He doesn’t say it regretfully.
“Even Tinker Bell can’t always manage it. Her wings have become sodding useless. Shriveled up. She’s tattooed herself with the last of the pixie dust instead. The original, of course. The mother source. I’ve been using a bit myself in my refreshments for the boys. But it’s losing power.”
There’s so much information Holly struggles to take it all in. But one detail jumps out at her, as she remembers the swoop of starlings in the atrium—Tink’s found a way to boost her power, and she hasn’t shared it with Peter. Interesting, Holly thinks, but she keeps it to herself. “I can’t help you with the happy thoughts, but I’ve been working on—”
“Yes, your little potions and lotions,” he interrupts, grinning at her surprise. “I’ve been following you. Keeping an eye, at least. Paid a few visits to Cornwall, but couldn’t get too close. Windows always shut. Nurses always hovering about. That one”—he jerks a thumb toward the cottage and Tink—“persuaded me to give it up as a bad business. ‘Nothing to see, move it along. Boring place, Peter, all cows and sheep.’？” He looks at her speculatively. “But you’ve got something new, maybe? And whatever it is, you think it can un-age me well enough that if I can figure out how to get there, I can go back.”
Holly nods, holding her breath.
“But what makes you think I’d want to leave?” He looks her up and down, his stare so blatant it’s clear what he’s remembering. Holly clenches her hands in her lap, and he throws back his head and laughs. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m staying. The toys here are so much better.”
“Then what do you want?” she asks, fighting to keep the frustration from her voice.
“What do you think I want?” he snarls. “I used to be beautiful. I used to be desired. I used to be young. Now look at me. Will your lotion fix all that? I don’t think so.” He slams his hand down on the table, and the teacup trembles, sloshing its contents over the sides. He picks it up, and for a moment Holly thinks he’s going to chuck it across the garden. But then he takes a sip, and when he speaks again, his voice is composed.
“So I have a trade for you,” he says, eyes glinting. He picks up the tray and proffers it to her. “Biscuit?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Holly’s exhausted, strung out on fear and jet lag, and her brain is numb. And Peter, being Peter, won’t come to the point. Instead he waxes on about how brilliant he is, how very, very clever. How once he realized what Holly was up to, that her recipe could not only bind with cells injured through trauma but also those damaged by aging, he devised a formula of his own.
“It took a while to figure out the special ingredient. The secret sauce. But once I got Tink to contribute . . .” He shrugs, spreading his hands wide. “Of course you know Tink. She’s mercurial, that one. Every batch came out different. And that’s not safe, is it? Not safe for me at all.”
He lights another cigarette. The shadows have lengthened, and they’ve moved into the living room. The cloud of smoke fills the space between them, eddies about his head, making his eyes hard to see. “So I found that using a bit of young blood smooths out the edges. All those rich virgin platelets.”
Holly looks out the window, at the school grounds. “You take it from the boys here, don’t you,” she says flatly.
“Don’t look at me like that. They give it willingly, they do,” he says with mock indignation.
“In exchange for what?”
“Depends on the boy, doesn’t it?” He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s a boost in grades. Parents put so much store in the pesky things. And a nice, friendly teacher can make a difference in a struggling student’s life. For a price.
“But there are other boys as well, ones who lurk the same streets I used to. They want simpler things. A pair of new trainers. A hot meal. A place to sleep and a bit of—fatherly attention, shall we say?” He smirks.
“Those types of boys—they’re the easy ones. Bit boring, but they have what I want, so I play nice, I do. It’s another group of wayward youth I find more . . . interesting. Imagine a young boy growing up in a posh house without a father for guidance. With a mum always working. He might run wild. Might start drinking. Smoking pot. Might start pushing boundaries. Taking risks. For them, I add a few special ingredients. Give it a bit of a kick, keep them coming back for more. Keeps me in pocket change.”