Never (Never, #1) (52)

I’m wearing one of the outfits Bets made for me. It’s a little white boatneck blouse with tailored shorts, and just quietly, between us, I’ve liked the feeling of wearing the clothes that Jem bought me because I feel like I’m wearing a secret.

It all appeared to be wasted on Peter who, at breakfast, barely looked up at me. Yesterday, he flew to one of the towns on one of the other islands and fought a pirate to the death.

“For what?” I asked.

“For honour!” he cried, and the Lost Boys har-har-ed.

His real prize though, it seems, was the knife he took from the pirate.

The handle is silver and twisted. Some of it’s dark, some of it’s light, but how sharp it is feels of a particular concern, especially in the hands of a boy like Peter.

“Look how sharp it is,” he said to no one in particular at breakfast before he gently tapped his finger on the tip of the blade and immediately a drop of blood formed. “It’s magically forged,” he told us, and the boys “ooh-ed.”

Peter held out his hand towards me. “Can I have a hair?” he asked without looking at me.

“What?” I stared over at him, and then he looked up at me and plucked a hair right off my head.

He held the piece of hair between his thumb and his finger like he was trying to thread a needle, except he was literally trying to split a hair just to prove to no one that the knife could do it.

So I kissed his cheek, and he said nothing when I said goodbye.

On my way out, he runs after me and kisses me up against the giant mushroom by the door.

“You look really pretty today, girl,” he tells me.

My cheeks go pink. “Do you want to come with me and Rye? We’re going for a—”

“Boring,” crows Peter, and I roll my eyes, and then he claps both his hands on my face and kisses me again and takes off in the other direction.

“You two seem to be doing better,” Rye says, pushing himself up from the tree he’s leaning against. I hadn’t noticed him there, and I flash him an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry.”

“What for?” He shrugs, indifferent. “You ready to go?”

I nod once.

“Got your basket?”

I flash it to him.

“Got your shears?”

I shake my head.

“A knife?” he asks.

I pull a face.

He shrugs. “I’ve got two. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” I ask him after a few minutes.

“The best place to forage.”

I lift my eyebrows, waiting for more.

He looks over his shoulder and gives me an excited smile. “The Fallen Kingdom.”

I blink at him. “The what?” I guess I’ve not reached this particular part of history in the book yet.

“The fairies, right? They live in tiny pockets, a few here and there. A lot of the time they’re alone.”

“Right.” I nod. They live in the trees mostly, and you can spot them because there’s always this bright light that feels almost too beautiful to be real but feels too warm to be your imagination. The little hollows are usually mossy, baby mushrooms growing around them, the tiniest flowers you’ve ever seen and so much sparkle. I haven’t dared peek in, but it sounds like wind chimes and chirping birds.

“But they used to live in a kingdom.”

“Really?” I stare after him.

“They used to be big too.”

I stop in my tracks, because now this just sounds fake. “What?”

“They still can be.” Rye shrugs.

I shake my head. “Then why?”

“When they’re small, they’re harder to catch.”

I frown over at him. “Who’s trying to catch them?”

Rye gives me a sobering look. “Lots of people.” He reconsiders this answer. “Lots of things.” He doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes again before he stops and crouches down. “This is a type of mycorrhizal mushroom.”

“Oh.” I nod. “We have those on Earth.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I think they’re from there originally, but my people brought them with us. Anyway, it’s safe and edible.” He picks three of them and puts them in his basket. “This one”—he points to a smaller one that’s stringier looking—“also edible.” He pulls a face, and I squint at him, confused. “But the pirates, they’ll come out here looking for these. They’ll grind them up and—” He sniffs.

“Oh!” I gasp. “Like drugs?”

“I mean—”He shrugs. “I don’t know what that is. That’s not what we’d call it here.”

I squint over at him. “What would you call it?”

He chuckles and thinks for a half a second. “Herbal recreation.”

“Drugs.” I nod with a laugh.

We keep walking.

“There’s a few plants around that do that. Flowers and leaves and mushrooms—”

“Do you use them?” I ask as Rye stands and keeps walking.

“Sometimes,” he says.

“For what?” I ask nosily.

He looks back at me. “When I need to.” He stops at a tree and reaches up for a branch, pulling it down. “Come smell this.”