No one said anything at first. Apprehensive, we all looked back and forth at each other, except for Duncan. The Tweet started hacking, his neck convulsing as though a snake were fighting its way free of his beak.

Every eye locked onto Duncan, each of us in various poses of shock or poised to lend him aid.

“By the Guardian Lymm, is he okay?” the purple-haired fairy cried ushering over. Her hands fluttered helplessly over him as she struggled with a course of action to take.

Each gurgled cough embedded Duncan’s talons deeper into my shoulder until it was nearly numb from the strain of his exertions. Recalling a technique I’d learned many years ago, I stroked his throat. He stilled for a heartbeat then gave one final shudder. When nothing else happened, the rest of us relaxed into our sudden relief.

After a pregnant pause, he gagged violently again, a dried-up worm shooting out of his mouth. It shot past Sen nearly taking it with her. With a yelp, she danced out of the way just in time, her wings vibrating like a pair of shimmery cymbals.

“S-sorry,” Duncan slurred around a large belch. He thumped his chest. “My nerves…a bit of indigestion.”

Sen spared him a repugnant grimace; the other fairies teetered between revulsion and humor. Inclined to disregard the entire incident, I answered Duncan’s question, “I heard the music too.”

Everyone sobered.

“I didn’t,” said the red-haired fairy. “How about you, Tink?”

Tinker Bell shook her head as the purple-haired fairy said, “I didn’t hear it either.”

I looked expectantly at Sen. “I heard it,” she said heavily. “But only for a split second before we went through the portal.”

“Me too,” I replied as Duncan nodded. “What does that mean?”

Looking helpless and scared, Sen shook her head. I saw the weight of worry in her gaze as she watched the children lying on pallets beside the campfires.  “I don’t know.”

The red and purple-haired fairies had no answer either. “How do you feel?” the red-haired fairy asked us.

“Fine,” I replied.

“No different,” Duncan said.

Sen shrugged. “Same as always.”

“Well, that’s hopeful,” the purple-haired fairy said.

I gave a noncommittal nod and kept my worries at our brief exposure to myself. Since I’m sure you’re wondering what concerned me, I will, however, share them with you.

Several scenarios plagued my mind. An unhealthy happenstance. Everyone knows fear is often more contagious than anything else. But, all the same:

What if the contagion had an incubation period before the infected person displayed noticeable symptoms? What if Duncan and I had it and grew sick during our solo missions? How long did the PTSD last? Was there a way to protect ourselves from the viral music? Was there a cure or a preventive potion we could take to inoculate ourselves against it?

I think I’ll stop there.

“Hopeful yes,” Sen said in a businesslike tone, “but we must take extra precautions to secure the island.” She turned to Tinker Bell. “We need to seal off Neverland. Muster all the Bells you can find.”

Tink was quick to comply. She jangled a comment to Sen and soared away, wand out, tiny molten sparks erupting from her wand and dust flowing off her like ripples of glorious sparkling water.

In no time at all, miniature balls of light ignited, ascended, and unfurled across the sky like an enormous fiery umbrella. Tiny meteors of might, the wands’ sparks shot through the darkness, sheets of golden gossamer sliding downward toward the ground, encasing us in a whimsical curtain of ironclad protection. No one would get through the barrier unless the Bells’ allowed it.

According to our limited knowledge of fairies, (Again, I remind you they are miserly little blites with their lore, parceling out just enough information to appease the Royal Historians.) each fairy clan has a predilection toward a certain skill set.

The Bells’, natives to Neverland, are patrons of orphans and the abused. They excel at defensive magic, which might explain why they retained their wands when the Fairy Godmothers all lost theirs. As you know, it’s sacrilege to steal a Godmothers’ wand but suicidal to steal a Bells’.

In a burst of speed, Sen was eye to eye with me, her gaze briefly touching on Duncan as she spouted a flurry of frenetic commands. I discerned a harried, “Follow me,” from the outpour, and instantly galloped after her, upending Duncan. Poor Pigeon.

Caught off guard, he shot backwards off my shoulder. “What the—” With a sharp flap of his wings, he recovered, climbing into the air until he was two paces ahead of me and nearly in line with Sen. I’d forgotten how fast Cardinal Pigeons moved.

I caught up with them just as they crossed into the cave. Without pause, Sen blew on a lantern mounted to the wall. A bubble of light flared to life within the glass casing; instantaneously, a chain of lamps lit up along the short corridor before us.