Page 24

“No, it’s not like that,” I say, although what I mean by like that, I’m not even sure. “It’s…I mean, honestly, this just boils down to more of a Pan being an arrogant, uh…butthole kind of thing. Like, I say we have enemies, but really it’s him.” It feels shitty to admit that because we do have some kind of crew loyalty here, you know, all for one, one for all. But I think being honest will put her mind at ease. “It’s this long-standing beef he has with this one guy. I don’t even really know much about it. Just that they hate each other’s guts, and he’s some higher-up at the casino that Pan got in trouble with way back when, and…”

“Got in trouble how?” Wendy’s voice is low now. Curious, but taut.

“Basically, he didn’t really cheat, but he won more than he was supposed to, and this guy was supposed to have caught him,” I say. “But he didn’t catch him, and so Pan got to take a lot of money, technically illegally, and this guy got pretty badly punished by his boss. That’s why they…” I suck my teeth. “That’s why they call him Hook.” I do a little pinching gesture with my right thumb and forefinger. “They…” I clear my throat. “You know, sometimes the bad guys hurt each other as a way to teach a lesson. So they just…” I draw a line across my pinky, ring, and middle fingers and fold them to my palm.

Wendy’s face goes white as a sheet.

Ah, fuck, I think. Shouldn’t have said that. “I’m sorry, Wendy. That was scary and gross, and you don’t need to know that or worry about that or…”

“No,” she says, sudden, stiff, almost robotic. “No.” She pushes back on the stool a little. “You…” She licks her lips, nods her head a few times. “Um, thanks, Kit. I’m gonna just…” She looks around the room at any excuse to leave, and my heart squeezes in my chest.

“…were gonna get Nana some more water,” I offer weakly.

“Yep. Uh-huh.” She dashes off without a second look back at me, and I clench my fist, feeling like such an asshole. This kid almost got—I can’t even think the word—assaulted last night. Her brothers died gruesomely, and now I’m telling her about the fucking Jolly Roger Mafia and how they cut off fingers like they’re the goddamn yakuza in Japan.

I drag a hand over my face and take a long, stupid, regretful exhale.

“Whoa, Wendy, are you—” I hear a clatter on the stairs and recognize the voice. Tink’s. It’s still so weird to hear her like that. It’s the same, but different. Obviously. Uncanny, like a version of her I knew in a dream or imagined more than knew. I look up just as she enters the shop. She’s changed since this morning. Put on a clean T-shirt, a different pair of jeans, and I find myself wondering if she’ll ever get new clothes or if maybe this is just how she likes to dress. I can half-imagine her figure under there, just based on basic proportions, rules of anatomy that I’ve committed to memory in drawing God-knows-how-many pinups and fairies and angels throughout my life. The set of her ribs tucked into the flare of her waist, rolling out to the curve of hips, and⁠—

“Hey, Kit, are you busy?”

I cough and look up. “Uh…for some reason…” I glance at the stairs. “Is…did Wendy seem okay?” What am I talking about? I blink, rub my eyes behind my glasses. “Sorry, I just…”

“No, no.” Tink shakes her head and glances back too. “She seemed a little…I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m kind of just letting her process and take space when she needs it.” She looks back at me. “Why? Did something happen? Did she say something?”

“Did she say something?” I say. “No. I…” I wince. “She was just asking about the window, and I kind of told her the whole Pan-Hook backstory, and I think I just freaked her out, you know, with the hand thing.”

Tink pales a little too when I look up. God, am I just unfit to talk to womankind? I guess it’s not something I do very regularly. “It was a mistake,” I say, just so we’re clear. “I wasn’t thinking, and⁠—”

“No,” Tink interrupts. “I mean, it’s gruesome, definitely, but…I promised her I wasn’t gonna lie to her anymore.” So she shrugs. “I guess it’s good that we’re all not lying to her. Or at least some of us.”

I don’t say anything.

“She’s tough,” Tink goes on, her voice a little rougher, lower. “She shouldn’t have to be, but…”

“Yeah,” I agree, because Tink’s right. Wendy is tough. They both are. “Well, anyway, I could have been more delicate about it, but…”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Tink says softly, and I believe her.

“Cool,” I nod, then shake my head. “Sorry, you were asking?”

“Oh, I just…I wondered if you had a minute to look at my tattoo,” she says. “It was kind of stinging in the shower and…”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” God, it feels like a lifetime ago that I inked that fairy on her forearm. Just the memory of it, sitting there quietly, touching…touching her, I now know, for so long…

My throat gets thick. “I’ve got a few minutes before my first appointment,” I say. “Let me…”

I gesture for her to come closer, and she extends her arm.

I force myself to focus. “You’ve been keeping it clean, I assume,” I say, my voice even.

“Yeah, I mean, more or less,” Tink says. “Like I shower regularly, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t. But I feel my face and neck go brilliantly hot at the thought of it.

“Yeah, well…” I wince. I’ll be the first to admit that our shower environment probably isn’t the cleanest. It doesn’t look bad, but maybe we could stand to get some fresh towels. Or wash the ones we have.

“It’s that bad?” Tink says.