Peter stood alone amid the debris, gasping for breath, groping for some measure of sanity. Down swept the light, landing on a wall strut inches from Peter's eyes. The light flared and dimmed, and the faerie from last night reappeared.

Peter laughed, certain he was crazy now. "Wow! You're fantastic, little bug! I can't believe my subconscious. I thought it would go for the demure type." He laughed giddily.

The faerie glowered at him dangerously. "Stop it, Peter! Stop it right now!"

She darted at him. He caught a glimpse of the tiny dagger's blade as she swept past his hand. He felt a sharp pain, and suddenly he was cut. He stared in disbelief at the back of his hand, watching the blood flow in a red ribbon from the wound.

His eyes went wide. "I can't believe you did that! I'm bleeding! Look at me! What do… what is this…"He shuddered, the truth of what the pain and the blood meant sinking in. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

The faerie landed again on the strut, emerging hastily from the light. "Are you okay?" There was genuine concern in her voice. "Peter, are you all right?"

Peter Banning lifted his eyes to stare at her, no longer seeing a light or an image or some figment of his imagination. Gone in an instant's time was the misconception that he was in dreamland or anywhere else imaginary. Gone was the dizziness, the belief that he would wake from dreaming when his head cleared, the certainty that the world was as it had always been, as he had always known it to be.

He stared at the tiny faerie and knew that she was real.

He tried to breathe, and his chest constricted.

The faerie's face was pretty and bright with youth beneath the frown lines that etched her smooth forehead and the corners of her mouth. "Do you know where we are?" she whispered to him.

He swallowed, then nodded. He couldn't speak.

"Who am I, Peter?"

He froze. If he said it, if he admitted it…

"Say it, Peter. You have to say it."

He managed to shake his head. "I can't," he breathed.

She bent close. "Why?"

"Because if I say it, if I…"He swallowed. "If I say it, it will be…"

"What?"

"Real."

The lines disappeared, and there was a strange new light in her pixie eyes. "Please," she whispered. "Peter, please. Say it."

His face softened. The name was a feather on the wind. "Tinkerbell," he said.

"And I live in…?"

"Neverland."

He gasped at the enormity of what he had just admitted, jerked away, and ran to the window of the deserted kitchen to stare out into the pirate town. The crocodile tower loomed before him, facing out through the wrecks of the pirate ships toward the harbor beyond. Pirates jostled and shouted as they crossed the square and swaggered in and out of the buildings.

Peter swung back again toward Tinkerbell. "I can't accept this! It's not rational adult thinking! It's not possible!"

Tinkerbell darted from the shelf to land on his hand and began wrapping a handkerchief about the cut. "Listen to me, Peter. Jack and Maggie are here. And you've got to do battle with Captain Hook to free them. For that, you'll need the Lost Boys. And your sword. And you'll have to fly!"

Peter shook his head vehemently. ' 'Just wait, just hold on one minute!" He steadied himself. "Whatever this is all about, whatever is happening here, I'm still me! I can't fly. I'm not going to fight anyone."

He spun away from her and strode toward the door. "Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To find James Hook, Captain, and get my kids back and go home!" he shouted back.

"No, Peter, it's too soon!" She flashed in front of him, trying to bring him to a halt. "Hook is waiting for you. It's a trap! He planned it this way-the kidnapping, the whole business. He'll kill you! You're not ready for him!"

Peter brushed past. He'd had enough of this nonsense. "I'm as ready as I need to be." He paused at the kitchen door. "Besides, my kids can't afford to miss any more school."

Tinkerbell stomped her foot on an imaginary floor, hands on hips. "Oh, Peter Pan!" she muttered. "You are as stubborn as ever!" She whipped past him as he tried to go out the doorway, seized hold of his shirt collar, and held him fast. "A look, then!" she hissed in his ear. "Just a look, though. Then you decide. But first let's dress you up a bit."

As he grunted irritably, she dragged him back inside.

Pirates, Pirates Everywhere!

When Peter emerged again from the dingy kitchen, he was dressed in a hodgepodge of pirate garb-a scarlet cape across his shoulders, a black tricorne hat atop his head, and a black eye patch beneath his brow-all lifted from the unfortunate pirate cooks disposed of by Tinkerbell. He also wore a peg leg, laced to his kneecap by leather straps, his own good leg tied up behind him under the covering of his cape. A crutch supported him. His disguise might have been more comfortable if he had been willing to part with the remains of his tuxedo, but he couldn't quite bring himself to give up the last vestiges of the now departed real world, and he wore them still hidden underneath everything else.

Stepping out into the light, he gazed around tentatively. Pirates sauntered past without so much as a glance at him, engaged in their own activities. There were big pirates and little pirates, pirates with missing eyes and ears, with peg legs and empty sleeves, with scars that crisscrossed their faces and necks, with beards and mustaches and sideburns and muttonchops. There were dozens of them, all armed with flint pistols and sharpened blades, a whole arsenal of death-dealing weapons. Peter tried not to think too much about what that meant as he steeled himself for the task that lay ahead. Whatever this was all about, whichever world it was that he had been cast into-Neverland or dreamland or wherever-he was not leaving without Jack and Maggie.

He hobbled down into the pirate town, working his way carefully past its inhabitants, trying to act inconspicuous in his outlandish garb, hoping against hope that he looked like he belonged. The eye patch was a nice touch, but hard to get used to. Whenever he needed to see clearly, he found himself lifting the patch to do so. Shouts and laughter rose from every quarter-from within the many taverns and alehouses where glasses were being raised and purses lifted, from the blade shops where edges were being honed on whetstones, from the stables where horses were being shod and groomed, and from the streets themselves, where hands and arms were being linked in rough camaraderie.

Inside the tricorne hat, Tinkerbell bounced about, righted herself as best she could, and peered out through the hole cut for her in the brim.

"You don't act enough like a pirate!" she snapped at him irritably. "If you insist on seeing Hook and intend to stay alive in the bargain, then you have to do better than this! Let's practice. Do exactly as I say. Make your right arm limp. Pretend it is dead and useless. Let it hang by your side. Try it."

Peter grinned, amused by the idea. He let his arm hang limp. "How's that, little bug?"

She bristled. "Don't call me that! Call me by my name. Like you used to. Tink."

He shrugged. "Okay. Tink."

A pirate so hunched down he appeared to be searching for worms bumped into him drunkenly and careened away.

"Crack your mouth and drool," Tink ordered.

Peter twisted his mouth out of shape and let his tongue loll. Kind of fun.

"Now growl."

"Rwwlll."

"No, no! I said growl!"

She darted from his hat in a flash of light, dagger drawn, and jabbed at his posterior.

"Groooaahhh!" he howled.

A pair of fierce-looking pirates with blades strapped everywhere wheeled about. "Groooaahhh!" they responded, and waved in greeting.

Down through the pirate town went Peter and Tink, past the jumbled hulks of the ships that had been cannibalized and turned to makeshift shops and shelters, past a group of shabby musicians playing fiddles and flutes who were fronted by a gnarled fellow in ragged knee-length pants and a jersey singing a pirate shanty.