“No.” I don’t mention the bruises I’m certain are going to appear on my stomach from the rough ride on Bunk’s shoulder. “They fed me and helped me warm u-u-up.” As I say it, my teeth chatter again.
He hurries to my chair and pushes me closer to the fledgling fire.
“I’m okay.” I lean forward as the first wisps of heat begin to enter the room.
Peter yells down the hall. “Tootles, bring blankets!”
His voice echoes away down the tunnel as I turn and look at the rest of the room. It’s bare except for a wide wooden table in the middle with what looks like a map of Neverland on top.
“I thought the i-i-island was always changing?” I jut my chin toward the map.
“It is, but there are some constants. The mermaid grotto, for one. The Neverian camp?—”
“They call themselves Guardians.”
He glowers. “They can call themselves coconuts for all I care as long as they don’t touch you again.”
“Why did you think they’d hurt me? And why did you call me your boon?”
“They kidnapped you from Coy. That was reason enough to suspect?—”
Guilt punches me in the gut. “Oh my god, Coy! Is he okay?”
“He is, though I should’ve killed him when I realized he took you with him to town. He disobeyed me.”
I swallow hard, a trickle of fear rolling down my spine right along with the water. But Peter doesn’t really mean he’dkillhim. Just a figure of speech.
“Is he all right, though?”
“They’re fine.” He waves a hand. “They failed me, but they’re fine. For now.” He returns to the chair across from me and sits. His golden skin is already drying, his hair windswept and his eyes just as bright as always.
“It’s not their fault. I tricked Tootles into taking me with him, and then I pressured Coy to go along with it.”
“Itistheir fault.” There’s a hard edge to his voice. “If something had happened to you …” He scrubs a hand down his face.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Nothing bad,” I amend.
Tootles almost falls through the door, his arms full of tattered blankets. “I got all I could carry.”
“About damn time.” Peter stands and starts making a little pallet on the floor in front of the fire. “Moira, strip and get under here.”
I give him the look he deserves.
Tootles turns a tomato shade of red.
“It’s to get you warm.” Peter fusses a little more until he’s made a fine nest. “Come on.”
“I’m not stripping in front of you.”
He stands and puts his hands on his hips, a deep sigh whooshing out of him. “Moira?—”
“I’ll strip once you’re gone.” I mimic his pose, hands on hips. “Not before.”
He glances around as if he might find a Guardian lurking on the stone wall.
