Never, Never (7 page)

“Why were you crying?”

“You're full of questions, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.”

He regarded her for a second, concluding she was trustworthy. Most children her age were. “It's just—it's hard to explain. Well, I, it seems I can't go home.”

Tiger Lily nodded gravely, as though she really understood what he was saying.

He wondered, briefly, if somehow, she did.

He frowned. “How did I end up crossing paths with you anyway? I thought you lived across the river.”

“I do.”

“Well, I wonder how that happened.” He stared away from her, eyes resting on the branches and the leaves and the grasses that swayed this way and that. The leaves were brighter now, back to usual, and James thought it very unfair that the foliage wasn't darker, for his sake. It seemed it should have been, all things considered. But he wasn't Peter. And the trees didn't care about him.

She shrugged and stared at the ground, kicking her little feet. He figured he must have crossed the river earlier, when he had no reasonable thoughts running through his head.

The silence was nicer, it turned out, in the company of the little girl. She sat, picking at the log and examining the wildlife peacefully, felt no need to chatter on, and he was grateful for it. He felt a flash of embarrassment when tears threatened to spring from his eyes again, but Tiger Lily just looked up at him and smiled too wise a smile for a girl of her age, and the flush in his cheeks went away. So, he cried quietly for what must have been several minutes at least, and Tiger Lily scooted closer to him, unabashed and trusting, in the way of small children, and laid her head on his shoulder.

When evening began to fall, the little Indian girl slid off the log, and James finally decided to get up. She
pointed over his shoulder. “The river is that way.” Then, she just turned and disappeared into the trees. James walked back, as best as he could remember, to the last place he recalled seeing the boys. After quite a bit of roaming, he managed to find the place, and he sat at the periphery. Peter noticed him and smiled, like there had been no argument, no fight, no unspeakable betrayal. Had he truly forgotten the incident? That didn't seem possible, as it had only occurred hours ago. But, Peter, he was learning, was rather adept at forgetting things, inconvenient things, impossible things. Perhaps he truly had forgotten.

James did not return the smile. He simply laid his head on the ground outside the clearing and closed his eyes. He'd no inkling of how to get to the
Spanish Main
, and he feared that once they'd realized he was part of Pan's crew, they'd turn on him even if he did know the way. Tiger Lily certainly hadn't invited him back to her camp. And he would rather stay with a threat he recognized than risk a Grap, whatever that was, swallowing him whole in the middle of the night.

Neverland was frightening enough during the day. Who knew what emerged from its heart in the dark?

No, he would stay with Pan and the Lost Boys, for, at the moment, he had no other choice. Though his heart denied it with every fiber of its being, his mind knew that home was no longer an option.

And he didn't cry. He didn't fret. He lay there on the earth, realizing and accepting and hardening. That was the night that James Hook began to grow up.

T
HE WIND BIT INTO
J
AMES
'
S MUSCLES AS HE RAN
, faster, faster, into the woods. He leapt the rapidly flowing river and crossed into Lost Boy territory, Indians hot on his heels. Despite the inherent danger in the situation, he was laughing. Loud, barrel laughs that reverberated off the trees. He could hear a war cry behind him and gave one of his own right back, stopping for an instant, only to be sure it was aimed in the Indians' direction.

“Come and get me, Chief! And give me my war!” he taunted, voice loud, confident, booming. Adrenaline coursed through him, fueling his powerful strides as he neared the Lost Boys' current encampment. The closer he got, the more distant the war cries became, until he was fairly certain that no one was trailing him anymore. He gradually slowed his pace to an easy trot and stepped into the barren clearing where Peter and the boys were waiting.

“Why are you alone?” Peter barked. “Where are the Indians?”

“Back across the river. They're not stupid, Pan. They won't fall for the same trick twice.”

“Of course they won't. If you were half as clever as me, you would have got them here easily.”

James set his jaw and raised an eyebrow. “If only I were half so clever.”

Peter threw down his weapon in frustration, and the otherwise bright weather punctuated his tantrum with a single clap of thunder. James jumped. Peter flicked his hand out, signaling for the rest of the boys to come out of hiding. There would be no ambush today, and certainly no war with the Indians. James didn't mind. Peter, as always, minded terribly. It put him in a foul mood, which was not good for anyone in the vicinity. The boy stalked off, probably to cavort with the fairies. The fairies didn't endlessly disappoint him, it seemed.

“Bibble,” James regarded, clapping the boy on the back as he passed. He noticed with a slight smile that he was significantly taller than Bibble now and looked a great deal older. How that had happened, he wasn't entirely certain, but he was definitely now the older of the two. Where Bibble had grown maybe a month and a quarter-inch in the last several years, James had grown by nearly five inches and at least that many years. He was sleek and tan, muscular and powerful, and regarded himself to be rather handsome, something no one could say for Bibble—or Bobble either, but that was something of a given. The twins were still all knees and elbows and too-large ears and noses.

James ran a hand through his black waves of hair, which reached nearly to his shoulders, and dunked his face into the water barrel nearest him, coming out and spraying the nearby area with water droplets. This elicited groans from all the boys nearby, but James just grinned. He walked through the camp and out of it, having nothing better to do with Peter gone. Several of the Lost Boys scampered up to him.

“Lagoon,” he said, thereby creating a line of followers. The lagoon was teeming with life that day, mermaids frolicking, rainbow-colored birds whistling as they darted around in the skies above the water. He noticed the
giant rock that jutted out of the middle of the lagoon, Marooner's Rock, was empty. Likely because Peter wasn't there to lounge around on it.

The mermaids shot James frosty looks as he removed his shirt and dove headfirst into the pool. He ignored them, which was typical. Tootles kept all his clothes on, and they about swallowed him, he was such a tiny thing. He dipped a toe into the water and slid slowly in, until the blue came all the way up to his little upturned nose. Fairhaired, freckled Simpkins dove in after him, attempting and yet again failing a perfect swan dive. Simpkins would claim, of course, that he'd executed it exactly as he'd intended. James snickered.

Most of the Lost Boys joined in, splashing one another, whooping and hollering, decidedly undisturbed by the lack of war between them and the Indians.

“Well done, James,” taunted Bobble, swimming up to him, Bibble at his heels.

James rolled his eyes. “Please. The Indians were never going to fall for it.”

“Well, no,” said Bibble, “but you could have at least drawn Tiger Lily out and distracted him.”

James swallowed and backed off just a bit. He'd been keeping his distance from Tiger Lily since she'd started to grow up into something undeniably more than a child. He hadn't even spoken to her or seen her up close for longer than he could remember. He kept it that way very intentionally.

Pan didn't like people touching his things.

Bibble narrowed his eyes, slightly more perceptive than his younger twin, and James felt his mouth go dry. Just then, Slightly, having reached the lagoon a bit later than the rest of them, leapt into the water, arms around his knees, and the splash he created was monstrous. It blanketed the twins as well as James in a wall of icy
water, but James didn't mind so much. He'd never been so relieved to be soaked and freezing. If it stopped the twins from raising the questions he feared Bibble had been about to ask, the discomfort was entirely worth it.

While the twins, Simpkins, and Tootles exacted watery revenge upon Slightly, James swam quietly to the lagoon's edge and pulled himself out of the water, content to let his feet dangle in it, closing his eyes and letting the sun warm his torso. He forced his mind not to consider the blurry image of the Indian girl and to think on the suns and the sweet taste of the air. The numbing prickles in his toes. These last several years in Neverland hadn't been nearly as horrible as he'd once feared they would be. The lack of Father and Mother sometimes bothered him, but more often than not, it was a carefree sort of existence. There were moments of boredom, but generally, Neverland was quite an improvement over London.

James was disturbed when he felt a presence hovering over him. He opened his eyes to find Peter staring down at him, fists at his sides.

James smiled. “What? Still put off at the apparent peace I brought back from the Indians?”

“Come with me.”

James furrowed his brow. He was generally a self-sufficient sort of person and quite happy to navigate Neverland on his own, but Peter held a sort of pull over him that he couldn't explain. It was the same sort of pull Peter held over the rest of the island; if Pan said it, James wanted to agree. If he was angry, James wanted to fix it. So, naturally, he followed Peter when he stalked off, away from the lagoon.

Peter had gone a good way into the forest, and James was struggling somewhat to find him in the bramble. But, find him he did, and Peter was floating a small way above the ground, chin on his fist, looking very lost in thought.

“Peter?” said James, sensing the taste of salt on his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the air.

“James.”

There was no laughter in his eyes when he said the name. James had the distinct feeling of being sent to the headmaster's office at school, and of waiting to be scolded greatly.

“What do you need?” he offered.

“There's something I need to discuss with you,” Pan said quietly.

The knot was back in James's throat. “So, discuss it,” he said, willing himself to swallow.

Peter let his feet drop to the ground and stood. James slouched (though he hated to slouch), hoping to appear shorter than Peter and not doing a remarkable job at it.

“You've been breaking rules.”

James's heart stabbed at his chest, freezing sweat springing up instantly on his back. “Have I?”

Peter gave him a look that said he was dense. “I haven't said a thing up until now, hoping you'd come to your senses. But you haven't, have you?”

James's jaw clenched; he was beginning to feel defensive. “I'd like to know what charges are being levied against me, exactly.”

“Stand up straight,” Peter said, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am.”

“Don't lie to me, James,” he said, voice low and cold. “Good things do not happen to boys who lie.”

The sting of ancient words being thrown back into his face was not lost on James. The look on James's face darkened considerably and he rose to his full height. He was undeniably taller than Peter.

Peter took a step toward him, and James forced himself to remain steadfast, though he'd begun to tremble, and wanted to run off into the thicket behind him.

“Was I not clear on the rules the first day you showed up here?” Peter said, unblinking as he stared James down.

“Unmistakably.”

“And yet…” Peter trailed off, no doubt trying to sound menacing. Then he resumed speaking. “And yet you've broken one of the first rules I gave you.”

There was no denying that. “Is that all?”

“No. You and I both know it.”

James straightened, glanced away from Peter for just a moment, long enough to gather his wits. “What is the second charge, then?” His voice came out weaker than he'd intended.

Peter looked away, focusing on some invisible point in the distance. Then, he turned back to face James. “I've noticed something disturbing in you, James. Something I thought I could trust you never to do.”

“What is that?”

“You've been growing up.” There was a strange light in Peter's eyes, one full of foreboding and poison.

The color drained from James's face. “I haven't been.”

“Look at you. You're tall. You've got muscles. And you lost the face of a boy ages ago. You're turning into a man, James.”

James shook his head, outwardly denying, inwardly knowing it was a lie. His nerves were whirring, on hyper-drive, and his pulse was erratic and spiking. “I do not wish to be a man, Peter. You know that. I'm a Lost Boy, same as you, same as Bibble and Slightly and Tootles. I swore to you that I'd never grow up. Don't you believe me?”

Pan shrugged. “I'd like to. But here you are, in front of me, more a man than a boy. What am I to believe?”

James felt a great panic welling in his gut.

“Believe me, Peter. Believe your friend. I'm not growing up; I swear it. And I'll—I'll get shorter. I'll figure a way to do it. You've got to believe in me, Peter.”

Peter stepped back and assessed, flying around in the air, examining James from all angles. James didn't even really know why the whole thing was so unnerving, why he was becoming so unhinged, why the only emotion he was capable of feeling at the moment was cold, biting fear. He'd never heard of anyone breaking the rules, and for all he knew, the punishment could have been nothing at all. Tangible waves of panic washed over him relentlessly nonetheless.

Eventually, Pan sank back down to the ground and looked James deep in the eyes as he said, “I'll give you a chance, James. One.” And he hopped away, chanting, “Oh, the goodness of me!”

James fell back against the tree nearest him and ran his hands over his face, cursing the small bit of stubble at his chin. He had no clue how to stop this whole “growing up” process when he'd already started it, and realistically, he wasn't going to be getting shorter any time soon. In all honesty, he was hoping that Peter would simply forget the whole thing, and they could go on pretending that he was still a Lost Boy, and not a shadow of a man.

That was less than likely.

He stayed there in the forest, mind turning so hard he was shocked no one could hear it, until night dripped down over him. He wasn't entirely sure which was safer at this point—staying there, risking a Neverbeast attack, or going back to the clearing and facing Peter, so he remained frozen.

A twig snapped to his left, and he bolted to his feet, fingers flying to the dagger he always carried at his side.

Bibble emerged, hands held up in front of him, and he looked—small. Had he always looked this small?

“You all right?” Bibble asked.

James deflated, body melting down onto the ground. Bibble sank down with him and picked up a twig.

“Where's Bobble?”

“At camp. They're trying to catch fireflies to keep as night lights.”

James smirked, leaned his head back against the tree behind him. “How is it you're still so young, Bibble?”

“What?” Bibble cocked his head.

“Look at me,” James said, stretching out his arms. “I'm bigger than all of you. Older too. You're the closest, and Bobble right behind you, but even you two are, what? Three years younger than I am? Two at the minimum.”

Bobble pursed his lips, drawing with his twig on the forest floor. It lit up in a spray of colors wherever he scratched it, which was a slight comfort. Peter couldn't have been too terribly angry if the forest was acting regular. James remembered a time when the colorful lines on the forest floor would have delighted him. Was he too old now to enjoy such a thing?

“Is there a way to stop it?” James asked, rolling his head over toward Bibble.

“What?”

Bibble was avoiding looking at James's eyes. It was obvious he was dodging the question, stalling. James chose to humor him and repeated himself. “Is there a way to stop the aging, once it starts? Or to, I don't know, turn it back somehow?”