She walked to the driveway, barely paying attention to where she was going, eyes glued to the scene next door. Was this how her own house had looked? Had her mother and father had the same expressions on their faces? It was almost like déjà vu, the same terrible echo through the universe.
Before she could even start to worry about how she was going to find Peter, she caught a glimpse of someone standing by her truck. She jolted to a stop, far too wary of strangers hovering in her driveway, but then she saw the shock of auburn hair and realized it was Peter.
He stood leaning against the door of her car, out of sight of the police officers next door. He was hunched in a way that, at first, suggested he was hiding from view, but there was something wrong. His expression was strained, and he was curled around his stomach, his hands pressed into his side.
Wendy rounded the truck, her eyes immediately searching for him. “Peter, what’s wrong?”
He looked sick, like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark purple circles under his eyes that looked more like bruises. His lids were puffy, his blue eyes bright, bloodshot and glassy. His hair was a mess, as if any effort to tame it was just too much.
Peter, who brimmed with light and was constantly flitting around like a hummingbird, was changed. There was a small crease between his eyebrows and his shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his back curved as if he were trying to protect himself from a biting wind. His already full bottom lip was swollen and split down the center with a thin, wet line of crimson.
Wendy’s heart fluttered. “Jesus, what happened to you?” she whispered, reaching out to tilt his chin. When he winced back, she saw a bloom of red on his jaw, promising a bruise.
“It’s nothing. I’m okay,” Peter said. He tried to conjure up a smile, but even that looked pained. As he pushed himself from the car door, he swayed on his feet. Wendy rushed forward and caught his sides, trying to help steady him, but Peter sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. His face twisted in pain, his hands pressing gingerly to his stomach.
She quickly withdrew her hands. “What happened to you?” she repeated, her voice harsh with worry. Wendy glanced over her shoulder, stepping closer to Peter as she tried to shield him from the gathering next door. “Come on,” she said, trying to make her voice sound gentler as she pulled him toward the side of the house, where no one could see them. “Tell me what happened.” Her eyes darted from his shoulders, to his arms, to his face.
Peter’s chin dipped, sending his hair splaying across his forehead, hiding his eyes from view. “I went after my shadow last night,” he mumbled.
“What?” Wendy hissed. Her hand went straight to his arm, gripping him before she could realize what she was doing. “Sorry!” she said, withdrawing quickly. She growled and dragged her fingers through her hair. “Why would you do that, Peter?” she demanded.
He shrugged, looking miserable and chastised as he leaned against a trash can. “I thought I could take it on my own. I thought…” He glanced furtively at Wendy. “I thought if I could just do it myself, then you wouldn’t have to—”
“No!” Wendy cut him off. “We were supposed to go together so I could help you! You could’ve gotten hurt—you did get hurt!” Wendy gestured at him and Peter cringed. She wanted to scream and shout at him for doing something so incredibly stupid and reckless, but she couldn’t with all those people next door.
“I thought I could do it,” he repeated. “But it was just too powerful.” Peter’s breathing was uneven and short. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled up the bottom of his shirt. Cresting over the tanned skin, just above his hip, bloomed an array of bruises. Purple, blue, and bright red grouped together like galaxies.
Immediately, she felt like a complete asshole for yelling at him. “Oh, Peter…” Lightly, she touched the bruise with her fingers, but he flinched back. Wendy’s skin crawled with a boiling mix of anger and fear. The shadow was capable of doing this? What else would it do? To her? To Peter? To the kids it had taken? To her brothers?
“It’s getting stronger,” Peter told her before tugging his shirt back down. “And I’m only getting weaker.” A shudder rolled through him, as if it physically repulsed him to admit it. Peter’s eyelids were half shut as he stared at the ground. “It just tossed me around like I was nothing.” Peter rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I can feel my magic draining out of me,” he mumbled. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” He frowned and his eyes roved over her body. “Are you okay? It didn’t come after you, did it?” A spark of intensity crossed his face.