Page 43 of Stealing Tink

The Nomad wants me to fly again.

And now, instead of memories of Neverland, it’s memories of home bombarding me. Memories of my father teaching me to fly by night, of us whizzing over the ocean, the saltwater spray in my face…

No. No, I gave up those dreams. I’ll never fly again, not after what Peter did to my wings.

When I come back to, Lars is staring at me through his monocle.

“I’d like to examine her before I make my decision.”

I shoot the Nomad a glare, and he simply shrugs. “It’s up to you. But know this, your wings being restored are essential to the plan.”

I weigh my options, then realizing I only have one, grit my teeth, loosen the strap on my overcoat, and allow it to fall to the floor.

My wings stretch, back muscles aching with relief, as I unbind them from around my torso. The tendons stretch out, my wings spreading out behind me.

Lars appears entranced. He crosses the room, hand outstretched the entire way. I’m not wild about how eager he looks to touch me, and I say as much with my expression to the Nomad, who dares look apologetic.

When Lars reaches me, his mouth hanging ajar, he goes for the tattered edges first. I shift, uncomfortably, not because it hurts. In fact, those pieces of my wings that Peter repeatedly shredded have little feeling left in them. Lars’s fingertips might as well be touching skin to which ice has been applied for half an hour.

But the last person to touch my wings was Peter, and even though Lars’s touch is clinical, it has my skin crawling all the same.

“Alright, Lars, that’s enough,” says the Nomad, snatching Lars’s wrist.

Lars looks at him, perturbed. “You expect me to fix these without touching them?”

“Are you fixing them right now?” asks the Nomad.

“No.”

“Then I suggest you keep your hands off of her.” There’s a sharpness to his voice that I’m not used to. One that replaces his typical nothing-bothers-me tone.

Odd.

“They’re in terrible shape. You were correct to assume I wouldn’t want them as part of my collection.”

I’m not sure whether to be offended or relieved.

“But can you fix them?” asks the Nomad.

Against my better judgment, I find myself hanging on Lars’s response.

“Of course, I can fix them,” he says, sounding offended.

“Great,” says the Nomad, clapping his hands together. “Then let’s begin.”

I start, and Lars actually laughs. “You can’t think I can repair them today? No, I’ll need time. And materials, of course.”

“What kind of materials?” asks the Nomad.

“Oh, nothing too terribly difficult to procure,” says Lars.

The way the Nomad twitches gives me the sense he doesn’t trust Lars’s judgment on what is and isn’t difficult to procure.

“But I do have one condition,” says Lars.

“Which is?”

“I want free access to studying her.”