Peter runs his free hand through his hair, tugs at the gray lock. His eyes are huge and wild. For a split second, something akin to pity stirs in Holly. It must be terrifying to feel life slipping away not minute by minute, like most people, but in great gulps of time. And it will be the same for Eden. Unless Holly finds a solution.
Her emotions must show on her face. Behind Peter, Tink shakes her head no, a warning, but it’s too late. Peter twists Holly’s wrist hard, and she gasps in pain. He grins.
“That’s right. Don’t go thinking you know what’s in my head. Don’t you dare feel bad for me. Wouldn’t have wanted you anyhow. You’re useless. All tosh. Like the others.” His eyes are calm again and he lets her go. “Just find the girl. Our Eden.”
“And if I do?” She won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rub her wrist.
“What, no tears? Good. I’ve seen tears before. They were interesting once, but they bore me now.”
“What do you want with her?”
Peter leans back in his chair. “A nice chin-wag over a cuppa. A chance to give her a bit of daddy-daughter advice. What do you think? Just hold her there. I’ll know. And I’ll come.”
“And if I don’t?”
He steeples his fingers, gazes at the ceiling. “He’s comfortable now, your boy,” he says, his voice serious. “He’s in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, the golden place. But it won’t last. After a while, the dreams turn to nightmares. And you can’t wake up.”
There’s a noise like a dry rattle as Tinker Bell stands. In the shadows of the room, her golden wing tattoos peek from beneath her halter top, appear to flutter. She leaves the room without a word, but behind Peter’s back she gives Holly a long look.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Peter calls. “If you’re up, the least you can do is fetch me a pint.” Tinker Bell doesn’t reply. And she doesn’t return.
Peter turns back to Holly. “Stupid cow. But it’s time for you to go as well. I have things to do. People to see.” He smiles, and she knows he means Jack.
“You’re telling me to choose, aren’t you? To choose between the two of them, Jack and Eden. But Peter, I can’t,” she says, desperate. She’s shaking again, and this time she can’t control it. “I won’t.”
“You have to,” he says. He crosses to the door and opens it, then stands there waiting for her to leave. “That’s what mothers do. They choose, remember? So choose. Or I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The ride home passes in a blur. Somehow Holly finds herself standing in the alley in front of the fence, slipping through the hidden spot. The roses on the other side tug at her clothes, slice her skin, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even notice the thorns.
In the twilight the garden is no longer a flower-covered fairyland. The white topiary form of Wendy is a ghost, fleeing unknown terrors, and Peter’s statue leers malevolently. Fear-fueled rage bubbles through Holly. She’d destroy it if she could, but she needs this energy to fight the real Peter. Instead she shoves the statue as hard as she can as she passes it. It sways on its wires, creating dark shadows that reach for the house.
Inside, the warmth and light of the kitchen chase the shadows away. Jane is pacing, a teapot on the table. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair is scooped up in a messy bun, silver strands escaping in all directions. When she sees Holly, her face lights up. “I was beginning to think you might have gone with Jack and Peter and left me behind,” she says.
It’s the hopefulness, the naivete in Jane’s voice, that destroys Holly. It’s as if she’s come back from a different world. She can’t speak any of the terrible words burning under her tongue. Instead she pushes past her mother to the library, where she checks to make sure the windows are firmly shut behind the drawn curtains, then pours herself a healthy slug of whiskey, neat, to douse her internal flames. She drains her drink in silence as Jane trails into the room, the relief on her face changing to concern.
“You’re bleeding! Whatever happened? I called you a half dozen times, but you never picked up. I assumed after we spoke this morning that you’d found Peter and Jack. Where is he?”
Holly looks down at herself. Scratches from the thorns mar her arms, and tiny beads of blood glisten along her skin. The abandoned council house from this morning feels years ago, not hours. She ignores Jane’s question and refills her glass.