When he doesnât immediately answer, I open my eyes again to find him watching me. âWhere am I?â
He studies me for a moment longer, and when he does finally speak, his voice sounds haunted and very, very far away. âThat bit of land is known now by only one name, lass. Youâve no doubt heard of it,â he says, his serious eyes turning again to the sea, to the tiny speck of land in the distance. âIn the world you came from, they tell tales of this place.â
His voice has gone so grave that Iâm almost afraid to ask, but I force myself to release the railing. âThey do?â
âAye, they do.â His dark eyes glitter as he leans in close. âLet me be the first to welcome you to Neverland.â
The ship rolled, angry, on the unsettled sea, bearing them onward toward those fabled shores. The boy knew death was a possibility there, yet he could not help but be tempted. For that land held the promise of living only for the present momentâwithout care for past or future, for who he might have once been.
There, he could become anything.
Chapter 10
I PULL BACK, MY HEARTBEAT thundering in my ears, and wait for the mocking curve of his mouth to break into a laugh. Because this has to be a joke. A hugely unfunny and terrible one . . . But the Captainâs expression remains impassive, not playful.
A nervous laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I cannot stop it from escaping. The Captain sighs then, a weary exhalation of breath that has me choking back another nervous, completely panicked giggle as he draws away from me.
âThey never do believe at first,â he says. As he watches me with those hard eyes of his, whatâs left of my laughter dies in my throat. âAnd what you saw through the glass? That wasnât enough to be convincing you?â
âEven if I believe weâre in some sort of magical otherworld,â I say, âeven if I accept that much, you expect me to believe Iâm stuck in some kind of fairy tale?â
His mouth turns down. âI never said this was a fairy tale, lass.â
âYou said weâre in Neverland !â Saying it out loud only makes it sound more ridiculous. âAs in the story? As in Tinker Bell and the Lost Boys and Peter Pan?â
The Captain stiffens, and when he responds, his voice has turned cold and dangerous. âHe doesnât usually call himself Peter. Finds it a bit too human for his tastes.â
I go still at the bitterness in his voice. At the absurdity of what heâs saying. âRight,â I say. Because what else is there to say? Rubbing at my eyes, I will away the headache thatâs started to throb. âWhatâs next?â I ask doubtfully. âFairies?â
âWellââhe turns and leans his hip on the bulwark so he can face meââthey have been a large part of the mess youâre finding yourself in.â
The sincerity of his tone makes me blink. He didnât miss a beat. Heâs either completely delusional or . . .
âI donât believe in fairies,â I say firmly, smiling defiantly as I remember the story. âThere. One less of them for me to worry about.â
He shakes his head, but the ghost of a grin is teasing at his lips. âIf it were as easy as that to kill the bastards, donât you think Iâd have accomplished the task ages ago?â He fixes those dark eyes on me, and the grin falls away. âBesides, Iâd think it would be difficult to refuse what your own eyes have seen.â
âIâve already seen a fairy?â I canât stop myself from asking.
âAye. You met the Dark Ones, did you not?â
My mother told me all sorts of wild things about the monsters she thought were chasing us, but nothing she ever said could have prepared me for the dark creatures that took me from London. Still, as I touch the bracelet at my wrist, I think about the iron nails and