“Sure. Yes.” A chorus of voices.
“Oh, and get dressed. All of you.”
They laugh, but I hear them scuffling about and the opening and closing of drawers on the wide dresser.
Something lands on the blanket above me. “Here’s a shirt.”
“Thanks.” I reach up and pull it underneath with me. After a slight wrestling match, I have it on. From the looks of it, it falls to mid-thigh. The front sort of comes down in a ‘V’ with mismatched buttons and little bits of leather to keep it fastened. I do my best to get it on, then whip the blanket off my head.
“I suppose I’m a Lost Boy now.” I stand.
Peter steps closer, his torso still bare. “Looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” I cough again, my throat still aching all the way down into my chest.
Peter frowns and points to the bed. “Get in.”
“No way. It’s not even bedtime, is it?” I have no idea how long I’ve been awake. The last I saw, the moon was still up, but that doesn’t tell me anything.
“It’s close enough. You should?—”
“Brought ‘em.” Slightly strides in, a bowl of neverberries in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Heard you had a run-in with the mermaids.” He gives me a winning smile, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Why did none of you mention their teeth?” I pluck a berry from the plate and chew it. It bursts on my tongue, sweeter than the ones I had earlier.
Peter points behind me. “Get in bed. I won’t disturb you. You can have it all to yourself.”
“What? The whole thing?”
“Yeah. I’ll sleep around the cave or in the tree. But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”
I have to admit I’m tired. I didn’t sleep great last night, and then swimming—and fighting for my life—seem to have taken a lot out of me. “You sure you can’t make me a bed somewhere else? A regular-sized one? Maybe I can take a bunk or?—”
“No.” Peter puts his hands on his hips, the picture of stern. “Get in the bed, Moira.”
I grab a few more berries from the plate and dutifully slide under the covers.
“Can I ask a favor, though, before you fall asleep?” He sits on the edge of the bed and fiddles with my blanket, tucking it in around my legs and making me a burrito—which is wonderful, if I’m being honest.
“What?” I wash the berries down with the cold water.
“Could you tell us a story?”
“Another one?” I settle back onto the lumpy pillow, a luxury compared to the chair in the corner.
“Yes, as many as you’d like.” Peter stops scooting the blanket underneath me, and the others all sit down, some on the floor and others on the edge of their beds.
“Okay.” I feel suddenly nervous. Stage fright, I suppose. “What sort of story do you want? I know lots of fairy tales.” At the mention of the word, the glowing orb that I now know is Tinker Bell jets into the room and rests on Peter’s shoulder. The bell is ringing, the sound still slightly offkey to my ears, not that I could carry a tune in a bucket.
Peter frowns. “Tinker Bell has verypolitelyrequested you keep her people’s name out of your mouth.”
“What is your problem?” I ask the tiny firefly.
The bell rings louder and faster now.
“All right. All right. Calm down.” Peter shakes his head. “Just let her tell us a story. If you have a problem with any of it, you can take it up with me afterwards, okay?”
She circles his head twice, then shoots out the door, her discordant notes echoing back at me from the hallway.
