“Did you just refer to me as an ‘it’?” I move from behind Coy.
“Not you. Just a part of you.” Geo glances down my body and steps closer.
Bastard. “I ought to slap that scraggly beard off your stupid face.” I amdefinitelysuffering from caffeine withdrawal.
Geo’s nostrils flare. “Come and try?—”
“Geo!” Coy’s voice is so deep and loud that I jump. “Back the fuck up and get back to patrol duty. We’re done here.”
Geo hesitates, as if he’s considering his alternatives (and, based on the look on his face, those alternatives would be violent), then turns and lets out a sharp whistle. His contingent of Lost Boys follows him away through the trees until they disappear in the shadowy depths.
“What the hell is his problem?” My hands are shaking, so I cross my arms and tuck my hands underneath and against my sides.
“He’s an ass. Always has been, if I remember correctly.” Coy turns to me. “You all right?”
“We would’ve protected you, Moira.” Tootles reassures me from behind Coy.
“Geo wouldn’t hurt you,” Nibs says placatingly. “He’s just very … pugnacious.”
“He’s been looking for a scrap lately. With so few Neverians left and the pirates keeping their distance, he’s like a powder keg waiting to go off.” Nibs adjusts his glasses. “Until we can defeat Hook and repair the island’s magic, I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do about it.”
“Pugnacious?” Slightly rolls his eyes. “Nibs, you seriously have to lay off the big words.”
The temperature seems to lower as Coy takes stock of the surroundings. Once satisfied, he motions for our merry little band to continue through the woods. Even so, I can tell he’s still on alert, his hand frequently at my lower back as he helps me over fallen trees and under craggy outcrops of stone.
We walk for what feels like hours, though Nibs assures me it’s only been half an hour when we stop for a little rest and some water from Slightly’s canteen.
I look out at the sparkling sea in the distance, the bits of moonlight that filter through the clouds playing along its surface. Something flutters past overhead, dark wings stretched out and seeking. The trees above us are covered with vines and dripping in bright green flowers that wave in the light breeze.
“My mind sure can conjure some beautiful scenery.” I sigh as a moth flutters past, its bright wings seemingly glowing a neon pink as it flits from one bloom to another.
“You still think this is all in your head?” Coy asks.
“It has to be.” I shrug.
“Why? Why can’t this be just as real to you as the mainland?”
“Because it’s not.” I realize that’s a dumb answer, but it’s true. There’s also a darker answer, one I can only tiptoe around. I meet Coy’s gaze, his eyes the color of emerald with golden flecks. “And because … Because this sort of delusion runs in the family.”
“You mean Wendy?”
“What Wendy had—her wild tale of Neverland—was nothing compared to my mother. She lived in her imagination to the point where she stopped eating, stopped existing anywhere else except in here.” I tap my temple. “It makes sense that this is just my first step down that same road.” It sounds logical as I say it, but I’m lying to myself if I don’t admit it scares the shit out of me. All the more reason for me to keep telling myself none of this is real. I have to keep a grasp on reality. If I don’t, I’ll be lost just like her.
“I’m sorry.” Coy covers my hand with his. He doesn’t say anything else. I suppose he doesn’t have to. It’s admittedly pathetic, but Coy’s the closest friend I’ve had in a long time.
“I thoughtit would be bigger and less … grubby.” It’s the nicest word I can use for the ramshackle collection of buildings on a small beach with driftwood and seaweed piled here and there. The smell of fish and the call of seagulls led us right to the town.
It’s only a handful of small huts with a sandy path running between them all the way down to the water. A few coconut trees wave overhead, and I can hear voices drifting from a few of the shanties.
“It actually makes me thankful for the cave.” I muse as a burly man barrels past us, his hands at his waistband, then leans against a nearby wall and starts to piss all over it. “Classy.”
“The island doesn’t always take kindly to settlers.” Slightly tips his chin at a one-armed man who skulks past us, his tricorn ripped and dirty. “Carge, got any fresh fish?”
“Fresh, heh?” Carge laughs, the sound wet and thick. “I’ve got fish, but don’t push your luck.” He waves Slightly over to a small hut made of driftwood and held together with a prayer.
“Well, he’s downright terrifying.” I watch as Carge throws open a chest beside his front door and Slightly takes an inventory.
“Well, hello, dearie.” I turn to find an older woman with stringy gray hair hobbling toward me. “Beautiful girl. Hello, hello.”
