There was buzzing in the air, hanging over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body coiled in a burning sear. She let out a rattling breath. It billowed through her lips in a white cloud.
Peter’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Wendy, get away from it,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on the space behind her shoulder. He said it quietly, but it might as well have been a shout in the silent woods.
Wendy slowly turned.
Behind her stood the tree. Its thick trunk twisted upward and split off into jagged, bare branches. They loomed above, sharp fingers reaching out. The tree’s bark stood out in stark contrast to the others: ghostly pale compared to their rich greens and browns. Gnarled roots knotted and churned through the underbrush. The air smelled of rotting leaves and dirt.
The woods hummed. The hair on her arms stood on end. She could hear the voices growing louder now. A swirl of whispers and gentle weeping. They were coming from the tree. No, from the roots that curled and sank into the earth, making small cages and gaping holes. A wind picked up and rustled the leaves. The voices grew louder, more frightened.
Wendy took a step closer, taking her hand from Peter’s grasp and reaching for the tree. The whispers coaxed and warned her. Was there something there? Hidden under the roots, in the dirt?
The voices grew harsh.
“There’s something there,” Wendy mumbled. She leaned down but suddenly Peter stepped in front of her. His large hands gripped her arms.
“We need to get out of here.” His expression was all taut muscles and hard lines. His eyes pleaded with her to listen.
“He’s right, you know.” The lazy voice floated down to them through the trees.
Wendy and Peter both craned their necks back.
Lounging on a thick branch, with its back against the tree, was the shadow.
She could clearly make out all its features. It was a haunted, distorted version of Peter. Instead of having his warm hair that shone in the sun, its hair was like shiny black oil. Its nose and chin were pointy and severe. Its skin was pale white, its eyes hollow and black. They seemed to suck in all the light from around them. Its thin lips twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnaturally white teeth. It was made of sharp angles, cheekbones and a jawline she could cut herself on.
In every way that Peter was bright and warm, the shadow was dark and twisted.
It looked as solid and real as Peter now. “You should really be more careful—there’s no telling what you’ll find in these woods.” It curled a dead leaf between its pale fingers.
Wendy’s blood stuttered in her veins, but surging anger pushed her forward. “Let them go,” Wendy demanded, trying to pull herself free of Peter’s grasp.
The shadow laughed and dissolved, spilling down the tree like a heavy black fog. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that reverberated through her bones. The shadow pooled on the ground before her and materialized back into its human form.
“Let who go?” it drawled.
Peter stepped forward. “You need to stop this,” he said, voice firm. “Let the kids go.” Peter drew his hand through the air. With an explosion of light, the sword materialized in Peter’s grasp. With his shoulders squared, Peter faced the shadow. The sword sparked and shone, a weapon made up of tiny golden particles. But then it started to flicker.
The shadow leaned its head back and let out a sharp, barklike laugh that echoed through the trees. “Oh, Peter,” it purred. “Do you really think you can stop me?” it asked with a wide grin.
Peter gripped the hilt with both hands. The sword surged with energy and glowed bright, but only for a moment before it started to wane and fade out. Peter’s knuckles blanched as he aimed the blade at the shadow. “I’m warning you,” he growled through gritted teeth.
“Oh dear.” The shadow’s mouth split at an unnatural angle. “Are you having some difficulty performing?” it asked. “You’ve hardly any fight left in you, Peter.” The shadow reached out and flicked the edge of the sword. Like a lightbulb, it blinked out of existence, dissolving into a quickly disappearing pile of sparks at Peter’s feet.
Peter’s shoulders went rigid. His hands clenched into fists at his side.
“Soon, all your magic will drain from your body, and not even you, the great Peter Pan, will be able to stop me,” it said in a singsong tone, twirling its long fingers in the air.
Wendy shook and her eyes stung, but she wouldn’t let herself run away. This was it. This was the thing that had taken her brothers from her and was keeping them captive. It was the thing keeping them apart. Wendy surged forward, trying to push past Peter. “Let them go!” she shouted.