I sit up straighter, and he presses the funnel-looking thing to my chest and listens for a while. “Good.” He puts that away, then kneels and lifts my baggy pantleg. “Huran did wonders on this bite. Great stitching, too. You’re healing nicely.” He moves his fingers around the wound, and I grit my teeth against the little sizzles of pain. “How does it feel?”
“It doesn’t hurt as bad. Still aches, though.”
“It will for a while. But soon you won’t even think about it.” He lowers my pantleg then stands. “How about the rest of you? Any pain? Any headaches?”
“No. I mean, I used to have them every morning when I was on the island. But I suppose after the bite, I was more focused on that? I don’t know.” I try to think back to the last time I had one of those pounding headaches. “Yeah, no headaches. I’m good.”
“Nightmares?” He closes his bag slowly.
“Why? Do you have a cure for nightmares in your bag?”
“No, but that would be grand, wouldn’t it?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Oh, you were serious. Um, no, I don’t remember my dreams. Well, I did sort of when I first got here, but now I’m back to just nothing.” I tap my temple. “Blank.”
“Good.” He seems relieved.
“Wait.”
“Hmm?” He hefts his bag.
“Why would you ask about my dreams?”
“Neverland can have strange effects, especially certain parts of it.” He looks down at me, his eyes studying my face. “When I first saw you, you were suffering from the mermaid bite, but you also had something else. Another sickness.”
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“You did. A wasting disease I’ve seen before. It’s peculiar to the island and to …” He clears his throat and lowers his bag again. “Don’t worry. It’s not active at the moment. You don’t seem drained like before. Your color is much better, your heart stronger.”
“What were you going to say? You didn’t finish your thought.” I’m tired of half-truths and hidden bullshit. Widow is only starting to open up, Hook never shoots straight with me, and everyone else on this ship is more or less a mystery. But Skylights strikes me as someone who might level with me.
“It’s just a guess on my part.” He shakes his head. “I can’t be certain, so I don’t want to say more.”
“Say more.” I grab one of the handles on his bag, holding it hostage. “Seriously, tell me the truth.”
He glances at the door, then back at me. “Like I said, nothing for certain.”
“Don’t hold out on me.” I tighten my grip on his bag.
He thinks for a moment, then says, “Let me put it this way: I don’t think your time with Peter was great for your health. Now, if you don’t mind, I think Cecco mentioned a leak I need to fix.” He pulls his bag away from me.
“You fix leaks, too?” I ask half-heartedly, my mind still locked on what he’d just said.
He gives me a wry smile. “Not a leak on the ship, Moira. Cecco’s leakiness is a bit more … personal.”
When I figure out what he’s implying, I wrinkle my nose. “You’re a good medic to help him out with that.”
“I’ve tried to get him to lay off the wild women, the mermaids, the sirens, the succubi, the vampires, the goblin mistresses—all of it. But there’s no talking sense into him. So, I just have to keep working on the damage.” He gives me a small bow and backs out of the room, leaving me with my wrinkled nose and my curiosity piqued.
Does he think Peter did something to me? Peter didn’t. Other than not feeding me anything other than neverberries, he never hurt me. I think back through it all—how he saved me from the mermaids, rescued me from the Guardians, looked out for me around the cave. But then I remember our last times together—when he prepared a bath for me and my mind got all fuzzy. When the shadows erupted from the ground, the images of children with red eyes intent on chasing down anyone in their path. What would’ve happened if one of them had caught me?
I shudder just thinking about it. But my revulsion doesn’t answer any of my questions. What were those things and how are they related to Peter? He denied they existed. He was wrong. Something’s not adding up.
A high-low whistle cuts across my thoughts, and I go back out on the deck.
Pirates are hurrying this way and that, tying off lines and furling sails as the ship slows. Neverland has risen on either side of us, the cliffs dotted with scrubby trees and veins of some sort of silver ore. The channel we’re in narrows sharply just ahead.
“Drop anchor!” Hook calls from the front of the ship, his back to me.
