ensnaring her arms and grabbing at the children. But Wendy grabbed back.
She snatched the sticky tendrils, wrenching them from the children and gathering them in her fists. Gritting her teeth, Wendy tugged hard.
The shadow flickered, its distorted face almost looking surprised.
“I’m putting you back where you belong!” Wendy shouted.
The shadow’s cavernous mouth opened wide and let out a roar that shook Wendy’s bones, but she didn’t back down. Quickly, she coiled the ends of the shadow in her hands, reaching and pulling.
Everything shifted. The shadows that had ensnared Wendy were now trying to wrench free of her hold. They jerked Wendy forward, but she refused to let go.
Suddenly, there were more hands. Joel, Matthew, Benjamin, Ashley, even little Alex—they gathered fistfuls of the shadow, trying to help her reel it in.
The wretched creature collapsed on the ground.
“Don’t let go!” Wendy shouted. The children scrambled, tugging and pulling as the shadow stretched.
But it was growing weak. It began to shrink and turn sinewy in her hands.
Tendrils reached out for the base of the tree. Claws dragged at the earth, trying to slip between gnarled roots. It was trying to run away.
Wendy threw herself forward and snatched at the retreating shadow. It was melting into a thick taffy. She plunged her fingers into the ooze as it tried to slip away. Wendy looped it around her hand, reeling it in as it let out another screech.
Ashley yelped and all five of them sprang back, giving Wendy room.
She wrestled the shadow to Peter’s side. Gradually, it was becoming weaker, fighting against Wendy less and less as it pooled at Peter’s feet.
“Peter?” With one hand holding on to the shadow, Wendy dug her other hand into her pocket, pulling out the small sewing kit. “Peter, hold on— It’s okay, I’ve almost got it—” With trembling hands, she pulled out a needle already threaded with white floss.
There wasn’t enough time to think, she just had to do it.
Quickly, Wendy pierced the dirty sole of Peter’s foot with the needle before looping it through the slippery shadow. She worked as fast as she could, stitching the quickly fading shadow to one foot before starting on the other.
This was going to work. It had to work.
When Wendy bit off the end of the thread, Peter still remained motionless. Her own erratic heartbeat thudded in her ears as she waited, looking from Peter’s ghostly pale face to the quickly fading shadow.
It continued to weaken, becoming less and less solid until it was truly just a shadow on the dirt.
“Please, please, please—” Wendy begged.
The shadow stirred and began to retreat under Peter. It disappeared, leaving nothing but the crooked stitches on the soles of his feet.
“Peter?” She reached for his arm, but he didn’t move.
Tears clung to Wendy’s lashes. “Peter—please,” she choked. He needed to make it through this night, too. Wendy needed him to. Not just for the sake of her brothers, trapped back in Neverland, but for her, too.
Cupping his cheeks in her shaky hands, Wendy searched his face for any sign of life.
Peter’s skin was so pale, his freckles nothing but specks of ash. His silvery hair framed his face in a cold glow.
Wendy leaned over him. “Peter!” She’d held up her end of the deal. She gripped his shoulders and gave him a rough shake. “Peter Pan, you wake up, this instant!” She’d reattached his shadow, now he needed to—“WAKE UP!”
Wendy felt it first: warmth slowly growing under her fingertips. She jolted upright, eyes frantic as she searched for more signs. Slowly, color started to return to Peter’s skin. It practically glowed, sun-kissed and radiant in the darkness of the woods. Pink bloomed in his cheeks. The cuts on his lips and the dark circles under his splayed lashes faded away. His hair darkened back to shades of red and brown.
Peter gasped, sucking air back into his lungs. His eyes shot wide open, darting around the clearing before locking onto Wendy’s. They danced with their luster of starlike pinpricks in a sea of deep, dreamy blue. “Wendy?” he breathed, reaching a hand for her. “You…” He squinted as if trying to decide if she was a dream.
Relief knocked the air out of her.
Peter plucked a twig from her hair. “You look awful,” he told her, laughter already bubbling in his throat.
Wendy shoved his face. “You—!”
Peter caught her hand and stood up. He scooped her into his arms and spun her around in the air. Wendy gripped his shoulders, scared that she might fall, but then