Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell

Somewhere in Never Land…

“Wait, did we look over by the Troll Bridge?”

“…We did?”

“What about the Tonal Spring?”

“And the beaches around the Shimmering Sea?”

The asker of these questions was a slender young man of indeterminate age—though perhaps if an observer looked him dead in the face she would notice the last pockets of baby fat plumping his cheeks just above the cheekbones. His eyes and mouth and even nose wiggled and puckered with every word and thought in between, like a toddler telling a very important story to his mother. His hair was mussed up and red, his eyebrows a thicker, darker red.

And were his ears just a touch pointed, at the tips?

The one who answered his questions certainly had pointed ears, though the same observer might be hard-pressed to make out any ears—or actual answers—at all. The boy spoke to what appeared to be little more than a golden light that bobbed and sparkled and tinkled like bells. In fact, the whole scene resembled a mesmerist quizzing a pendulum held from a long golden chain, glittering in the sunlight, whose vague swings returned meanings known only to the occultist himself.

But upon looking more closely, one would see that inside the golden bauble was a tiny woman with very pointed ears, a serious face, a green dress, and sparkling wings. Her body was like a series of energetic globes, from her golden hair in its messy bun to her hips to the round silver bells that decorated her shoes. Throughout the conversation every part of her was as animated as her friend’s face.

“Really? We looked in all those places? Huh. Well, what about…here!”

The boy spun suddenly and grabbed the side of a tree, as if to physically move it out of the way. Really, he was just looking behind it. But there was nothing hiding there aside from some brightly colored lichen, a camouflage moss, and a few grazing unicorn beetles.

From this sudden motion and burst of energy to dead exhaustion; the boy slumped, strangely drained by disappointment and exertion. He slid down to the base of the tree, causing at least two of the shining white beetles to flee into higher branches.

The bauble of light glittered aggressively up and down. It jingled angrily.

“I can’t anymore, Tink. I’m beat. I just…I just don’t feel like it.”

The fairy—for that is what she was—zoomed closer, concerned. And it was when her light shone its brightest on his countenance that the most unusual detail of an already fey and wondrous scene became apparent. For no matter how intensely she glowed, no matter how perfectly yellow and dazzling the sun in the sky shone, neither source of light managed to produce a shadow off the boy.

The bauble jingled in tones of hope.

“I don’t know. We’ve looked everywhere. Twice. Tink, I just don’t know where it could be!”

The bauble swayed quietly, pensively. Almost as if the fairy within was in that rarest state of all for fairies: deep thought.

Possibly bothered by something.

But the boy, even in his diminished state, still kept his attention permanently fixed on himself. He did not notice.

She jingled once, tentatively.

“Naw, I don’t feel like flying. Not right now. I think I’ll just rest here for a while. You go on without me. I could use a nap. Then I’ll feel better. I just know it.”

The fairy jingled worriedly around his face.

“Just…go look without me.” He swatted her away like a gnat, sleep already overtaking his body once the decision had been made. “Don’t feel like flying…anymore.…”

He yawned a giant, repulsive yawn, and was soon snoring.

The fairy regarded him silently. She hung in a cool shadow of the generous tree, spun gently by a summery breeze.

They were at the edge of the Quiescent Jungle, which was the friendliest forest in Never Land. The leaves of the trees spanned every shade of golden green, and the creatures who lived there were all harmless and mostly furry. The air smelled like ripening blackberries—although it was not quite the right season—and a whisper of cool moistness hinted at a delightfully icy stream somewhere nearby.

Only a fool would want to leave. Only a genius would choose to nap there.

But Tinker Bell was twitchy. She had a rather dark inkling of where the shadow could be, since they had effectively proven where it could not be.

And if her friend ever found out that she’d had this inkling all along, he would be very cross with her indeed.

She floated silently over to his face, her golden sparkles illuminating every lash,