“Shut up.” She glared at him. “And come up with a plan.”
“What’s that?” He pointed.
“If this is a ‘made you look’ prank, I swear to God.” Lowering her voice, she threatened him. “I’m going to throw you to the goddamn crocodile.”
“No, Wendy, look—” he insisted.
Turning her head, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. It looked like a gigantic wicker basket? But like, the sloppiest one she’d ever seen. It was floating closer to them, having just squeaked in under the archway.
Wait. It wasn’t a basket.
It was a nest. Some six or seven feet in diameter. And there was a large white bird perched on the edge of it. About twice the size of a parrot, it squawked and flapped its wings, propelling the nest a little closer to shore.
“It’s the Never Bird.” Peter laughed.
“You just made that shit up.”
“I didn’t. I swear,” he muttered to her, his voice changing to Virtue’s. “This is in the book.”
“Deus-ex-bird’s-nest is in the book?” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, and it’s weirder the way it’s written. There’s like…eggs and a…never mind. Just get in.” Peter reached out for the edge of the nest and grabbed it. As he did, the large bird flew off, soaring up into the night sky.
“At least there’s room for two of us in here, and we don’t have to Titanic door this shit.” She climbed in, glad to see that it was pretty stable for something made out of sticks and twigs.
Peter climbed in after her, and he quickly laid down, groaning in relief. Just as he did, the last of the rock platform disappeared under the water. Their fateful rescue had come just in time.
He let out a long, heavy breath.
She sat down next to him, looking up at the starry night sky. It was a stunning sight without all of the city light pollution that she’d grown accustomed to all her life. She wished she could really enjoy it. And that she wasn’t sitting next to a man who was critically injured while being stalked by a crocodile with an electrical generator wired in its chest.
“We don’t have any oars. How do we get home?”
“The tide’ll take us to safety.” As he rested his head against her shoulder, she could tell he was already falling asleep. Or dying.
One of the two.
But he was Peter Pan. He couldn’t die.
Right?
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning, Sasha headed out on deck.
“Mornin’, Mr. Smee,” a pirate greeted her as he was scrubbing the wood planks.
“Morning.” She stepped around the man’s work, not wanting to walk through where he’d just been cleaning. That was just rude. It had been weird waking up in the closet of a pirate ship. It had been weirder wandering down to the cook’s mess hall to get coffee and toast with butter on it for breakfast.
It was even weirder that all the pirates were nice to her. They all greeted her like they knew her.I am the boss’s favorite suck-up to them, after all. And maybe gay lover? Lordy, I’m sure there are volumes of that all over the internet.She had taken her little tin mug up to the deck to find the captain.
Because as much as this felt like the world’s weirdest bed and breakfast, she was anxious.
Captain Hook was standing up by the aft of the ship along the starboard side, staring at the island, his flesh and blood hand folded at his back. She stood beside him and waited.
And waited.
Andwaited.
