“I mean, I could.” Peter’s lips curled into a grin. “But a sword is just so much cooler.”
A surprised laugh bubbled in Wendy’s throat.
“And way more fun,” he added.
Wendy rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, okay.”
“Pixie dust is my magic,” Peter continued, getting back on point. “It’s how I fly, how I take care of the lost kids, how I stay young—” Peter looked down at himself. “Or used to, anyway.” His shoulders slumped. “I can feel myself getting weaker, like my magic is just draining out of me, you know?” Peter set down the apple and approached Wendy. “Getting rid of that stuff that was trying to take you used up a lot. If we don’t get my shadow back soon, I have no idea what will happen, but it won’t be good.”
Wendy exhaled a deep sigh. She knew this was a problem, but she had no idea how to fix it.
Peter stared at her with his big eyes, as if waiting for her to come up with a solution to fix all their problems, but how could she do that? She could barely understand what he was telling her to begin with and she could barely take care of herself. She couldn’t help her brothers, so how was she supposed to help him?
Wendy stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Here, let me clean that,” she said, holding up the damp cloth. At least the cut was something she could fix.
Peter squinted at her and leaned away.
“It’s not going to hurt, you big baby,” she said with mild exasperation.
“I’m not a baby,” Peter grumbled petulantly, but he remained still.
Wendy did her best to ignore the flutter of nerves through her entire body, being this close to him. Was there anyone else in the world who’d found out their imaginary friend was real?
Wendy pressed the cloth to his temple and Peter winced. He sucked in a sharp breath. “That stings!” he hissed, his jaw muscles flexing.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she grumbled. Peter’s face scrunched up, but he let her gently pat the cut until the blood was gone, only leaving a small red line. “There,” Wendy said before retreating back to the other side of the kitchen. She yanked open the junk drawer and sifted through old scissors, expired coupons, and chip clips before she found a small red sewing kit.
“What’s that for?” Peter balked as if she were brandishing some sort of weapon.
“For the hole in your jeans,” Wendy said, gesturing to his torn knee.
He only looked slightly less worried.
“Just sit, would you?” she said, placing a hand on the counter.
Peter gave her a dubious look before perching himself on the edge of the cool tile. “Okay, but be careful; don’t stab me,” he instructed.
“Then don’t fidget,” Wendy told him. His knee stopped bouncing, and Wendy got to work cinching the frayed material back together with deft fingers as well as she could.
Peter probed the cut on his temple, flinching. “I need to save my energy and not use my magic for stuff like flying, you know? I need it to fight off the shadow. Pixie dust is its opposite.” Peter gestured, as if weighing two things in his hands.
“Shadows are made up of darkness. They feed off of sadness and despair. They manifest what you’re most scared of and use it as a weapon to feed off your fear. That’s why it’s stealing all those kids.” He dropped his hands and they hung heavy at his sides. “It’s collecting them and using their fear as a source of energy. They’re making it stronger.”
“That’s … terrifying,” Wendy breathed. Her eyes flickered away from her work toward the back door. Somewhere, deep in the woods, there were kids who were scared and alone, being tormented by the shadow.
“That’s why we need pixie dust to fight the shadow,” Peter continued. “It’s made from light and laughter and joy. That’s why when you use pixie dust and think of good things—happy things—it makes you light enough to fly. That’s why I’m the only one who can fight it. I can use my light against my shadow and weaken it enough to capture it, and you can reattach it like you did before.”
“That was your shadow, then?” Wendy looped the end of the thread, tying it off securely. “That took Alex and attacked me?” She couldn’t explain with logic what had happened to her in the woods just now, and that in and of itself was terrifying to realize.
“Yes.” Peter rubbed his eyes. “The stronger it gets, the weaker I get. I can feel the magic bleeding out of me.” He looked so tired and defeated. It only made her more worried.