Page 111 of Stealing Tink

“Yes, well, in the hierarchy, you win. I would help her if I knew it wouldn’t compromise our chances of getting your voice back.”

This would be more heartwarming if the Nomad didn’t also have something at stake.

“Actually,” says the Nomad, “I think I might have an idea.”

Before I can ask what it is, I feel another set of eyes on me.

I look up, and all I see is the icy cold freeze of Peter’s stare.

Peter’s gaze lingers on my throat, long after the show has ended and he’s disappeared along with the rest of the performers.

I stare at the adamant pocket watch in my hand. It’s cold to the touch, almost to the point of being slimy.

But maybe that’s just because I know what’s inside.

I’d been shocked when the Nomad handed it to me. When I’d asked him how it was supposed to help Wendy, he’d just flashed me a grin and asked if I trusted him.

I’m not examining the answer to that question, but my actions tell enough.

My plan is to slip Wendy the pocket watch on the way out of the circus tent, while the crowd is still congested and a bump on the back will be indistinguishable from the general push of the mob, everyone trying to make it out before the streets get too crowded.

Unfortunately, I lost sight of her soon after the show ended. I glance around.

“Stop looking so obvious,” whispers the Nomad. “We don’t want her spotting you. A tearful reunion will only slow us down.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s right. So without turning my head, I search the crowd with my eyes.

By the time we’ve made it outside, there’s no sight of her.

We search for long enough that the Nomad begins tapping on his wrist as if there’s a watch there.

“Hey,” says one of the carnies. “I remember you. You’re that faerie that escaped all those years ago.”

My blood runs cold. This isn’t the same group that had enslaved me, but carnies tend to hop around, working with multiple carnivals depending on the season. It’s been so long, with Neverland slowing down my aging, but time had still passed on the outside. I was sure no one would remember me, especially with the concoction Lars had made to hide my wings.

This would be a good time to have our heavy nearby. Unfortunately, the Nomad had thought he’d be better off staging both the ringmaster’s and Peter’s tents during the show.

“Now, wait half a second, and I’ll—” says the Nomad, but he is quickly cut off.

“Guards!” yells the old carnie. “Escaped performer!”

“I was going to say, ‘make it worth your while to stay quiet,’ but it seems I’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” says the Nomad, a threat woven throughout his tone.

This only causes the carnie to shriek louder, alerting a set of guards nearby. When they start heading our way, the Nomad leans over to me.

“You had better run, Wanderer.”

I don’t wait to be told twice. I whirl around, then take off sprinting through the crowd.

Behind me, the guards start yelling too, and I hear the Nomad say something that I can’t quite make out but that sounds sarcastic.

I push through patrons of the circus, but then an alarm sounds, and that’s when the crowd becomes a madhouse. All around me, people panic. People who are much too far from the guards to hear what’s going on start shouting things like “fire” and “stabbing” with utter certainty.

Still, I make it to the wall, which I’m fairly sure I can fly over, if not before anyone sees me, then at least before anyone can shoot me down.

But then I hear a voice. My heart stops.

Wendy is saying something. I can’t make out what, but I would recognize her voice anywhere.