“I couldn’t wait any longer—I wanted to see you,” Peter whispered back. The earnest but apprehensive look on his face sent a rush from her navel to the tips of her toes.
“Here,” Mrs. Darling said, handing a bag of frozen peas to Wendy. “Take a seat, Barry,” she told Peter as she gestured to the kitchen table.
Peter sat down obediently. Mrs. Darling eyed the fading bruises and carefully examined the cut on his lip through her glasses. “Hmm, at least it’s healing properly,” she told Peter. “But you boys need to be careful—you could’ve lost a tooth.” She gave him a disapproving look. Peter sank in his seat. “Keep the peas on it for twenty minutes. That will bring down the swelling,” Mrs. Darling said, waving Wendy over.
Wendy tossed him the bag of peas. He easily caught it.
“I didn’t know you were coming over, Barry,” Mrs. Darling said as she glanced at Wendy, eyebrows raised.
“Uh, yeah,” Wendy said. “I meant to ask you earlier if it was okay, but I sort of forgot. We were just going to watch a movie in the living room.”
Her mother gave her a dubious look, but she retrieved her purse from the counter. “Well, all right,” Mrs. Darling said. “If it gets too late, Barry,” she said, looking back at Peter, “I want you to call your parents and have them pick you up, okay?” She tied her hair up into a knot. “I don’t want you walking home alone.”
Peter nodded. “I will, Mrs. Darling.”
She gave him a soft smile, then turned to Wendy. “Stay in the living room, no going upstairs,” she said with a pointed look.
Wendy blushed furiously. “Mom.” She did not appreciate her mother’s amused expression.
“Have a good night, you two,” Mrs. Darling said before walking out the front door and locking it behind her.
Now that they were alone, Wendy turned on Peter.
Both of his hands went up in defense, one still holding the bag of peas. “I tried to wait for you!” he said. “But you never came outside!” The look on Peter’s face, jutted lip and all, was petulant at best.
“It—it’s fine,” Wendy stammered, hands smoothing out the front of her shirt as she did her best impression of someone who wasn’t frazzled. “I couldn’t get away—I was talking to my mom and then she made me help her clean the house.” She waved a hand through the air in frustration.
“We’re running out of time,” Peter said, gingerly pressing the frozen peas to his lip.
Wendy pushed her hands through her hair. “I know, I know.”
“I’m nearly out of magic,” he said, examining his hand. “Without it, I don’t know how we’ll stop my shadow.”
Wendy chewed on her bottom lip. Indeed, he seemed even more exhausted than he had last night. His eyelids drooped and his skin had a faint pallor to it.
“How will we know if it’s all gone?” Wendy asked.
“I don’t know, exactly, but I’m sure it’ll be obvious,” he said gravely.
Fear reached its way up her throat and clawed at her tongue. What would happen to Peter when his magic ran out? Would he just disappear in a wisp of smoke? Crumble into a pile of ash? Or drop dead at her feet? The very thought made her head swim.
“How do we weaken something that feeds off fear?” Wendy said aloud.
Peter shrugged miserably.
That was the real question, the problem they needed a solution to. What could they do? What was the next step? Where could they look for answers?
Wendy remembered the key in her pocket.
“Last night, before I found you in my parents’ room,” Wendy began suddenly. Peter looked confused at the sudden jump in conversation. “I was in the hallway, and I swear I heard voices coming from my old room,” she told him. “They were the same whispering voices I heard when I was trying to find Alex in the woods, when I dreamed about the tree, and when we were standing right in front of it. The door’s been locked for ages, but”—Wendy dug the key out of her pocket and held it out for Peter to see—“I found this on my dad’s desk today. I’m almost positive it unlocks the door.”
Peter examined the key carefully. “So, you want to go check it out?” he guessed.
Wendy nodded. “The voices have to mean something, and there has to be a reason I can hear them in that room,” she told him. He looked uneasy. “It doesn’t hurt to poke around, right?” she pressed. “Maybe it’ll help jog my memory for something useful.” Her hand pressed to the acorn where it hid under the neck of her shirt.