I shouldn’t ache.
I’m running out of time.
I can feel the island slipping from my grip.
In the mirror, I don’t recognize my reflection. I am a king who has no throne.
Fucking Darlings. Fucking Tink.
The rage simmers in my gut. I grit my teeth, close my eyes, summon a breath.
This one will be the one.
She fucking has to be.
Hands still damp, I rake my fingers through my hair. The cool water feels good on my scalp, helps soothe some of the pounding behind my eyes.
Out in the room, Vane is still brooding.
“What?” I say. “Spit it out.”
“Just let me kill Cherry. Let me send a message.”
“No.”
“Pan.”
“When’s the last time you chased someone, anyway? I can feel your shadow simmering. You got energy that needs to be spent. Do it before you take it out on the Darling. Do it for me.”
He sighs again. “Fine. Fuck.”
I give him a hard pat on the back. “Now let’s go get a drink.”
Our footsteps echo in the underground tower as we wind up the wrought iron stairwell. When we emerge on the main floor of the treehouse, I take in a deep breath of the salty sea air.
In the distance, gulls cry as they fight over scraps.
I can’t see the Darling yet, but I can feel her.
We are a house of cold, hard edges.
She’s already made it feel warmer and I’ve barely known soft or warm in my life.
The Lost Boys like to joke that I ran away from my mother the moment I was born.
But if I am honest about it, I think the island birthed me. I have no memories before I woke up here shrouded in magic.
Down the hall, Kas laughs at something and Bash snorts.
I smell rum on the air, which means the twins are already drinking. Little fuckers are the little brothers I never wanted or needed.
Vane and I go up the grand staircase and come in on the loft. Some of the wild parakeets are perched on the branches of the Never Tree, their soft warbles indicating they’re falling asleep.
I miss the sound of their chirping.
I miss a lot of things about the daylight.
When I step through the doorway, the Darling’s eyes track me.
She can’t help it.
No one can.
Even a king without a throne demands attention.
“He has risen,” Bash says.
I glare at him as I go to the bar. We have hundreds of bottles of liquor that are lined up on the shelf in front of a wall of mirrors patinaed with age and cracked by carelessness.
As I reach for my favorite bottle, I look up in the mirror and catch the Darling staring at me in the reflection.
Blood rushes to her cheeks and she quickly looks away.
I pour a shot of rum then add a few ice cubes to the glass and finally turn to the room, to her.
She still won’t look at me.
I take a swig, let the alcohol roll around on my tongue before swallowing it back, let the burn settle in. It reminds me that I’m alive.
Aren’t I?
I snap my fingers at Bash and he brings me the steel cigarette case, flips it open for me so I can pluck one out. I pull the lighter from my pants pocket, flick the wheel and light the end of the cigarette.
The smoke burns differently than the liquor, but it burns just the same.
I am alive.
I am alive.
The Darling sits on the leather sectional in the very center. The large couch makes her look small. Her bones are sharp against her sweater.
She’ll pay a cost for a debt she knows nothing about.
I do feel sorry for her, the little Darling girl. But not sorry enough.
I take a hit from the cigarette, let the smoke leak out before sucking it back in with a deep inhale.
This catches her eye.
She swallows hard, then zeros in on the blade strapped to my arm.
I can hear the rapid beat of her heart, but I don’t think she’s scared so much as intrigued. Time to teach her the first lesson.
“Get up,” I tell her.
She looks to Kas.
“He can’t help you,” I say. “Get up, Darling.”
She rises. She has no shoes on and the bones of her feet stick out from her flesh like the spines of a lion fish.
What did Merry do to her?
The rage comes back, but this time it’s kindled by something else.
Something I don’t like.
“Vane,” I say and he falls in step beside me. “Darling. Follow us.”
“Don’t run,” Bash warns her. His tone is light, but the warning is serious. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll heed it.
We go out through the bank of doors that leads to the balcony where stairs wind down to the patio. There’s a fire burning in the stone pit and Lost Boys hanging around, drinking and cavorting with some of the girls from town. One of them is quietly strumming on a guitar.