lost Boys later.

Really, the best thing was to round up an army to defend Never Land, wasn’t it? She could find Peter and apologize to him—and bring him up to speed on Hook’s nefarious plot—later.

“Yes, mermaids first. And then maybe fairies. I wonder where we should go to find them?”

And her question was answered, in true Never Land fashion, as a fairy dove headfirst into Wendy’s chest.

Captain Hook paced back and forth in his cabin predatorily—but not at all like a wolf. More like a military commander with a motive and possibly a bad back. The angry movements and swishing clothes made the captain’s quarters seem even tighter than they already were; he filled the space with his plumes, red jacket, and frustration. There was room for nothing else besides his rage. When he was interrupted—rarely—the interrupting pirate stayed outside, unable or unwilling to come in.

“Talk, bloody talk, and this will all be over!” Hook swore at his prisoner. “Just tell me where Peter Pan is. Once I have him you can go!”

Pan’s shadow writhed and shrank before the captain, but didn’t answer.

Its lower body was cinched tight with a silken cord, only a little string of shadow sticking out the bottom of the knots—possibly its toe. The rest puffed up and out like a dark genie out of a bottle, though its arms were also stretched and tied. It squirmed and distended itself pitifully in an attempt to get free.

All of the usual sorts of torture had little effect on the thing: discarded implements were strewn around the floor as testament to their uselessness. Knives, pincers, hot brands, tacks through the nails, fingernails drawn across slate boards. He