Reflexively, I pull away, but he grabs my chin and holds me still.
His hands smell weird, like chemicals and rotting all at once. Then he laughs. “My nephew is a liar.” His eyebrows lift in some sort of horrible delight. “Innocence, and—” Another big sniff. “My, old Jammie doesn’t have a drop, but you are head-to-toe virtue, aren’t you?”
He rubs his hands together, excited. He blows some air out of his mouth, and then I hear something.
A jangling? A chiming? It sounds like—
I look over my shoulder, then up, around the room.
“Where is she?” I ask him darkly.
Charles sniffs and nods. He stands and walks over to one of his shelves. He picks up a jar, rattling it. Then he tosses it to me, and I catch it, holding it up to my face.
A battered little Rune gets to her feet. One of her wings look broken.
“Rune,” I sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation I appear to be in. I look over at him. “What do you want with her?”
“A fairy?” He pulls back, confused. “So hard to come by these days. They’re so good at hiding.”
I try to unscrew the lid of the jar but I can’t.
He laughs at my attempt. “They can only be opened by the hands that sealed them.”
He flashes his hands at me like he’s on Broadway.
I offer it back to him. “Then I’m going to need you to open it.”
He gives me a look. “In exchange for what?”
“Whatever you want.” I shrug. “My virtue?”
I say it like it’s a stupid thing.
He eyes me. “Do you know how one extracts virtue?”
“I don’t,” I tell him with a single nod. “But I suspect it’s as horrible as your eager eyes imply.”
“Drowning’s the best way, usually,” he tells me. “Then it just floats to the top. Like an oil.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“Virtue’s an essence. You’ll die if I take it.”
I point over to Rune in the jar. “But she’ll live if I do.”
He nods. “You have my word.”
“Well, I’m quite sure you understand that that means literally nothing to me.” I gesture to the jar again. “Release her.”
“Not just yet.” He shakes his head, peering over at me again. He lifts a coloured magnifying glass. It’s blue. “Let’s see what else we’ve got in you.”
I stare over at him, blinking tiredly a few times.
Not much. I don’t think there’s much else left in me. I feel as though I gave it all away.
I fell in love with a treacherous man, and I left my home for a boy who can’t care about anything other than himself. Those are things that cost you more than you know you’re giving away at the time.
Do you know about weathering?
Weathering is the geological process where rocks are dissolved or worn away or broken down into smaller and smaller pieces.
But lots of things, not just rocks, can be weathered.
Me, for example. Being here, being with Peter, loving Hook, it’s worn me away.
What’s left?
When I arrived, I felt like a whole person, and now that I’m here, there’s this tiny part of me that would rather die than leave. Even though I want to leave, I want to leave only to escape how being here’s made me feel, not because I don’t want to be here.
As though being here is in some way the meaning of life itself.
As though here is my fate, actually, and I’d rather die than not have it.
“Heartbreak.” Charles nods at me as he peers through the magnifying glass. “Lots of it. Innocence—a surprising amount!—considering what my nephew said of your time together.”
I glare over at him.
“You’re quite jaded. You doubt people quickly.”
“Well, people quickly give me reasons to doubt them.”
His eyes pinch. “Does the Pan love you?”
I roll my eyes. “Peter doesn’t love anyone but himself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.” I give him a firm, impatient look.
He lifts an eyebrow, and some nerves rattle in my belly. “Are you protecting him?”
“Peter?” I stare at him, confused. “I am nothing to Peter. I’m his enemy.”
The Collector looks confused, and my brows bend as I stare over at him.
“Is that what you came here for?”
“To Neverland?” He tilts his head curiously before he shakes it. “No, my dear. I came here for you.”