Wishes by Molly Cochran Page A

once been a gorgeous chamber of golden light, I threw out five fingers, and the cage of bones around the powerless hag who had once been Queen of the Fairies fell to pieces around her.
    On the way out, there was no stardust waterfall, no glamours to impede us. But I could hear Peter’s breathing becoming more and more labored. Finally, when we got outside, his eyes fluttered open and he asked us to set him down.
    “In the sunlight,” he said. “I’m awfully cold.”
    I could barely see for the tears in my eyes as we propped him against a rock. I thought the pain from the wound in his back would be excruciating, but Peter didn’t seem to feel anything.
    “I’ll go get help,” Artie said.
    “Go to Hattie’s,” I said. “The restaurant in the Meadow. Peter’s brother—”
    Peter waved me down. “Don’t,” he said. “Just let me rest.”
    Artie stifled a sob. I nodded to her. “Go,” I whispered.
    She nodded back. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.” Then she was gone.
    “You’re going to be okay,” I told Peter, though I knew that probably wasn’t in the stars.
    “Put your head on my shoulder,” he said.
    “Are you sure?” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Because—”
    “Shh.” He touched my cheek.
    “I love you, Peter,” I said.
    “I love you, too.” His eyes struggled to focus. “That’s why I came after you.”
    “I know,” I said, ashamed. “I know it now. I only wish—”
    “Hey,” he said, smiling. “No more of that.”
    “No. No more.” I kissed his lips. They were warm and soft. A sob seemed to leap out of me then, and I couldn’t stop crying.
    “Katy,” he said, so softly that I could barely hear him. “Katy . . .”
    Just then Dingo jumped on my lap, covering me with filthy paw prints, and started licking Peter’s face.
    I tried to push him off, cursing him through my tears and snot. “Get away!” I squealed, but my efforts did no good. Dingo just kept lapping at Peter’s face like he was made of ice cream and beef sticks.
    Finally I stood up. “Stop it!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Get out of here, you . . . you . . .” My words dried up in my mouth.
    Peter was smiling and rubbing Dingo behind his ears. The color had come back into his face. He moved away from the rock he’d been leaning against.
    There was no blood.
    “Peter,” I breathed, moving slowly toward him. “Your wound . . .”
    “Huh?” He pulled up the back of his shirt and craned his neck to see behind him. “Man, for a second there, I was afraid—”
    “Oh, my God.” My hands flew to my mouth.
    There was no wound. There wasn’t even a mark.
    He yawned. “How long have we been here?” Peter asked.
    “Just a few minutes.”
    He stood up with a groan. “I must have been really tired. I had this weird dream about you and fairies and a flying dragon I was riding on, and I don’t know what else.” He laughed. “Crazy.”
    “But . . .”
    A thousand things were going through my head. Had Peter’s wound only existed in the plane of existence we’d occupied inside the cave? Had Peter forgotten what had gone on there, or had he really been dreaming, as he seemed to believe? Come to think of it, had I been dreaming too? Since when? Did the queen even exist? Did Artie? Or was it . . .
    Dingo, who had run away, came bounding back, covered with a new layer of mud, which he immediately smeared all over my jeans.
    “Get down, boy!” Mr. Haversall said. “Sorry, Miss Katy.” He tipped his cap. “Dingo sometimes gets a little frisky.”
    I smiled woodenly as the old man nodded to me and then to Peter. “We’ll be seeing you,” he said.
    “Woof!” Dingo agreed.
    After a long moment I felt Peter tugging on my arm. “Katy?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “Katy, are you okay?”
    “Huh? Oh, sure. I’m fine.”
    “Feel like a slice? I hear Pizza World calling.”
    Eating was the last thing I felt like doing, but I walked with him