Never (Never, #1) (64)

My cheeks go pink, and then his mother walks back in with what looks like a little gold compass in hand. She offers it to Jem.

He looks down at it. “What’s this?”

“A compass,” she tells him with a look, and he flips it open, looking down at it.

“It’s broken.” He tells her.

She leans over and peers down, and I can’t see it, but she looks from the compass to me and then says, “No, it’s not.”

And then she waves her hand and starts rearranging the flowers that are on her dining table.

Jamison frowns down at it in his hand. “North’s that way.” He points north, apparently.

She glances back at him. “Who said anything about north?”

And then they seem to have a mother-son conversation with their eyes, and he pockets the compass and says no more about it.

I stare over at Itheelia, whizzing flowers through the air, and I try to do the maths. “How old are you?”

She gasps dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. “The nerve.”

I look over at Jamison instead, who’s moved to an armchair by a fireplace that isn’t lit.

“Mum.” He nods his head at the empty fireplace.

“Can’t my son build a fire with his own two hands?” She scowls.

“Cannae my mother no’ just”—he snaps his fingers—“with her magical powers?” He gives her an impatient look.

“Lazy, impatient, slothful—”

“Cold.” He interrupts her.

Itheelia rolls her eyes. With about four flicks of her wrist, the fire is ablaze.

Jem gets up from the chair and crouches down in front of it, warming his hands, and I stare over at him and swallow.

I like how he looks when he’s lit up by flames, the shadows they cast over his face. I could possibly just actually like his face in general though.

Jem looks over his shoulder at me and nods his chin towards the chair he was in.

This floors me a little in a way that I know it shouldn’t. To be surprised he wants me by him? To be happy that the boy I’ve spent the day with hasn’t forgotten my name once? What is Peter Pan doing to me?

I go and sit in it, then watch him till he looks at me again.

“Are ye warm?” he asks.

I nod, not saying anything, and he nods back.

“How old are you, Daphne?” his mother calls.

“Eighteen,” I fib, and Jamison gives me a tall look, so I add, “Almost.”

She looks over at us with pinched eyes as she makes a pot of tea from scratch. “In thirty-one days, I’ll bet.”

I look at Jem, eyes wide and pleased. “Am I eighteen in thirty-one days?”

He nods once, smile all subdued, and I sit up taller at the thrill of it.

“Start of November?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say and smile.

She nods her head at Jem. “End of November.”

“Really!” I beam up at him, and he says nothing, doesn’t even look at me, just sort of smiles at the fire.

“Born in 1948?” Itheelia asks me.

I shake my head. “Forty-nine.”

She waves her hand, and the teapot lifts itself in the air and starts pouring into the teacups.

“How old were you when you had Jem?”

“Jem?” She blinks but I suspect she’s perhaps at least a bit pleased, and I notice that, rather intentionally, her son doesn’t look away from the fire; he just stares at it, waiting for his mother’s comment to drift by.

I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but this feels the same to me as when he put his coat around me. Sort of weighted. More than just keeping me warm, it’s a heavy thing that feels like an anchor being laid on the seabed of who I am. Just settling in, making itself at home.

As though me having a name for him that’s just mine needs no explanation.

“I stopped counting my age at five hundred,” Itheelia tells me with a pleasant smile.

“And how did you meet Captain Hook?” I tuck my feet under myself, and Jem sits on the arm of the chair.

I like the feeling of him hovering over me. It’s safe. And it’s then I realise that actually, I haven’t felt safe in quite some time.

She rolls her eyes again, as though she’s annoyed to have to talk about it, but you know the look women get in their eyes when they’re asked to regale stories of their youth? She’s not too displeased, even if she’s pretending to be.

“Here.” She nods. “On the island.”

“Were you married?”

Jamison scowls, shaking his head.

“But together for quite some time though.” She nods.

“Longer than they should hae been,” Jem adds, eyeing his mother.

“He wasn’t a founder though?” I say, but mostly I’m asking.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Neither were we though, really.” She gives me a pleasant smile. “Can’t find something that’s already been founded.”

“So where are the rest of you?” I ask her brightly, but immediately her face pulls in discomfort.

“Day—my dear friend Day—lives on Alabaster Island now. And Aanya, she’s—I don’t know—somewhere. She moves around a lot. Hard to pin down.”