SEVEN

A week had passed without Emmeline making a substantial effort to contact the crew even though that was the logical next step. She not only had Henry's location and but also his knowledge and cooperation, she was inside enemy lines virtually free, and all that remained was alerting Emma and getting out. Except, something – or better yet someone, was missing from the picture. She hadn't found Tommy.

Mobilizing an escape plan without him was risky because the Storybrooke crew could just snatch Henry and leave her and her brother behind. She didn't trust Emma or Snow or Charming because, for all their talk of heroism and bravery, they'd made no attempt to contact her ever since Pan had kidnapped her. Not even to see if she was still alive. Their heroism was self-serving at best. Their concern for her was equal to Pan's and involved her potential as a weapon in their power game.

How she wished to laugh in all their faces, the poor fools. She was the opposite of a weapon, completely worthless to their plots. At least, that's what she reminded herself every time she fell into self-doubt. She had managed to fool the most powerful magic-wielders of the known realm into thinking she was something special, and that in of itself was special. A small comfort, sure, but one she clung to nonetheless.

She'd spent her week walking down to the creek that marked the limit of her free roam, enjoying the sunlight on her skin, and covertly surveying the other bank for guards or sentries. Her afternoons were spent with Liam as he taught her how to braid ropes and nets out of palm leaves, and to sharpen rocks into knives. And when the sky darkened and filled with stars, she sat before a large fire and entertained the lost boys with tales of miraculous quests.

And all the time in between, she explored the Eastside, learned the guards' routes and their names. She helped out with chores and covertly searched through hundreds of different faces for one in particular. One she missed dearly but had yet to see.

Where was Tommy?

Every night when she'd retired to her room, panic seized her, convincing her that maybe he was not here at all. That she'd been mistaken, and the Shadow that had kidnapped him was not Pan's Shadow at all but another. That she'd wasted years of travel and struggle only to strand herself on the Neverland, separated eternally from her baby brother. But dawn would come, and the light would keep her paranoia at bay at least until the next dusk.

"Em," Liam said, on the seventh day after her deal with Pan. It was late afternoon, and they were finishing their braiding lesson in the clearing where she usually told her stories. "Are you coming to the feast tonight?"

She finished tying the palm leaf with a tug and surveyed the handiwork on her rope so far. Satisfied, she faced him. "There's going to be a feast?"

He nodded as he began folding away the fishing net he'd been working on. "We're celebrating a marvelous victory. Pan did a number on the grown-ups down at the bay this morning." He grinned, and his eyes shone with pride. "Really showed them. Anyway, he's called a feast at Westside. There'll be music and sweets and all sorts of fun."

Emmeline nodded along to what he said mechanically. She was trying to sort through a thousand different questions in her mind, most of which boiled down to how to use this sliver of information to locate the crew and tell them she was inside the camp. She'd already decided to withhold any news regarding Henry until she had a solid lead on her brother but telling them she was alive was still important to the plan.

Liam cleared his throat, and she noticed he was still waiting for an answer.

She swallowed. It wasn't like she could go to the feast. But how could she justify her absence without revealing the deal she'd struck that forbid her from leaving the Eastside? If she implicated Pan, Liam and the boys would figure out she was still a prisoner, and Pan would have no reason to let her walk around camp anymore. Or worse – walk at all.

"I'm beat from all this braiding and morning chores, so—" she forced a yawn and tried to smile apologetically, "maybe next time?"

He looked like he might call her out on such a lame excuse. But before he could, a large blond boy called his name from across the clearing. Emmeline craned her neck and saw Luca running towards them, his tiny face red from exertion.

"Mother," he said, doubling down in front of them panting. "Sorry to interrupt—" he wheezed, "your lesson—" wheeze, "but all the boys have been called to- to line up for Felix."

Emmeline looked to Liam, brows furrowed, as she ran a hand down Luca's back to soothe his coughing. "Line up?" she asked.

"Yeah." The ginger rolled his eyes. "Every two weeks, Felix has the whole camp lineup for inspection. He likes to poke at all the new-recruits and make sure we're all ready for action. It's kinda pointless if you ask me, but it figures he'd set one up before the celebration. He's obsessed with impressing Pan and all that."

"Don't," Luca chided, waving his hands in a cutting motion. "He can hear you, you know?"

"Who? Felix?" Emmeline asked. The blond looked so scared that she actually looked over her shoulder, half-expecting Scar-Face to be standing right behind her with his club. He wasn't.

"Don't be silly, Luca." Liam packed up his fishing net and other materials in his woven basket before standing up and dusting off. "He can't actually hear us. He just says that to spook the little ones into behaving."

Luca regarded him with wide, unconvinced, eyes. "I heard he punished a boy down in Southbay for complaining about working too much. Sent him up to the 'cano for the Shadow to play with. He never came back."

"That's nonsense." Liam grabbed his arm. "Come on, we don't have time for this. He may not hear us everywhere, but Felix sure can punish us for being late to the lineup."

Suddenly, something in her brain clicked and she called out after the boys. If Tommy was here, he'd have to show up for this thing, right? This lineup could not only be a chance to scout Pan's troops and see what the crew was up against, but also a chance to actually look for her brother. "Where—where is it again? This lineup?"

Luca shouted over his shoulder, "Down by the Westside armory, you know, near the 'cano."

'cano?

The volcano?

Emmeline vaguely recalled seeing it when they'd arrived. Dormant, she'd believed then, but now she wasn't as sure. From all the weapons she'd seen the boys handling, and all the armories she knew were spread across camp, there should also be a forge somewhere. A place where all the equipment was being made. And weren't forges supposed to be blistering hot?

"Come to the feast," Liam called back as way of goodbye, as he dragged Luca behind him down the trail.

Emmeline sat back down and winded the rope in her hands. A volcano could be an excellent power source for a forge if it was properly channeled, which wouldn't be difficult for Pan seeing as he had plenty and powerful magic.

You know who else has powerful magic, she thought. The Savior.

The first scratches of a plan began to form in her mind, something so insane it might just crossover into plausible.

But before she could go further, she needed to be certain her guesses corresponded with the truth. She needed to scope out the Westside. Not just for Tommy now, but for all of them. The ropes left her hands and landed in a mess of tangles.

Emmeline needed to go to that feast.

"We're set, sir." Felix handed him a sheet of parchment with names and numbers. The track record of soldiers and supplies and the results of the latest recon missions.

Pan skimmed over the words, not really paying attention. They'd been over these facts before hundreds of times, during all those years they'd spent waiting for the truest believer. Back up plans and fail-safes had all been accounted for centuries in advance. But Felix insisted on double-checking, on being sure.

"Looks good," Pan mumbled, tossing the records with the pile of papers that littered his desk. He noticed the twitch in his second's lips at his blatant dismissal but chose to ignore it for the colourful map of the island tacked to the wall.

All the way from the northern waterfalls to the southern bay, the sprites and mermaids were rallied to his cause. Little white flags marked their creeks and waterholes – sources of backup in case of attack. The west was shielded by the beastly volcano, which the Shadow inhabited, guarded, and Pan suspected, drew life-force from as well. He knew as the Shadow was currently busy with the Dark One, it couldn't protect that edge of camp or its invaluable weapon for now.

"Redirect the patrols to the Westside," he ordered Felix. "Make sure there are always twenty guards circling on duty and ten fixed to the outposts. And alert our allies to misdirect the heroes if they stray too close to those borders."

Paper shuffled, and pen scratched furiously over it. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it immediately." Felix paused, and Pan could tell he wanted to say more but pondered whether that would be wise. He seemed to choose his next words carefully. "The track record—" he started.

"Yes, it's fine—" Pan waved him off impatiently.

"No, I mean," Felix wanted to balk under his glare but didn't. He had a good reason for interrupting. "I mean," he continued, "I was analysing the records and noticed something. The groups who oversee weapon-making and stockpiling and internal rounds, basically camp-maintenance, have been kept apart by rivalry and competition—"

"I know. It's part of our strategy." Pan stalked up to his second in command, arms crossed. "Their rivalries are what keep the risk of mutiny from spreading across our entire supply chain low. It guarantees we can't be completely cut off from the inside."

Felix nodded like he was already aware of that. "Well," he sighed. "They're no longer divided. As of late, they've been positively connected."

"Connected?"

"By the Storyteller." Felix scowled as if the word was sour.

Peter Pan's green eyes shot back to the map, travelling to the eastern border of his camp, the least valuable and least warded section. Emmeline. His fingers twitched.

He turned to Felix. "You mean they listen to stories together? That's hardly worth notice."

"They're bonding," Felix insisted. "It could spell danger in the future. If she mobilizes an attack from the inside, as she's threatened to do before, this could break us. Break our supply chain and strand us off. It could change the tide of victory."

Every word chipped away at Pan's calm smile until his lips were set in a line. "She's not a threat," he assured the other boy. "I have her under control."

"Sir, after Henry slipped his guard that day—" Felix bit his lip. "I've had my suspicions. The girl—"

"Was with me the whole time, remember? She had nothing to do with that, Felix."

Peter shuffled through his papers, praying for the other boy to drop this subject. Anger, mostly directed at himself, brewed in the pit of his stomach. He was Peter – bloody – Pan. He knew what he was saying. The girl had nothing to do with Henry snooping around camp that morning. In fact, he suspected she had little to do with Henry at all. Her motive for being here was not the same as everyone else's.

"Consider it for a moment," Felix pleaded, abandoning caution. "I fear you're underestimating the situation. Those boys have been thoroughly seduced by her charming face and silly stories." He placed a hand on Pan's shoulder. "Those besotted idiots care about her too much, they listen to her too much."

A flower suddenly flashed through Pan's eyes, and the paper in his hands crumpled as he fisted them. He shook the other boy off.

"She won't break us," Pan insisted. "She's on this island for a reason, Felix, and when I find out what it is, I'll own her. With her magic under my command, I'll crush the Savior's rescue mission once and for all."

"It's risky. She has far too much influence already, and I don't trust her."

"You do well not to," Pan said. "I don't either. But that is exactly why I have to keep her close, under my careful guard. Where she can't plot my demise."

Felix lowered his head, tired. "Yeah," he said, raising his hands as if in surrender. "But letting her under your guard is also a great way to get stabbed in the back." He picked up his reports, and said, "I'll hand out the new patrolling rota, so it can circulate before the feast tonight." And then left before Pan could say anything else.

Normally, that would piss him off but something else snagged his attention.

The feast.

Maybe this was just the opportunity he needed to shake Emmeline down and get a feel of her intentions. He had meant what he'd said to Felix, and he would prove it. She was not a threat to their plan. She had her own agenda, and once he figured it out he'd bend her to his bidding. Or dispose of her. It's not like he cared, really.

He would invite her to the feast where he would interrogate her. His pulse picked up speed and he frowned like it could be scolded it into cooperation. This was a night of tactical reconnaissance and nothing else. Nothing. He was absolutely focused.

The Storyteller wouldn't escape him tonight.

Emmeline arrived at the Westside, hands clammy and heart in her throat. The paranoid part of her brain screamed that this was a trap Felix had set to incriminate her. It was just too big of a coincidence. She had just discussed the feast with Liam and Luca, all the while wondering how she might infiltrate it for mutinous purposes, and then received an invitation to go.

She'd thought maybe Luca was right. And maybe Felix could not only hear all their conversations, but their thoughts as well. Maybe he'd tapped into her mind just as she'd nicknamed him Scar-Face and decided to seek revenge by tricking her into breaking her deal with Pan.

And her paranoia was such that, if not for the tropical white-and-pink flower attached to the note, she would have dismissed it entirely. And probably barred the door and windows in her room for all the good it would do.

But Pan's signature scent lingered in the room, so Emmeline decided to seize her fates-given opportunity. And now she found herself dodging dancers and musicians, palms slick, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

The Westside was significantly greater than its eastern counterpart, its trails full of forks and creeks and bridges. It was so that her invitation had included directions to the Clearing of Celebration, where the feast would take place, to make sure she wouldn't get lost. Directions but not a map, so that if she strayed from the path he'd designated, she'd be in uncharted territory, completely lost. He'd made sure that even though she'd been cleared to visit the Westside for tonight, she could not learn any of its secrets without exposing herself.

"Mother! Mother!" A group of giggling kids stumbled towards her. If not for the clear absence of alcohol in their breaths, she would've deigned them utterly drunk. "Come play with us," they called.

"Later, my loves," she replied with a smile she hoped showed none of her discomfort or fear. Uncharted territory indeed. Even the boys she recognized in the crowd were acting out of sorts, as if the celebration had put them under a wild spell.

Emmeline sat down at the rim of the clearing, back against a tree, and watched the revelry, dumbfounded. There were two enormous fires around which the lost boys danced. They moved to the beat of drums and reed pipes bobbing their heads, clapping, and spinning. In their fur coats and animal masks, they seemed under a feral trance. Their laughter sounded very much like hungry howls.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. These were not the boys she knew and cared about. They were other, transformed.

Emmeline wondered if her brother was under some mask, dancing among those crazed limbs. Wondered if he felt at place here when she felt utterly out of place.

She saw Liam by one of the fires, his orange hair one with the flames as he spun and laughed, and Luca wrestling his dance partner to her left. She saw—Henry. Emmeline shot to her feet instinctively. Yes, it was him by the food and drinks. And with him… Peter Pan. Ice water doused her veins.

She moved, eyes glued to them, trying to remain hidden while getting closer at the same time. What were they talking about? Pan produced a reed pipe from one of his pockets and started playing, but she was too far away, and the boys around her too raucous, to hear him. She bumped into someone in her haste to approach them and turned to apologize.

"What," growled Scar-Face, "are you doing here?"

Emmeline sucked in a startled breath as the memory of Luca's spooked eyes came back to her. Felix's scar stood out in the firelight, stark and twisted and menacing. She couldn't look away even though she saw his lips twitch at her open gawking.

"I'm—I was." She tried to swallow the stone in her throat. "I was invited."

"By whom?"

Emmeline's gaze flitted automatically back to where she had last seen Pan, only to find he was no longer there. But Henry was, and he… he was dancing, howling with the others. As wild and carefree as a lost boy. She felt like that stone had turned into a thorn bush. She knew she'd told him to pretend, to go along with Pan—but was this still pretending? Because it looked very real.

"I invited her."

She pivoted back to Scar-Face and found Peter Pan, tousled curls and smirk, standing beside him. Judging by Felix's glower he was neither warned of or approved of the invite, but Pan didn't spare him a glance. His green, green eyes were focused entirely on her.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked.

Emmeline's pulse stuttered as if she'd missed the last rung of a ladder on her way down. She had certainly not prepared for this when she'd imagined all the scenarios that might unfold at the feast.

She fixed her eyes on the revelry. She hoped the firelight masked the heat that climbed her neck. "No, thank you."

"Come now," Pan said, a smile in his voice. "There's no fun in just watching."

Emmeline could barely remember a time when she'd been happy and carefree enough to enjoy dancing. Before the Ogre's War and her father's conscription, maybe. But even then, it had not been this wild and animal-like dancing. Those festivals were full of soft flutes. One was expected to wear billowing skirts, and dancing consisted of fluttering hands and luxurious twirls. She treasured memories of being twirled by her father, standing on the tips of his shoes as he spun them together and she laughed until she was dizzy.

Emmeline tucked her arms across her chest. No, she did not want to dance like the lost boys or with the lost boys. With Pan. "I don't dance."

He was the picture of child-like wonder tonight, angelic but daring, as if he were no more immune to the trance of the revelry than the lost boys. "You don't dance?" he echoed, a mischievous grin stretching his lips.

"Yes."

"You mean you don't know how to dance?"

"Sure," she lied, eager to put this matter behind them. "I don't know how. Never learned."

He clapped his hands together like a crocodile might clap its prey between murderous maws. "Great," he said. "I'll teach you."

She felt him step closer, the heat from his body and the smell of his magic overpowering. She refused to drop her arms or acknowledge his outstretched hand. Emmeline saw him roll his eyes out of the corner of her own. He bent down and whispered in her ear, "I won't step on your toes. Promise."

The warmth of his breath against her cheek sent tingles down her spine. Heart thumping, she laid her hand on his, but kept her eyes stubbornly fixed ahead. There was no use denying him, he'd just pester her some more. Besides, this was all in the name of her mission. Nothing else.

Pan tugged her gently to the center of the clearing, one hand on the small of her back, the other twined with hers. With a sharp whistle, he cut through the music and signaled the drummers and pipers to switch tempo to a flowing, mellow tune.

Oh. They were going to slow dance. Something fluttered madly in her chest. "You know what? I changed my mind. Let's not."

Pan guided her forward and placed his hand on her waist. "Relax. I promise you'll have fun. I'm a phenomenal dancer."

"Modest," she grumbled, but it was without force. She was too nervous.

He smiled and spun her around. They began to dance.

In an effort to distract herself from his hands on her skin, Emmeline watched the boys that surrounded them move to the new beat, equally as entranced as before. Their bodies drew fluid arcs across the floor now, hands and feet soft and graceful.

"Is this all of them?" she asked when Peter spun her to face him again. "All your lost boys."

"Not all," he replied. He drew her closer to be better heard over the drums. "Someone has to stand guard while we're enjoying ourselves. But most of them are here, yes."

His gaze pinned her in place as his hands suddenly let go of hers to land on her waist. He lifted her in a graceful move, and when her feet touched back on the ground, she was lightheaded.

"Nice party," she babbled.

He laughed. "You can thank your heroes for it," he said. "They were so pitifully pathetic this morning that they inspired us to start celebrating our victory in advance."

She lowered her eyes. "They're not mine," she said, ignoring his gloating.

"What?"

"They're not my heroes," she repeated. "I don't think they're anybody's but their own."

He caught her gaze again, and his face held a note of understanding too true for her comfort. "Can't argue with that, love."

He guided her around one of the fires, hands steady and warm, and she found herself relaxing. Lowering her walls. Her panic kicked in, a defense mechanism that roused her from the spell of the music. Emmeline scrambled for anything to say just to muffle the song of the reed pipes. "You've probably had thousands of parties like this one, you know, 'cause you've been here for so long."

"Not really. We haven't had much to celebrate before now."

"Before Henry," she said.

"Yes."

She let him guide her farther from the agglomeration of boys, so they had more space to dance. "And after you're done with him?" she asked. "What then?"

"I don't understand." Pan looked genuinely puzzled.

"What will you be celebrating? There's got to be a point to this game beyond antagonizing everyone. What is it? Eternal youth? Oh, wait. You've a giant enchanted island to take care of that." She scratched her chin in mock consideration. "I know, it's for magic, right? But, hey, you're already the most powerful magic-wielder in the known realm. Jeez," she huffed, "someone is greedy. What more could Peter Pan want?"

"You think I'm the most powerful magic-wielder in the realm?" His cocky grin was too annoying to watch, so she turned her face away. He'd swept them all the way to a quiet, almost secluded corner.

Emmeline broke apart from him and rolled her eyes, trying to hide the fact that she was a little out of breath. "Good to know you have selective hearing."

"What about you?" he asked, folding his arms behind his back. His eyes were intent, curious.

"I've perfect hearing, thank you very much."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I mean, what does the Storyteller want?"

Emmeline felt her airways close up, her heart pummel against her ribs. "What," it wasn't even a question, more of a startled sound to fill the silence.

"You aren't like them, love. The heroes. Anyone can see that." He took a step closer. "Why come with them then? Why help them? Why," he asked, "are you playing this game?"

"I'm—I came with them. It's—I don't know what you're…" she trailed off, panic stealing her breath away.

"What do you owe them?"

"Nothing," she rushed out. Her cheeks burned as his lips formed a satisfied smirk.

"What do they owe you then?"

"I—" Emmeline gulped. Her eyes danced madly around for an excuse, a life-line, anything to divert his attention, but they were detached from the party and all the boys were hopelessly drunk on the music. No one would save her. "It's not like that."

"No?" He was too close now, closer than when they'd been dancing. She could smell his magic, feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the dusting of freckles across his nose. "Tell me, love, what's it like then?"

This was not how this night was supposed to go, she thought. Not at all. She was going to scout out the Westside, to look for her brother. To plan an escape. Not fall into Pan's net. How foolish she'd been to believe his invitation could be anything other than a trap.

"Thank you for the dance," she said, skirting around him to the exit. Her voice was a faint, pitiful thing. "I had a great time."

He grabbed her wrist. "You haven't answered me."

Her eyes locked on his grip, wide with unmasked fear. Pan snatched his hand away, suddenly, and when she looked up at him, he looked ashamed, sorry. But he quickly smoothed his features back into composure. "You haven't answered me," he repeated, though this time his hands remained glued to his side.

She ignored his question and wrapped her hands around herself. "I'm going to bed. Thanks again."

He didn't stop her this time, though she felt his magic heating up behind her. She waited until she was on the path back to her side of camp before breaking into a sprint.

She only slowed down when she reached the ladder to her room. Blood pounded in her ears. She was so consumed by her frazzled thoughts that she didn't notice the gathering of shadows by her door until she stepped into it.

Cold darkness and smoke blinded her, and the ground spun under her feet. When the pressure relieved, she fell on her knees gasping. Black crocodile-skin boots walked into her line of vision, and a hand forced her chin up.

"Hello, dearie."