28
WINNIE
I’m in a room I don’t recognize, but the woman in front of me seems familiar. She’s got thick auburn hair pulled back into a barrette.
My great-grandmother Wendy’s trunk is in front of us and the woman is holding a box in her hands.
“Who are you?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear me and my voice floats around the room like I’m under water.
She ducks down, unlatches the trunk and pushes the lid back. It’s lined the same as it is now with creamy paper printed with little orange flowers.
Setting her smaller box aside, she reaches into the trunk, knocks on the side and then a drawer pops open.
“I didn’t know that was there.”
She scoops up the smaller box, places it into the drawer and presses it closed.
When she stands up, she dusts her hands off like it’s a job well done.
“He can never have it back,” a voice says behind us.
I turn with the auburn-haired woman as a figure steps out of the shadows.
A woman with gossamer wings and sharp, bright eyes. If the wings weren’t shocking enough, the soft, golden glow surrounding her would be. She’s lit up almost like a night star.
She looks like Tilly but different.
The auburn-haired woman stands frozen, eyes glossy and far away.
She reminds me of my mother in that way.
The winged-woman steps closer and puts her hand to the woman’s head.
The light pulses around the room, blinding me and I turn away from it.
And as I do, I see the face of a child peering out from a closet.
When the light fades away and I look again, the auburn-haired woman is lying on the floor, unmoving, unblinking. Not breathing.
Before the winged woman leaves, she adds, almost under her breath, “And he’ll certainly never have his Darling.”
I lurch awake.
The bed is empty and I’m disoriented for a second trying to remember where I am.
“Vane?” I call.
There’s no answer.
I throw the sheet back and leave the room. Daylight shines beyond the darkened bedroom. Kas and Bash are in the loft with Vane at the bar.
“Darling,” Kas says as he lurches upright to meet me halfway. “How are you feeling?”
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Peter Pan.”
“It’s daytime,” Vane says, a little bored. “He’s in his tomb.”
“Where?”
“In the bottom of the tower.”
“Where?”
They just stare at me.
“Fine. I’ll find it myself.”
I start back the way I came. From the outside of the house, there’s only the one tower on the north side so I go there and find a door easily enough.
“You won’t get far,” Vane says suddenly behind me.
I ignore him, yank the door back and peer down the darkened tower. The shuffling of my feet echoes in the vast, dark space.
“You need a key to get into the tomb,” Vane says.
“Then give me the key.”
“Why?” He’s behind me now, towering over me.
“I need to ask him something.”
“What?”
“Come down with me and you’ll find out.”
“If you wake him in the daytime, he could very well kill you.”
I square my shoulders, fold my arms over my chest, and wait him out.
His curiosity gets the better of him. He goes down first and I trail behind him, hand close on the metal banister.
Soft inset lighting keeps me from falling off the winding stairwell and when we reach the bottom, I shiver at the chill in the air. We’re far below ground now.
Vane unlocks the door and pulls it open to reveal an empty annex and a second door.
“After you,” he says.
On the second door, I lift up the handle and pull it open.
The room really is a tomb. It’s pitch black.
I grope around inside. “Where’s the light switch?”
Vane grumbles and edges past me. A second later, a lamp flicks on and golden light spills over the room.
There’s a giant four-poster bed in the center of the room, a dresser, a wingback chair and stacks and stacks of what look like leather-bound journals.
The bed is empty.
“Where—”
“What is it?”
His voice slithers out from the shadows. He’s barely a shape in a darkened doorway and it reminds me of the first time I laid eyes on him in our old Victorian. Back then I was afraid of what he symbolized.
I’m not afraid anymore.
I cross the room and stop a foot from him.