A/N: Pacific Bell introduced Caller ID in 1991. Voona appears in Rani in the Mermaid Lagoon (Disney Fairies #5 by Lisa Papademetriou, Random House 2006).

Chapter Thiry-Nine

Stephanie listened while Jerrica spoke, but while she smiled briefly to hear that Emma was staying a bit longer, her eyes were somber by the end. "So, she's still going," she said.

Jerrica nodded. "Yeah. I hoped it wouldn't happen, not for a long time, if ever, but… it's happening."

"It's not fair."

Jerrica sighed. "No," she said, "it's not. But sometimes, life's just… like that. At least she'll be here until after the benefit. We've got a little time."

"She won't get to go to Disneyland," Stephanie said. "You promised her!"

"No," Jerrica shook her head. "I didn't promise. I couldn't. I told her that there would be another trip next month, but how could I guarantee that she wouldn't get sick, or that the bus wouldn't break down, or—"

"That she'd get packed up and shipped back to Boston?" Stephanie muttered. "Yeah. I get it. Can't she, at least, go to Disneyland before she has to leave? Somehow?"

Jerrica sighed. "Things are really heating up with the benefit. There's no way I, or any other adult here, can take her to Anaheim for the day until it's over. Maybe there'll be time then, but I can't be sure of that; it depends when the social worker arrives."

"Can you find out?"

"Not usually," Jerrica admitted. "I'm sorry."

Stephanie sniffled. "Yeah, like that helps. Can I go now?"

"Stephanie, you won't tell Emma or the others?"

Stephanie wanted to nod, but she also wanted to be honest. "I don't know if I can promise that," she retorted. Then she whirled on her heel and practically ran out of the office, pretending she didn't hear Jerrica calling after her. She half-expected Jerrica to jump up and chase after her. Part of her hoped she would, and she waited just outside the office uncertainly, but then the phone rang and she heard a muffled groan, followed by Jerrica's calm 'Hello, Rory.'

Right. The office phone had Caller ID. And 'Rory' was obviously someone important. Stephanie caught the word 'benefit' and her expression hardened. Of course, it had something to do with the benefit! Jerrica had already made it clear that that was the most important thing going on right now! Stephanie strode off, her head down and her shoulders forward, feeling very much like a bull getting ready to charge.

"It's no good," Casey said. "I don't mean the song; that sounds amazing. But you guys just…" She hesitated. "You're stiff," she said finally. "It's like… the only things moving onstage are your lips and your fingers. Could you, maybe, I don't know… sway? Or dance?"

Kyla shook her head. "I've got all I can handle trying to sing and play guitar at the same time!"

"Emma," Marla said, "maybe if you could dance a little, it would be enough. You're the only one not playing an instrument."

"I-I can't dance," Emma said, backing away. "Seriously, I have trouble with the Hokey-Pokey!"

"Well, you need to do something," Casey said. "Otherwise, you might as well be mannequins up on stage."

"I know who we can ask," Julie said hesitantly. "I-I mean, she's probably really busy with Jem and the other acts, but… Emma, you were at Haven House before you came here, right?"

Emma shrugged. "Yeah, for a couple of days, why?"

"Because the lady who runs it, Giselle? She used to be a professional dancer. She does choreography now. That's why she's been here at Starlight House a lot recently; she's helping with the benefit."

"So she's already busy," Emma said. "She probably won't have time."

"We can still ask," Kyla said.

"And even if she does have time, if she's a professional, she'll probably want a hundred bucks an hour or something!"

"I've got twenty," Julie said.

"Thirty-five. I think," Kyla chimed in.

"Ten," Marla said.

Emma swallowed. "I've got thirty," she admitted. It wasn't really hers; it was all that remained from Mrs. Malcombe's grocery money, but she couldn't refuse to contribute when everyone else was anteing up. What if it's not enough?"

"We're not asking her to teach us the Sleeping Beauty ballet!" Julie exclaimed. "Just a few moves so we'll look less… wooden on stage. Even if we can only afford a half an hour, it'll still be worth it."

"I don't know about that," Emma murmured, but the other girls didn't seem to hear.

"Okay," Marla said. "She'll probably be by sometime this week. Once she does, we'll wait until she's got a minute and we'll ask her. I mean, what have we got to lose?"

Emma had an answer to that, even if it wasn't one she knew how to put into words. She was used to being let down by people she'd thought she could count on. She liked Giselle, and in her mind, Emma wanted to believe that Giselle was different. But the only way she could keep believing that was if she never put that idea to the test. If she never asked Giselle for help, she could keep right on believing that Giselle would help, if she only knew that Emma wanted her to. But if she did ask and Giselle said no, then the image Emma had constructed of Giselle in her mind would be ruined and she didn't want to risk that happening. But if she couldn't find a way to articulate those thoughts to herself, she'd never manage explaining it to her friends.

Instead, she smiled, she nodded, and she hoped that the next time Giselle showed up at Starlight House, it would be when she and her friends were back at camp.

Wendy was dancing. Her blue silk dancing frock floated about her as she twirled, one arm curved gracefully about her head. She could hear the dancing teacher's instructions and she smiled, secure in the knowledge that she was executing them perfectly.

She turned to face her teacher and screamed to see a faceless, ink-black shadow with two eyes that glowed white. The shadow loomed over her and she tried to flee, even as two smoky hands seized her. And then the floor disappeared from beneath her feet as the dancing room vanished. She was in the open sky, her legs kicking out futilely and she sobbed when she realized that she was soaring over the ocean. The shadow dove down through the clouds with dizzying speed and Wendy beheld an all-too-familiar coastline.

"No!" she cried. "Please! I'm doing my best! I am! I am! I—"

Her protests became a shrill, wordless shriek when the shadow dropped her.

She was falling, she was falling, she was falling, she was…

…Screaming as a hand gripped her hair tightly and swam inland, towing her painfully behind. Her head was above water, so she could breathe—except for when a wave washed over her and she coughed, sputtered, and jerked, sending a fresh wave of pain to her scalp.

At those times, she heard a musical, malicious laugh and her heart sank. Her captor had to be a mermaid, and those who inhabited Neverland weren't anywhere near so lovely as the books of fairy stories she'd read when she was younger had made it seem. They'd tried to drown her before, but Pan had stopped them that time.

"Spoilsport!" one of the mermaids had exclaimed with a pout.

Pan had laughed, but there had been no warmth in it. "I'm not done playing with her, Voona. Once I get a new toy, I won't mind if you break this one, but so long as she's still useful or… fun, or I, at least, haven't tired of her, she's all mine."

Had Pan grown tired of her? Wendy wondered. Or had he tired of her failure to get Emma sent away? Her captor hadn't drowned her yet, she reminded herself, so this was probably another one of his cruel games.

Another wave washed over her and every thought save survival fled from her mind as she coughed and choked while being dragged relentlessly toward shore.

Wendy's scalp was on fire. Gradually, she realized that her captor was no longer gripping her hair, that she was treading water on instinct in some sort of cave or grotto, that she couldn't touch the bottom and had no idea how deep the water was or how long she could stay afloat, but her legs kept churning water and she did her best not to panic.

And then she heard an all-too-familiar voice. "Halloo there, Wendy!"

She forced herself to smile. Pan wouldn't like it if she seemed unhappy to see him. "Hello, Peter," she managed.

"Welcome back," Pan said lightly. "I've missed you."

"I…" She swallowed. "I hadn't expected to see you again so soon."

Pan shrugged. "Things have changed. I have it on good authority that Emma Swan will be leaving Starlight House in less than three weeks. She's being shipped back to that 'Boston' place like a misdirected package."

Wendy heaved a sigh of relief. "So, that's it then?" she asked. "I can stop tr-trying to take away her happiness?"

Pan shook his head, still smiling. "Nope," he said. "Our agreement's still on. Your brother's safety in return for you successfully completing your task. You, Wendy-bird," he continued, and her blood ran cold at the pet name. It had been a long time since he'd used that endearment or one like it, but he never had without doing something dreadful immediately afterwards. "No fair foisting the job off on a bunch of grown-ups," he continued. He raised his hand and a wave surged up beneath her, lifting her and carrying her around a bend and into a small, round chamber where the waters were gathered into a calm pool. And above that pool dangled a large wicker cage, its bars spaced far enough apart for her to see the captive within. And hanging from the bottom of the cage were a number of rocks, each roughly the size of a grapefruit.

"Michael!"

"Wendy!"

Pan leaped into the air between the siblings, blocking their view of one another. "You need to get Emma away from Starlight House," Pan said. "Before the grownups come to collect her. You need to be the cause of it. Or…" He waved his hand and the vine holding Michael's cage aloft suddenly slackened and the cave dropped several feet. Brother and sister screamed. Pan chuckled and waved his hand once more. The cage returned to its previous height.

"If you fail in your mission," Pan said with a savage smile, "then the day that Emma Swan returns to Boston, you will return to this place. Just in time to see your brother plummet to his doom!"

"No!" Wendy exclaimed. "How can you be so… horrid?"

"Play the game, Wendy," Pan smiled. "Then I won't have to be. Here," he added, tossing her a Never-fruit. "Catch!"

Wendy obeyed automatically, and as her hand closed around the small missile, the waters of the pool began to spin faster and faster. Her legs flew out from beneath her as she found herself sucked into the maelstrom. She tried to scream, but a wave slapped her in the face and she coughed and choked, thrashing about as Pan laughed, until…

…She kicked free of the covers, and continued to thrash about until she realized that she was lying on a mattress and if she was somewhat damp, it was owing to her own perspiration. She was back in her bed in her room. It had all been a dream.

She should have been relieved, but it had seemed so real! And her bedroom was stifling. Had something gone off with the cooling machinery? She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rose to her feet, and walked to the window. There was a screen, she reminded herself. The Shadow couldn't get to her here. Or perhaps, it could, but it couldn't carry her off; not through a screen! It would be perfectly safe to open it. All the same, she stared at the windowpane for a full five minutes before she raised it.

The air outside seemed a bit cooler, but there was no breeze and, after a few moments, Wendy closed the window again. On her dressing table, the peculiar little clock with neither hands nor face but only glowing red numbers told her that it was just past two in the morning. Far too early to be awake, she thought.

Her covers had come untucked while she'd been flailing about and she turned on her lamp so that she might see what she was doing when she set to putting them right again. Sighing, she seized her bedlinens by the bottom corners and shook them vigorously.

A small, yellow object rolled out and onto the floor. Wendy began to tremble. She stooped down to retrieve it and held it up to the light where the faint, wavy, green lines and gleaming blue speckles were more readily visible. She was holding a Never-fruit.

"Was that necessary?" the Shadow asked dryly. "It would seem that the Savior will be back on track to fulfill her destiny regardless of your little… plaything's… actions or inactions."

Pan smirked. "Yes, well. Destiny's destiny, you know that as well as I do. But just to wait patiently for it to take its course when you can give it a little nudge? Where's the fun in that?" He shrugged. "Besides, that was never the only reason."

"Oh?"

Pan sighed. "The game's getting boring, I'm afraid. Sometimes switching out a piece or two can breathe a bit of new life into it."

"So you'll keep the girl in the other land then."

"Oh, don't be daft!" Pan scoffed. "She may be interesting, but she's fairly useless. No, once this adventure is over, she'll return to me and her brothers will continue as they have been."

"With the threat to Wendy's safety to keep them in line," the Shadow nodded and Pan laughed.

"When it comes to that sort of leverage," he said with a sinister gleam in his eye, "one girl is worth twenty boys."

"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Eric said as he smiled at Roxy across the round Formica table.

Roxy swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Well, I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm still not having any luck getting back with the Misfits and I was hoping maybe I could, um, make a last-ditch effort on the night of their big comeback. Only I need to talk to them alone before the concert."

Eric shrugged. "Why come to me?"

"Because," Roxy admitted, "you're about the only person left who's still talking to me and might be able to help."

"Sorry," Eric shook his head. "I don't have those connections anymore, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't disclose them over a monitored conversation in a minimum security prison. I'm trying to put those days behind me," he added self-righteously and Roxy bristled.

"So, basically, I'm screwed," she said.

Eric shrugged. "You never needed my help to find a way into places you had no business being. If you need help, you might want to remember I'm not your only resource. Try Starlight Mansion."

"What?" Roxy leaped up and planted her hands on the table. "There is no way I'm throwing myself at Jerrica's feet!" She slid back down in her chair when she realized that two guards were fast approaching. "Sorry."

Eric shook his head. "Not at all. And that wasn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Roxy demanded, a trifle less belligerently.

Eric shook his head. "You're a smart girl with a decent memory, Roxy. Perhaps it'll come to you in time."

He nodded to the guards. "Thanks for paying attention. I believe my guest and I are finished now." He smiled at Roxy. "Aren't we?"

Roxy sighed. "Yeah."

She watched as one of the guards led Eric out of the visitors' hall. Then she headed back to the bus stop still frowning as she mulled over what Eric had said. She had an idea that he'd been trying to answer her question in a way that the guards wouldn't find suspicious, but she wasn't sure what he'd been hinting at. She was still trying to puzzle it out when the bus arrived.

"Stephanie, has Giselle shown up yet?"

Stephanie turned to face Julie and shook her head. "I don't think so. Why, is she coming today?"

"I hope so," the other girl said. "We can really use some help with our dancing. On stage," she added.

Stephanie frowned. "Did Jerrica say you could?"

"Well, she didn't say we couldn't," Julie hedged. "At least, not since the last time we asked her. If she sees how good we are, then maybe…"

Stephanie sighed. "She won't," she said. "You know she won't. She never does." Head down, she started walking off, pretending she didn't hear Julie calling after her.

"Stephanie? What do you mean, she never does? This is the first time we've asked her! Or wanted to show her. Or… Stephanie!"

"Hey, thanks!" Roxy called after the passerby who had dropped a ten-dollar bill into her guitar case. The man didn't turn around, but Roxy wasn't put out. She probably didn't want to get a good look at the guy's face; if she ever met him again, she wouldn't want to know he'd seen her at a point this low. She pocketed the morning's haul, put her guitar in the case, latched it, and headed for the kiosk in the middle of the park.

No amplifiers meant she had to sing louder than usual to be heard, and her throat was feeling a dry. She couldn't afford to be hoarse, not when busking in the park was the only thing she had going for her.

She could always see if Mr. Cluck's was hiring.

No. No, she couldn't. If she did that, she was as good as admitting that there was no coming back from where she was, no second chances. If she did that, then the meetings might not be enough to keep her away from the bars.

She hadn't had a drink in nine days. She really wanted to say that she hadn't had one in ten tomorrow. If she could really ditch this thing, then maybe she could see Han—

Her breath caught. The little girl with the white pigtails, her hand clasped firmly in that of a young East Asian woman… that was Hanna May!

They hadn't seen her yet. And they might not even recognize her if they did; sunglasses and her new haircut might be enough of a disguise. If it wasn't, though? If it wasn't, she had to get out of here before they spotted her. She couldn't face her daughter now. Not until she was back on her feet, not facing criminal charges, had a better way of earning money than panhandling in parks… Oh, hell. There was so much to do and she couldn't deal with it now, but there was no way that she could take a chance on Hanna May seeing her.

Kiosk forgotten, she took off at a run, guitar case in hand, like Maria flipping Von Trapp singing 'I Have Confidence'. Which, Roxy knew, was so damned far from the truth. She had no confidence. She had no career. She had no prospects.

She had to get out of here.

Giselle smiled at the four girls standing before her. "What were you looking for?" she asked. She'd already waved off their offer to pay her for her help with a laugh. "Did you want to do a dance break in the middle of the song, or did you just want to move around a little onstage?"

Emma and the others looked at each other. "How about both?" Kyla suggested. Then, quickly, "Or is that asking for too much?"

Giselle shook her head. "It's not, but... that's… really hard to pull off. In the movies, they usually record the voice track first and then dub it in. Live on stage? It takes a lot of training and, even then, many people can't manage it. You need more breath when you're exercising—and make no mistake, dancing is exercise—and you need more breath when you're singing. Now, if you want to have some band members on stage who are just there to dance and maybe do some back-up vocals when they aren't dancing, that's do-able. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise," Julie said, "I guess we just need some tips on how to move around so we don't look so stiff."

Giselle smiled. "Now that we're agreed, how about you guys sing me your song and I'll see what I can come up with…"

Phyllis sat in her home office and tried to focus on the reports in front of her. Damn it, when had she started second-guessing herself? She'd used to be impulsive. And tough. And mean. She'd taken crap from nobody and she'd considered basic politeness and respect beneath her.

A lot could change in six years.

Most of the time, Phyllis had to admit, she liked the person she was now: more settled, more responsible, less angry. The kind of person who could be trusted to look after a small child and not run out on them when they got bored.

Realization hit her and she shook her head. "Too bad you didn't stick around, Mom," she murmured. "Not because it's your fault I turned out to be such a rotten teenager; I've worked with enough families by now to know that some kids end up the way they do even when the parents do everything right and I probably would've been one of them anyway. But I think you might have liked seeing how I turned out in the end." One lip curled wryly. "Or maybe you'd just call me 'establishment' and tell me that you could never be tied down to a desk and a nine-to-five job and you can't believe I'm happy." Not that her job was always nine to five, she thought. And not like Mom had actually worked. With Daddy's money, she hadn't had to. Phyllis never had found out why her mother had left. Daddy had never spoken of it and, after a while, Phyllis had stopped asking. And she'd only been a year or so older than Hanna May—old enough to know that her mother wasn't happy, but too young to understand why. She'd tried to figure it out over the years. In every psychology course she took, she'd looked for her mother in the case studies. She'd found stuff that had resonated, of course, but nothing that completely explained what had prompted Marnie Smithfield Gabor to go out for a drive one day and never return. She wasn't really surprised: she'd been relying on memories over a decade old to try to piece together the woman her mother had been and then attempted to analyze her based on those hazy recollections. Of course she'd hit a wall. At the end of the day, though, she didn't need to understand her mother in order to live her best life. She just needed to trust herself and make the right decisions.

She winced. It was hard to find the answers when you didn't have all the facts. Maybe that was why she'd been thinking of her mother tonight. This whole… on-again off-again with Rory was weighing on her. She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing by taking this chance, but it felt right and letting her old, impulsive self out to play wouldn't hurt anyone. It couldn't. It shouldn't.

Phyllis pressed her hand to her eyes and hoped she hadn't just made a huge mistake.

"You look ghastly," John said at breakfast.

Wendy added a spoonful of fresh berries to her porridge, ignoring the bowl of stewed prunes on the table. (Really, if they were popped into that microwave thing to cook, did it truly count for proper stewing?). She added cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dollop of honey and stirred it silently, before adding a moat of milk. Then, still without acknowledging her brother, she thrust her spoon in, and raised it to her lips.

It was sweet. Far sweeter than the fare she would have received in London before Neverland, but it seemed to congeal into a lump as she swallowed.

"Wendy?" John peered at her over his spectacles. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head. From the pocket of her dressing gown, she took out the Never-fruit and set it on the table. "Pan chucked it at me," she said hoarsely. "Last night."

John shook his head sadly.

"You don't sound surprised," Wendy said.

"D'you think you're the only one he summons back when he thinks the task he's set is dragging on too long?"

"He has Michael at the mermaid's lagoon, and if I don't act quickly he'll drown him! Or the mermaids will."

"Pan," John said decisively. "The mermaids never bother the boys." He sighed. "And Pan may have just been lighting a fire under you. It's possible he staged the whole thing and as soon as you were on your way back here, he had Michael moved someplace safer. Perhaps, he even let him out to play with the other Lost Ones."

"He never did for me," Wendy informed him.

"Pan doesn't care much for girls in Neverland," John said thoughtfully. "It's something Michael and I wondered about. Michael thinks it's because most boys… haven't much to do with girls until they're old enough to think about courting. Or, at least, they hadn't back when we all lived in London. Perhaps, Pan thinks that being friendly to you is a sign of growing up."

"Well what if it is?" Wendy asked hotly. "Would it be so terrible if he stopped seeing everything as some great game?"

"It would be to him," John sighed. "So…?"

Wendy swallowed another spoonful of porridge. "So, nothing's changed, except that Pan wants me to act quicker. I still have to coax Emma into doing something so horrid that her foundling home sends her away again. And I still have no idea how!" She took deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "But I must," she went on with weary resignation. "I've no choice."

John pushed back his chair and walked around to her side of the table. He squeezed her arm reassuringly, but his voice was as bleak as hers when he nodded and said, "That's right. You don't."

The next day at summer camp, Wendy did her best to act friendly and agreeable, tamping down the inner voice that told her not to do what she was planning. Every time it reared up, she thrust her hand into her pocket where the Never-fruit nestled and thought of Michael.

"That concert sounds like great fun," Wendy exclaimed. "And you'll be singing on stage?"

Emma sighed. "Well, we want to. Jerrica said it's just for the professional bands, but we're hoping we can sneak backstage and maybe run on during a break between acts." A flush of pink came to her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. "Sounds kinda silly when I say it out loud, huh?"

Wendy shook her head and smiled a bit too broadly. "Silly?" she repeated. "Not a bit of it! Why, you'll be simply splendid. We've just got to find a way for you to go up on stage and show everyone!"

Emma snorted. "Yeah," she said. "How?"

Wendy's smile became a narrow slit as a gleam came to her eyes. "Oh, I think I might have some ideas…"