He parries me.
I step back, then almost fall into the water.
Taking the opening, he grabs me again and wraps his arm around my waist, his other hand going to my wrist and squeezing until I’m forced to drop my sword. “There. That’s better. You’re done, Moira. You’re mine. You can’t beat me. You’llneverbeat me. And I’ll never let anyone else have you.”
He’s right, of course. I can’t beat him. Not in a fair fight.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a vial of fairy dust.
As he does it, I pull the blade Bill gave me from behind me and stab it into his neck.
He screams and shoves me away.
I run forward to grab the knife and finish the job, but he swings his sword up, catching me in the chest. The blade goes through, piercing me so swiftly I barely feel it.
His eyes widen with horror, and he pulls his sword free.
I stumble and fall backwards, the water catching me and pulling me into the depths below.
Chapter
Twenty-One
The water doesn’t scare me this time. If anything, it’s comforting. Like soft hands cradling me and pulling me along to whatever’s next.
I close my eyes and drift, my heart beating a strange new rhythm.
“Moira.”
Curling in on myself, I ignore the soft voice in my ear.
“Moira, sweetheart. Wake up.”
I know the voice, but it’s a lie. It’s not my mother. It’s the island.
“Moira, please.”
It feels different, though. Somehow, this voice feels warm. I can’t trust it, though. I can’t trust anything here. The one person I believed in is gone, and I don’t think I want to go on without him. I tried my best. I did everything I could to balance Neverland, to save it from itself.
“Be brave, my sweet child. Be brave.”
Why does it have to hurt so much? To hear her voice saying his words? I reach for the pearl in my pocket and squeeze it between my fingers.
“I’m not brave, Mom.”
“You are.”
I feel her palm on my cheek, and I open my eyes.
We float beneath the water in a golden orb, just like the one that surrounded Ari and me as I told my story.
“Is it really you?” I look up at her.
“It is.” She leans down and kisses my forehead. “The island pulled me from its memories. I think it felt a bit … guilty.”
“The island feels guilty?”
She nods, her wings flapping slowly behind her. “It’s a beating heart, one full of all the emotions we experience. Dreams are creatures of emotion, of imagination. Just like stories.” She glances at my chest. “You have to wake, Moira. You have to fight to the surface.”
