“Never.” I keep edging backwards.
“Don’t be like that.” He pouts and advances. “We can still make this fun. Like a game. I won’t be able to drug you this time, but I can still make it enjoyable for you. It’s just a little make-believe, that’s all. You tell me stories, and I’ll make you happy.”
“I’ll never tell you another story, Peter. I’m done. You won’t steal any more children.”
He pulls back as if wounded. “I don’tstealthem. They’re already dead. I bring them here so they can live forever with me, having fun in Neverland.”
“You trap them, enslave them. They can never move on to whatever’s next. Never see their families again. They even forget their mothers.”
“No one needs a mother. Wendy taught me that.” He grins. “I just need the island. Then I can keep bringing more children here so we can all have fun. No more growing up for anyone. Think of all the adventures we could have.”
“I think you used to believe that. You thought you were giving the children a reprieve, granting them a life outside of the one they’d already lived. But you don’t believe that anymore, do you? You stopped believing in the magic of children the moment you began preying on them.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think, Moira. It never has.”
“The island is tearing itself apart because of you! You used to be good. You used to love children. You used to?—”
“I used to be weak!” he yells, his voice shaking the surface of the water. “Not anymore. Iwillhave Neverland, and I will haveyoufor as long as I wish.” He adopts a stern tone, the monster inside him mocking our conversation. “Now stop playing games, and come home.”
I can’t back away anymore. I’m at the end of the small island, and Peter is still advancing on me.
“Stay back.” I swipe my sword through the air.
“Are you waiting for Hook to save you, Moira?” He smirks, a vicious glint in his eye. “I heard a sad story about his death at sea. I can’t wait for you to retell it to me again and again. I do believe that will be my favorite story of yours. Why don’t you go ahead and tell it to me now? I’d love to hear a firsthand account of how he drowned, his body torn to bits by the creatures in the deep. Do you think anything is left of him? I doubt it. In fact, I’d like you to tell me that story tonight at bedtime while I’m inside you. Seems fitting, don’t you think? He may have had you, but now I get to keep you. My little pet from the mainland.”
The wound was already open and bleeding, and Peter just poured gasoline into it and lit a match. Even though my heart aches, my spine straightens, and I step toward him, my sword at the ready.
“You want to play?” He pulls his own sword. “Do you need to bleed before you’ll give in?” He licks his lips. “I can give you that.”
He swings hard. I counter, and our swords meet. I immediately counter-attack, the way Widow taught me, and draw my sword along his upper thigh.
He lets out a yell and backs up, then reaches down and looks at the blood on his fingers. “You cut me.” He sounds nothing short of incredulous.
“I’ll do it again. Come at me.” I bare my teeth and think about Coy, Tootles, Nibs—all the Lost Boys Peter hurt and killed. The island was right. He’s beyond saving. He’s become the murderous villain, the nightmare feared by all children. I have to put an end to it.
He’s a better swordsman than I am. I know that. But he also has a disadvantage: he can’t kill me.
Flinging the blood off his fingertips, he advances on me and thrusts straight for my stomach. I parry his blade, knocking it to the side, then come down hard on his shoulder.
He yells and backs away, his eyes flashing with rage. “What the fuck?” He glances at his shoulder, then shakes his head. “Is that all you have? I thought you’d been practicing.”
I aim for his throat, slicing sideways, then spinning and bringing my sword lower.
He parries then grabs the front of my shirt, yanking me to him. “You can’t kill me, Moira. I’m a god.”
“You’re an asshole.” I headbutt him, pain blooming on my forehead as blood spurts from his nose.
“Moira!” He howls and reaches for me again.
I slash my sword against his arm, cutting deep and drawing more blood.
“Stop this!” He fights off my next slash, then slices my leg and brings his blade to my throat. “Stop, I said.” He wipes the blood from his nose.
I lean against his blade, the metal cutting my neck and sending a rivulet of blood racing to my collarbone.
He pulls it away. “Not so fast.” He tsks. “I won’t kill you until I’m finished with you. It’s going to be a long,longtime.”
I stab for his heart.
