Page 51 of The Never Queen

“Come on, Win.” Vane’s hand slips into mine and the Shadow rushes in like a faithful dog, its energy frenzied and urgent. Sensation trickles back in.

I take a gasp of air.

Blood gurgles in my throat.

“Get her out of here,” Hansel says. His voice is muffled like my head is buried in yards of cotton. “There will be more.”

I’m lifted up, cradled in Peter Pan’s arms and carried to the SUV. Inside the warmth of the interior, some of the panic subsides.

I think Vane gets in behind the wheel. I can sense the twins, but I don’t know where they are.

“What about you?” Vane asks.

“I’ll meet you there,” is Hansel’s reply.

The engine turns over. A car door slams shut.

“Is she still conscious?” Vane asks, the tires squealing against the pavement as Vane races out of the lot.

“Yes,” Pan answers, his thumb brushing over my neck where my heart is thumping rapidly.

I think the blade has been pulled from my chest, though I don’t know when or how or by who.

The pain is fading, the Shadow like a balm on my nerve endings.

Am I dying? I think and the Shadow pulses behind my eyes. No. I won’t let you die.

I can feel Vane’s answering relief.

Beside me, Kas asks, “Did you know?”

Pan braces me against him as Vane turns a sharp corner.

“Not definitively,” Pan answers. “But the question has been running through my head since Hansel first arrived.”

“This explains why they’ve gone to such lengths to hunt Darling down,” Bash says from the front. “If they hate witches, just think how much they’d hate one of their own being the father of one.”

“I’m going to destroy them,” Pan says above me. “Every last one of them.”

Darkness creeps into my vision as the rush of the vehicle lulls me into unconsciousness.

24

BASH

The wound in Darling’s chest is already scabbed over, the blood no longer running free. She’s lying in our bed, her breathing pattern returned to normal, her heart thumping at an easy pace beneath her ribs.

The shadow is doing what it needs to do, healing her as she rests.

We leave her in the soothing darkness of the bedroom, the door cracked open, and gather in the living room.

Hansel is here. He’s sitting in one of the chairs by the front windows, the curtains drawn closed behind him. He looks twenty years older than us with his flecked gray hair and beard, and the fine wrinkles around his eyes.

I honestly don’t know how old he is. He could be as ancient as Peter Pan.

“Tell us everything.” Pan is looming in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. There’s still blood splattered across his shirt and a few speckles on hisjaw. I can’t tell if it’s Witch Killer blood or Darling’s. She lost so much, I bet she’ll sleep for a day.

“Do you have something to drink?” Hansel asks.