Never (Never, #1) (136)

Peter flies over to me, trying to untie my magic ropes, but he can’t.

“Are you okay?” He touches my face. “You’re bleeding.” He pulls out his knife and starts filing away at my binds. He frowns. “It’s not working.”

“Nor will it ever,” Charles tells us with a sneaky grin. “Blood magic. Ties that bind.”

I’m starting to hate magic, I think.

I look back at Peter, try to catch his busy eyes that are alive with the excitement of adventure. “Peter, you need to go. There are things he wants to take from you, really terrible things,” I tell him.

Peter shakes his head. “He’s not getting anything from me.”

“Peter, please.”

“Be quiet.” He gives me a look. “I’m saving you.” He pecks me on the lips, and I blink, stunned, then he flies back to the shelf. “Essence of lightning!” he reads from a jar out loud, beaming. He uses the hand to open it, then shakes the jar empty and onto the ground.

“No!” Charles yells but—

It feels like time and light crack open for a second. The sound of it is unparalleled. I’ve never heard a sound as loud as that. It feels warm. Like someone threw a cup of hot water at me.

When I can finally peel my eyes open, I see that the cabin’s been blown apart.

I’m still tied to the mast, but it’s fallen. One of the shelves fell in the explosion and is pinning me down.

“Peter!” I call for him.

I hear him crow. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll kill them all and be back for you!”

Then—silence.

Well, not total silence, actually. I can hear something…

Rushing?

Something rushing.

Water?

Water. The ship’s sinking.

I breathe out this sigh that’s partly made of a cry and stare up at the ceiling that’s not there anymore.

It’s just a dark night sky and an impossibly bright moon.

A funny way to die, I suppose.

Magically tied to a sinking ship.

A bit of a metaphor for my last few months, I suppose.

The water’s rising now, rather a lot. I’m still pinned under the shelf.

“Peter!” I call for him.

Perhaps this is stupid to do, alerting or reminding Charles of my presence, but also, it’s my only chance.

Charles looks over at me, pinned with the water rising. He sniffs a little laugh. “I guess you’re drowning either way tonight.”

“Please, wait,” I call after him.

Deep from within the belly of the ship, I hear groans and cracks, and then Charles runs, holding what he can, which isn’t much.

He darts from the room, and I hear Peter crow a laugh from a distance.

The ship groans again and collapses in on itself a bit.

The shelf on top of me shifts but in a worse way, one of the shelves splintering off and driving through my arm.

I let out a cry of pain.

And then—a flash of shimmering light and the shelf flies off me, flung across to the other side of the room.

A tattered little Rune climbs up my chest and gives me a tired smile.

I sigh, relieved.

She jangles, annoyed.

“He’s fighting the pirates.”

She jangles more.

“Jem and I? No. We’re not—we’re done. I don’t want to. Rune!” I yell, exasperated. “It’s not the time!”

She stomps her foot and flies herself around the mast, moving it vertical again, but as she does, the ship makes a horrible lurch, and I fall through the floor I’m sitting on.

And I expect to be winded the second I hit the ground beneath me, but I don’t hit ground. I hit water.

And then I’m sinking.

I see a dart of light shoot through the water as Rune tugs and heaves at the binds, but they don’t budge. I see flashes of light—her throwing all the magic she has at it—but they never get any looser, and I’m going down with the ship.

She keeps trying, and I don’t know how to tell her that there’s nothing she can do.

I’m swallowing a lot of water, and I can feel my body filling up in places you don’t want it to.

People say that drowning’s not so bad, but actually, I can’t say that I’d highly recommend it.

Then Rune shoots out of the water and away.

I don’t know where she’s going. Maybe she’s saving herself. She should. That doesn’t sound like her, but I hope it’s what she’s doing.

I can’t help but wonder if Peter’s forgotten about me. It feels like something he would do. Bedazzled by the potential victory in front of him rather than his drowning love in the water.

That’s something though, isn’t it? That he loved me? A feather in my hat. How many people can say that about Peter Pan? I might be the only one. The only person in the history of time who Peter Pan has loved, and I will pay the price for it as I lie here dying while he’s off fighting to save me.

At least someone loved me here, I tell myself, trying to distract myself from the pain.

At least Peter loved me, and at least I’ll be dead so I’ll never have to admit to him that he was right all along about Jamison.

This is going through my head as the ship and I hit sand.

We’ve sunk. Hit the seabed floor.