"We have to be extremely quick with this mansion," Peter tells me on the winding rocky path up towards the large, grey manor. The wind whips icily around us as we canter up the steep mountain path. "The monster guarding this place is an extremely good tracker and will hunt us down, even if I cloak with magic. We only have a limited amount of time to get in, check the library and get out."
I look across to Peter. "And what type of monster would this be?"
"Hellhounds," he tells me, his jaw set in a hard line of determination.
"Ah, more Greek mythology coming to life," I observe. "And to think I always told those as just bedtime stories."
Peter shakes his head and lets out a laugh that isn't nearly as brittle as usual. "The amounts of cosmic irony that happens every day to both of us is infinite. Shakespeare couldn't even begin to fathom this amount of irony." He glances over at me, offering a small amused smile which I return.
It's been just over a month and a half since we met with Ursula and discovered the only possibility for saving Neal in which I don't end up dead. It also involves forgiving Peter, which as of late doesn't seem at all impossible. He's so much more bearable these days. One could even call him decent. I doubt he'll ever get to the point where he's a warm, cuddly person because that's not who he is, but he's definitely on his way to being pleasant. In fact, I rather enjoy his company most of the time. When we aren't at each other's throats, his conversation is quite stimulating and interesting. I enjoy his dry, sarcastic sense of humour. I rather like that quite a bit. I like hearing what he has to say and what he thinks about things. In fact, I want to hear about all his thoughts and ideas on everything. Not just that, I want to tell him all my thoughts and ideas and have him challenge them and discuss them with me. He keeps me on my toes and I rather like that. I suppose that he's always kept me on my toes, but now it's much more tolerable.
There are a lot of things about him now that I find myself liking quite a bit.
"Alright," I say, shaking myself back to the present. "What's the plan here? How are we going to avoid the hellhounds?"
"I already told you," he says. "We'll cloak ourselves with magic."
"But you said the hellhounds will still hunt us down," I counter.
Peter rolls his eyes. "When has a little bit of danger stopped you from doing anything?" he teases. "You're Wendy Darling, danger follows you everywhere. Besides, we still have a plan."
"Not a very good one," I counter.
He raises his eyebrows at me, feigning exasperation. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"Well, no."
"Then we're going with my plan," Peter tells me, grinning. He licks his finger and swipes through the air. "Peter: one, Wendy: zero."
"Oh, is that the score for the past five minutes?" I joke. "Because before that you know I'm ahead of you by a few thousand."
Peter's eyes flash bright blue with mischief. "Shut up, bird." He then urges Samson up the last little bit of the path and gets down just before a large rot iron gate. He takes Samson by the reigns and carefully ties the reigns to a nearby tree, muttering to him softly. "I'll be back soon, boy. Just stay here." He strokes Samson's mane and then comes back to the gate, waiting expectantly for me to also tie up Ash.
"Kind to animals," I observe, walking over to him by the gate. "Who would have thought?"
"Oh, please, bird," he brushes off. "Don't act like that's a big step in the right direction. It's not a big deal, or very impressive." I look up at him and grin, wondering if he can tell that I'm trying to wordlessly show him that I'm proud of how far he's come. He smiles back down at me, his eyes bright and clear instead of harsh and icy for once. His dark hair falls playfully around his face and his eyes crinkle at what I can only guess are actual laugh lines. He looks like a happy, young man for once.
"Alright, alright. Let's cloak ourselves and just get in, read the books we need to and get out," I tell him. As I say the words, I can feel the tension begin to creep up on me. This is one of the last times we'll ever be going into any mansion. This is the third last mansion and it holds a third of all the opportunities I have to save Neal. I have a lot of hope and pressure riding on this mansion. It's getting down to the wire and I don't know if I can handle being met for the umpteenth time with the depressing thought that my death is the only way to save Neal.
But thankfully, all goes well. Peter cloaks us easily, his sparkling green magic enveloping us as we enter the property and slip through the long, twisting corridors lined with stone carvings of scenes from Greek mythology that are so ornate and detailed I could have sworn that they had once been real.
We finally reach the library and I'm surprised and pleased to observe that the first part of our plan is going extremely well until Peter swings open the large, stone doors and I look up on the library, or at least what used to be a library.
The rows upon rows of what must have been gorgeous, tall, elegant bookshelves have all toppled over onto each other, creating a pile of broken, shattered wood. The chairs and tables that must have once been used to lounge and read for hours in are all ripped to shreds everywhere, with fabric and stuffing littering the ground. But nothing compares to the books.
On the right side of the room, stands a large, grand fire place, crackling with lively fire. It would be an inviting sight to read by if not for the dozens up dozens of books that have been ripped up and used for kindling. There are barely more than a few dozen books left from what must have been a collection that numbered in the thousands.
I look on at the desecrated pile of books and I feel my heart shrink.
"What the hell?" Peter breathes out, looking at the disastrous library. "What the hell happened here?" But I'm not listening I'm already sprinting over to the pile of books and begin to rummage through the shreds of my hope for Neal.
I rip through each book, searching for spells, incantations, anything. Each one proves completely useless and I toss behind me, growing more and more desperate with each word that yields no solution to me. I can hear Peter behind me, attempting to reason with me, to just get me to respond but I don't hear. All I'm aware of is the fact that is the third last mansion and all of the thousands of possibilities in this library that could have saved Neal have been used for kindling.
I finally finish off the pile of books and wildly look around, searching for anything. My eye catches a book with only a corner and I make a swipe for it, but I'm pulled back also immediately by what I can only guess is Peter. I try and twist out of his grasp, but he holds on tight, turning me to face him.
He grabs wildly at the sides of my face, and holds my gaze. "You need to calm down, bird, or else we aren't going to be able to do anything productive here," he tells me.
"Productive? You think we're going to be able to do anything here?" I fume. "All the books are destroyed! There is nothing for us here!"
"You need to calm down and think straight," Peter reasons. "The books aren't everything."
"The books aren't everything?" I shout. I wrench myself out of Peter's grasp and take a step away from him. "Peter, this is the third last mansion. We are running out of resources and this library being destroyed just took out a third of our last remaining possibilities! Don't you dare tell me the books aren't everything!"
"Well, then there's nothing we can do about them now," he tries to tell me calmly. "We can maybe try and figure out what happened-"
"All I cared about were the books and they're all ash now. I don't give a damn about what happened here!" I retort back to him.
"Actually, you might give a damn about what happened here," comes a voice from behind Peter. We both immediately whip around to find two women and a man, all three looking impossibly disheveled, beaten, bruised, cold and down right tired standing in front of Peter and me. They're all dressed in what must have once been sleek black outfits, with bows and arrows strung along their backs and I immediately recognize them for what they are.
"Thieves!" I burst out. "You were the ones who destroyed all of these books." I begin to stalk towards them, but Peter grabs my hand and keeps me in place. "I'll put you through hell for destroying those!"
"We've already gone through hell while destroying them," the older of the women sighs. She has deep rich chestnut hair with silver woven into it and large blue eyes. If I weren't so frothing mad, I'd observe that she had a kind face and wise eyes. "So, going back through again wouldn't be much of a feat."
"Now, let's have a seat and talk about what's happened because once we explain, you'll understand the predicament you've just walked into," offers the man, easing himself down into a circle of pillows that I failed to see in my rage. He has the same deep rich chestnut hair streaked with silver and big blue eyes. His face is open and the picture of calm.
"I don't want to hear anything you criminals have to say! You've no idea what you've done by destroying those books," I tell them harshly. I'm about to stalk off when I remember that my hand is still latched on to Peter's. He tugs me back towards him, so that I'm facing him. I refuse to meet his calm gaze and instead glare at the crackling fire.
Somewhere in the rational, calm part of my mind, it registers that we've somehow switched roles today, with Peter being the kind, rational one and me being the angry, mean-spirited one. I find that fact insufferable and him even more so.
"You've got to calm down, bird," he whispers into my ear. "I'm quite certain that we're in a fair amount of danger right now by the state of things. We can't save the books, but if we act rationally we can save ourselves and these people."
"They've ruined our chances of saving Neal," I grind out.
"Stop that," he scolds. "They're trying to improve our chances of surviving, and through that they also improve our chances of saving Neal." He sighs and I can feel his breath on my neck.
"No, they destroyed our chances of saving Neal by using those books for kindling," I seethe.
"This is not you, bird," Peter says in a low voice. "What's gotten into you today?"
"What's gotten into me? I'll tell you. We're five months in to a dangerous, treacherous, disaster-filled journey that has not just my brother's life, but my own riding on it, and we've gotten down to the one of the very last chances to save both my brother and myself, and we just lost a third of the books that could have helped us save Neal," I clip out under my breath.
I'm much too upset to even think to remember that there are three complete strangers staring at Peter and me in utter confusion.
"The books aren't the only solution. They aren't everything," Peter tries to assure me, but I can hear the sharpness of his words and I know he's getting angry also. "You have to have a little more faith that there might be another solution to the problem."
"Care to share that solution with me then?"
"No, I don't," Peter tells me, folding his arms across his chest.
"To think we had gotten to the point where we see each other as equals."
Peter clenches his jaw and his eyes grow icy. "If you think that's the reason I'm not-"
"There shouldn't even be a reason you're not telling me! This is my brother's life and mine on the line!" I let out an angry breath. "Do you even care about me? Or are you still just as selfish as before?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I don't mean them one bit even. I was angry and stressed and scared and completely blindsided by the situation, I just took it out all on Peter and it was cruel.
Peter looks at me for a moment like he's been slapped, and then slowly recoils, his jaw clenching, his lips turning into a cold, hard line and his eyes becoming icy and unreachable.
"You know that's not true," he bites out. "There's obviously no reasoning with you at this point." He eyes flick across my face, hopefully seeing how truly sorry I am. "How about you just sit this one out, okay? I'll take a break being a selfish, cold-hearted villain for right now and go help these poor people."
Peter quickly brushes past me and immediately strikes up a conversation with the group. I can't make out the words from over here, but I can hear the murmur of his voice, calm, soothing, apologetic.
I sink down into an armchair that isn't completely destroyed and hold my head in my hands. I never lose my temper like this. I've gotten so far in this quest and I've put all of my hope into these books that may very well not lead to any solution in helping Neal. Peter was right, the books aren't everything, but I let my anxiety over Neal get the better of me. It's no excuse for how I acted. I'm better than this and these people deserve better than this.
Peter deserves better than this.
He's come so far from who he used to be. He's kind and caring and brave and smart and sweet. He believes fully in me and sees me as a wonderful person, flaws and all. He's a good person, with a bad past. It doesn't mean that I have to feel obligated to forgive him now or ever, but it does mean that I should have to bring up his past to hurt him when I'm upset.
It's cruel and unfair to him.
I look around the side of the chair and over my shoulder at him. I watch him intently as he speaks to the two women and man with great concern and obvious sympathy. His eyebrows are furrowed together, like they always do when he's concentrating hard. The other three listen to him patiently, occasionally offering up a comment or a concern. They look at him with complete trust and confidence in him and his abilities. There's no doubt to them that he is a good man.
There's no doubt to me either.
Finally they finish speaking, shake hands and then begin to presumably go off to their separate tasks to carry out whatever plan Peter's probably come up with. Peter stands where they've left him for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. I can see the taut muscles in his shoulders. I don't even need to see his face to know that he's still upset with me.
Finally, he turns around and stalks over to me. As soon as he turns, he locks eyes with me and doesn't break the connection the entire time it takes to stride over to me. Finally, he just sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
"It turns out they're from the village we're staying in. Apparently, the hellhound likes to go on jaunts to the farms and eat all the livestock, so they came here to try and see if they could get rid of it," Peter explains. He looks at me pointedly. "So, they aren't thieves. Jacob and Margaret are siblings and Margaret and the other woman, Sadie, are married. They all own one of the farms that's constantly ransacked." He lets out a deep breath. "So, when they came up here, they were completely out-matched and ending up being chased through the entire house. They ended up in the library and eventually got the hellhound out. It can't come back in because the doors have twist handles and it literally can not get in because of that sole reason.
"So bouncing off of that little bit of information, the plan is to lure it back in, let fire to the place, get out and shut it in while it and the library goes up in flames. So, I need you to move everything you can to the centre of the room where they're making the big pile over there," Peter explains. "Sounds good?"
I nod, not quite sure how to begin to apologize to Peter when he begins to walk off. I stand up from the chair and catch his hand. He immediately coils back, but still turns around and looks at me, his face that unreadable mask I hate.
"Peter, I want to apologize," I begin, but he cuts me off.
"I really don't want to hear it right now, Wendy," he tells me.
"No, Peter, please, just hear me out," I attempt. He huffs but remains silent. "It was unbelievably cruel of me to say that to you, when it's so far from the truth. It's unfair of me to always go back to that insult whenever I'm upset. It hurts you more than I'll probably ever know. It doesn't do anything to help either of us. It's just a mean, hateful lie and I never, ever want to say it again, because I don't believe it and I don't want to hurt you and you don't deserve it," I rush out. Peter looks at me, completely indifferent, so I continue, "You've become an incredible man. You're kind and caring and brave and smart and completely wonderful and it's a sin to ever even say what I said to you. There is no excuse for it and I am so unbelievably sorry for it." I pause and look up to Peter, whose face has finally softened. "I'm so, so sorry, Peter."
"I know and I forgive you for it," Peter says, his voice soft and low. "I know you didn't mean it, but it rips my heart out to even think for one second you think that." He rubs his temples. "I'm working hard at becoming a better person. And I know I'm far from perfect, but I wish you wouldn't doubt my commitment to you. There are a lot of things that I don't have in spades: honour, patience, decency, you name it. But I'm committed to you and I care more about you than anything else. But you make it hard sometimes to help you and show you my commitment."
"I'm sorry," I repeat again, dumbly. It's all I can come up with after what Peter's said. It makes my heart feel like it's about to burst out of my chest, hearing what he's just said. I've acted atrociously today and he's been committed to helping me and keeping me on the right path even still. "Thank you," I say finally. "For all you've done, especially today."
Peter grins at me, and I know this pain is over and done with. "Don't thank me just yet. We still have to get out of here." And with that we set off building up the ginormous pile of anything flammable that we can find. We lug old shelves into the middle, toss armchairs and drape old curtains over everything. We work steadily until finally we all step back to admire the complete mess of things in the centre of the room.
"Perfect," Peter says approvingly. "Now, let's open those doors and burn this place to the ground." He marches over to fireplace and begins to put together a torch that will hopefully light the entire pile up quickly.
He however leaves me with the John, Margaret and Sadie who I only just recently accused of being thieves when in fact they're brave farmers who were willing to risk their lives for their village. I feel just as awful about what I said to them as I did with Peter.
I play awkwardly with my thimble before building up the courage to begin to apologize to them. I turn and offer them a small smile. They look back at me, confused, but not maliciously.
"I want to apologize for my behaviour," I begin. "It was truly abominable and there was no excuse for it. I was blindsided by the situation and scared and confused and I took it out on you kind folks and I am so sorry for that. It was completely unacceptable and I deeply regret my actions."
"We understand and we accept your apology," Margaret says after a few counts. "Your husband over there explained to us why you're here and we understand why you reacted that way. It's alright. If my own brother were in the situation your brother's in now, I'm sure I'd act just the same way." I close my eyes and silently thank Peter again for all he's done. He's kept me grounded and good today.
She smiles at me and squeezes John's shoulder, and it makes my heart squeeze just thinking about my own three brothers. I miss them so much and I fear for each of them every day. It makes my heart ache, not seeing their faces every day.
"And I'd do the same for Sadie, of course, as I'm sure you would for Peter," Margaret continues. and lovingly takes Sadie by the hand. The look she gives Sadie makes me blush from its intimacy, but it also makes me think about Peter. It is true. At this point, I've flung caution to the wind. There's no more denying that I don't deeply care for Peter anymore. I may not have forgiven him, but he means so much to me and I don't know what I do without him. I would search this world and every other one for him, to make sure he was alright. I don't even want to entertain the thought of him getting hurt or worse.
I look over my shoulder and smile at Peter, who gives me a lopsided grin and continues with his fire. He's ended up stringing all the old drapes over the the fireplace from the pile of finger in the middle of the room, soaking them in the liquor I keep in my measly doctor's bag.
"I would," I mutter to myself.
Finally, he finished with what he's doing and motions for us to come over. Once we get to him, he instructs, "I want you to open the doors and as soon as you do, I'll light the pile up. Then we wait for the hellhound and as soon as it's in, everyone needs to get out. Just run and slam the door as soon as everyone's out. Alright?"
We all nod. Sadie, Margaret and John all go towards the door and begin to heave it open. Soon the doors are flung open and Peter lights the drapes on fire. I close my eyes and watch for some kind of sizzling bang but nothing happens. I open my eyes to find a smokey length of curtain in front of me and a confused Peter.
"What the hell?" I say.
Peter frantically picks up the drapes and shakes them. "They're not soaking up the alcohol. They won't catch fire." He throws them back on the ground. "Rumple must have made the flame resistant. That bastard!"
Suddenly, I hear the scrape of claws on the marble floors of the hall and I don't need Margaret, John and Sadie by the door to tell me the hellhound is bounding towards us.
"Can't you just use your powers?" I ask desperately.
"I don't want them to know," Peter says quickly. "I'm going to have to just set it on fire by hand." He darts over to the pile and begins to carry back a few large sticks that he begins to stick into the fire. We frantically go back and forth as fast as possible and soon, the other three join us, hurrying quickly to try and set the pile ablaze.
But it's almost no use. The pile is too big and we don't have nearly enough time before the hellhound is barrelling straight into the room, snarling and snapping it's great jaws. The beast is at least eight feel tall and twelve feet long, not even counting it's long tail. It's silken black with angry green eyes and all I can think in it's presence is to run.
That's what I'm sure everyone else thinks, but we all remain in the room, frantically trying to set the entire pile on fire while the hound chases all of us, snapping and snarling its large, sharp teeth and roaring so loud it makes my head spin. We all manage to avoid the monster, barely and only because it keeps getting distracted by the four other tasty morsels in the room. We're eventually going to tire out and it will pick us off one by one.
Hopefully, we'll be able to set the place on fire before it comes to that and by the looks of things, it looks like we'll just barely make it. There's a low rumble of smoke and flame coming from the pile, slow and steady, but extremely hot. I can feel it's heat licking me just as much as I can feel the vibrations of the hound's growl.
Finally I can hear Peter's voice. "This is as good as it gets! Let's get the hell out out of here." He stands the farthest away from the door, waving us all towards the door. The four of us begin to make a break for it, but the hound quickly sees us all and bounds after us all. If it follows us out into the hall, our plan will all be for naught and we'll definitely be the hellhounds dinner.
Suddenly, I see a flash of green. It's gone before I even register it and I know that there's no way the other three would have seen it and let alone identified it. I whip around and see Peter, sneakily throwing balls of green fire at the dog. "Hey! Come over here and get me, you big beast!" Peter yells over the crackle of the fire.
I can barely even see him through the smoke but I make out his figure quickly darting away and the hound leaping after him. "Peter, no!" I screech, but the smoke clouds my lungs and I ended up dry heaving on the floor before I can scold him more. I turn around and begin to dash after him, but I feel strong arms that must be one of the three pulling me back and as much as I try to fight them I can't. They end up hauling me out of the library and into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind them. I rip out of they grasp and pull at the doorhandles, which have locked from the inside and are searing hot from the fire. I immediately shriek and pull my hands away, only to remind myself that Peter is in there and he needs me.
I pull and tug and beat on the door with no luck and eventually I feel myself being carried out of the mansion, completely hysterical. I scream and curse everything and everyone that I can think of. I swear and I cry and I scream until my throat is raw, even when we burst out into the bright, clear day.
I'm sure they try everything in their power to calm me down but there is nothing they can do. I just left Peter in the fiery, hellish place with a monster on his own. He sacrificed himself for me and everyone else. And now he's gone.
I feel like a great cavern has been opened up inside of me and now I'm just falling forever, smashing through glass and spikes and thorns and all kinds of brutal pain without Peter. I never thought it would be like this too lose him and it's so much worse than anything I would have ever imagined.
This is truly hell.
I weep and scream and cry uncontrollably as the three of them usher me out of the gated mansion and to where Peter and I left the horses. I immediately smash into Ash and bury my face in his warm coat. He leans his head down my back and drools on me comfortingly. I sob into his neck as three sets of hands try to pull me away.
I hear some of their excuses like, "This place isn't safe anymore" or "The mansion is burning down". And I don't give a damn about any of it. Peter's gone and there is nothing I can do. I just want to lie down and be swallowed by this earth.
I refuse to even acknowledge them when their voices grow soft and quiet and then seem to be filled with joy. I don't know what's happened, but I don't care. I just want to be left alone.
"Wendy, look!" I hear over and over again but I refuse to acknowledge anything outside of my pain, but then I hear it.
"Bird, look at me, please," the voice says, calmly, lovingly. For a split second, I think that I must be hallucinating, even though I feel like it is a little early in the grieving process to start that. And then I look up and whip around, finding a complete miracle before me.
He looks like he's just walked through hell and back. He's bruised and burned and half of his clothes are burnt off. He's covered head to toe in grimy soot and I can make out cuts and scrapes that are from the hellhound, but he's most definitely alive.
I don't even know how I got to him so fast or how I flung myself into his arms or how we toppled onto the ground or when I began kissing him or when he started to kiss back. All I know is that he's alive and in my arms and my heart feels so light it may very well bounce right out of my chest into his.
He tastes like ash and soot and blood and himself. I swear I've never tasted anything more wonderful. His arms have never felt more secure or comforting. It's pure joy to just have him by my side and I know that I never want him to leave it ever again.
Between kisses, I can hear myself reprimanding him. "You never, ever do that again, you hear me? If you go down in the fire, so do I," I say breathlessly. "You stupid, stupid man I thought you were dead. Don't you ever do that again, Peter."
I hear his laugher rumble in his chest and I kiss him again.
"I won't, ever again," Peter tells me, his arms wrapped around me, tightly, not seeming at all to mind that we're both covered in dirt and kissing on the ground in front of three complete strangers. "I promise."
Finally, he stands us both up and we quickly say goodbye to our three companions. They go off down the winding narrow path, leaving us calm ourselves down. As soon as they're out of sight, Peter attempts to go and untie the horses, but I tug him back towards me until he's wrapped his arms around me once more.
I put my hands on his cheeks and look at him very seriously. "I mean it," I tell him. "Never do that again." He looks down at me, the laughter that was so clear on his face has been replaced by complete concern. "You were a hero back there. And it was amazing and I am so proud of you. You've truly come so far and I can't believe my eyes. But if you think for one second that you're going to pull that shit again, you can forget it." I let out a breath. "I don't ever want to feel like that again. It felt like my entire world had crumbled." I wipe away the soot from his cheeks carefully, tenderly. "I care about you more than I care about myself. Please don't go sacrificing yourself. I don't want to be without you."
Peter brings his mouth down to meet mine, kissing me more passionately and tenderly than I even knew possible. It makes me feel breathless and lightheaded, but completely grounded and calm at once. Again, I feel as if my heart is about to leap right out of my chest. Finally, unfortunately, he eventually breaks away. "I care about you more than I care about myself, and I don't want to be without you either." He rests his forehead against mine.
We remain that way for what seems like forever, soaking in the warmth and glow of each other. My heart still feels so light and airy and hardly even tethered to me anymore and suddenly I realize why.
I love Peter.