“I wouldn’t know a gooseberry if it bit me on the ass.”
“They don’t bite.” She stops chewing and leans closer, looking around suspiciously. “As far as I know.”
I smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Sometimes.” She nods. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
I want to thank her, to tell her that I’m so glad I met her. But I don’t. I can’t. The last time I made a friend on this island, it didn’t turn out so well. God, I just made out with the man who murdered said friend. My mind’s muddled with too many feelings. It’s like I can’t fit them all inside me, and my heart is still sore where Hook ripped it apart.“Because he hurt you.”
“What happened right then? You just sort of … went gray.”
I clear my throat. “Just thinking about things.”
“Like what?”
“About …” Hell, I may as well tell her some of it—the juicy bits are what she’s after. I drop my voice to a whisper. “You saw what you saw.”
“Indeed I did.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s Hook. He’s a bad guy. He’s told me as much.” He’s a villain.
“Mmhmm.” She spears one of the sweet and spicy veggies and chews it thoughtfully. “Has he been bad to you?”
“Bad to me?”
She points her fork at me. “Has he hurt you?”
No, just the opposite. He’s protected me at all costs. But I can’t same the same for Coy. “Not me. But he killed a friend of mine.”
She nods. “The Lost Boy?”
“Yes.” I drop my gaze, shame washing over me. I kissed Coy’s killer. I kissed him, and I liked it. God, I’m a shitty friend at best.
“Hook will kill any Lost Boy he can get his hands on. Everyone knows that.” She says it so matter-of-factly. As if it’s completely normal to murder on sight.
“Because he hates Peter?” I know from Wendy’s stories that Hook hating Peter is nothing new, but given the rawness of Hook earlier, I think the hate has reached boiling sunspot levels.
“I don’t think so, though I’m sure that plays into it quite a bit.”
“Then why?”
“To set them free.”
I drop my fork onto my plate. “That’s crazy, Widow. Death isn’t setting someone free.”
“It is when it’s a Lost Boy. They aren’t like us, Moira. They aren’treal.” She says it with utter conviction, and somehow it strikes a slightly wild chord inside me. Maybe because I can still see the fear and pain in Coy’s eyes and hear his voice telling me to run. Maybe because the guilt from that night still eats at me whenever I get a moment to be still. Or maybe because I’m falling under a spell woven by his killer. All of it. It’s all of it, and Widow has lit a fuse that sizzles and sparks inside me.
I scoff. “Real. What the hell does that even mean?” My voice rises as the image of the cinderblock wall threatens in my mind. “None of this is real.Youaren’t real. A part fairy who was in service in England in what, the 1800s? And yet you’re here talking to me?” I put my plate down and rub my temples. “I’m really going insane. I’m her. I’m turning intoher, and I can’t stop it. Maybe I never could.”
The voices around the fire are quieter now, and when I look across the flames, I freeze.
Widow reaches for me, lightly gripping my forearm. “Moira, I know it’s hard to hear. I get it, but?—”
“Stop!” I jump to my feet.
