Girl Lost (25 page)

Her eyes light up. “He’s amazing, Gwen. I mean, I know he can come off as crass and a little dangerous sometimes. And I know Father will never be happy with him in my life. But he’s perfect for me.”

I smile. I’m happy for her. Because whatever crazy fucked-up issues I have going on with my own love life, Orchid and James are happy together. They deserve that.

“You love him, don’t you?” I say.

She grins and nods. “Is it stupid?”

“I don’t think love is ever stupid. Especially if you know going in what he’s really like.”

“I have no delusions about him, if that’s what you’re saying. He’s a criminal. He’s probably going to get me into a hell of a lot of trouble before we’re through.”

“But you’re okay with that? With him.”

She nods, and I grin. “Then please tell me he’s good in bed.”

Color blooms in her cheeks, and I laugh as her expression goes sly. “Never mind. I don’t think I want details.”

“What about you? And the Peter?”

I shrug. “He came to my aunt’s apartment on Thanksgiving. We didn’t expect him.” I slump on my bed. I don’t want to explain it again. But. “He made love to me.”

Orchid makes a soft noise. I glance at her. “It was his first time. How does a guy like Peter get to college without any sexual experience?”

She smiles. “I think, Gwen, that you should remember—there are no guys like Peter.”

“AGZ left campus,” I say, and her eyes widen. “So it might not matter. He might be gone for good.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Do you really believe that?”

I think about the note and the look in his eyes.
I would give it all up to be with you.
The feel of him, inside me, and around me, how perfect and right it had been.

“No.”

James creeps into our room just after ten. Orchid is sleeping, and I give him a wan smile. My nerves are strung tight, and I want nothing more than to fall into the oblivion of sleep—but it’s been eluding me for over an hour.

He looks rumpled, whatever he’s been doing has left him short tempered and disheveled. “Where have you been?”

James huffs a sigh and drops onto the foot of my bed, tugging a flask out of his pocket. I can smell the rum from here. “Looking for your lost boy.”

“And did you find him?”

“Found Tank. Did you know Belle has been hospitalized?”

I frown, shifting to sit all the way up in the bed. “I know she’s sick. I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

James shakes his head. “She isn’t sick, Gwendolyn. She’s dying. And Tank—fuck, all of them—are convinced that you can save her.”

“How?” I say. “I don’t even know what’s
wrong
with her.”

“He wouldn’t tell me. You know how those bastards are—secretive as fuck, the lot of them. Getting even that much out of Tank was a feat of epic proportions.”

In any other circumstance, I would laugh because it’s true. But these aren’t any other circumstances. This is a girl—one I hate, sure—but her life is on the line, and that matters more than a little bit of petty jealousy.

“Can you drive me?”

James waves the flask, and it sloshes, almost empty. “Prolly not a great idea, sweetheart. That, and your loyal pack of hounds are furious that I’m even around you. A few tried to fight me over it.”

I ignore him and crawl out of bed. Grab my discarded sweat pants and a t-shirt.

James isn’t even attempting to hide that he’s staring at my legs, mostly bare in my tiny boy shorts.

“Perv,” I mutter, and he grins, unrepentant as I duck into the bathroom to make myself halfway presentable.

“Come on,” I say, tugging my hair into a ponytail. James pauses, gives Orchid’s bed a look of longing, but he stands with a sigh, and drags himself after me. “I’m driving.”

“I need to see a patient,” I say, stepping up to the security desk.

James lounges in a chair behind me, his amusement obvious as I flounder. It’s the middle of the night. No one is going to let me near Belle, not without some proof I’m family. And even then, it’s a long shot.

“Please, I need to see Belle Evans.”

The guard frowns and glances at his paper. “Visitor hours are over, ma’am.”

“I know. But it’s urgent.”

He looks back up. “What did you say your name was?”

“Gwen Barrie,” I say, holding my breath. His expression clears and he nods.

“You’re good to go back. The family requested you.”

I blink, startled, and James gives a soft laugh.

“I’ll wait here, Gwendolyn,” he says, drunkishly amused. I glance back at him and nod. Bite my lip and walk down the hall. It’s room 2B, and the hospital is tiny—it takes me less time than I would like, and I’m not quite ready when I reach the room.

But ready or not, I’m here, and I came for answers. Maybe she’ll have some—maybe she’s too far gone to care about Peter’s rules. I’m gambling, but I’m past the point where logic has any sway over my decisions.

Belle looks like death, a tiny frail body in the hospital bed. An IV drip is hooked to her arm. A cuff on her bicep emphasizes how incredibly skinny it is as it monitors her blood pressure. Even with her eyes closed, there are huge bags under them, giving her a bruised look that is painful to see.

“Thief didn’t think you would come,” she whispers, not opening her eyes. I flinch, almost step back—but I manage to hold my ground.

“And you?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist. Watching me die must make you very happy, Gwendolyn.”

The words are like a slap. I inhale sharply, shocked. “Why on earth would you say that? Why would you even think it?”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? Some small part of you is happy to see me like this. You hated me so much.”

“I never
knew
you,” I protest, my voice shrill.

A monitor flares alarmingly, and she gasps. Coughs violently. “Belle,” I say sharply. “Do I call the nurses?”

She shakes her head. I move closer, and she catches hold of my hand. Despite the frailty, she’s got a helluva a grip. “They can’t help me, Gwen.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Where is Peter and the AGZ? Where did I know him?”

A smile turns her lips, and she leans back. “If I die, you’ll never have him, not truly. Some small part of Thief will always hate you for killing me.”

“Then tell me how to stop this,” I snap, fear building in me. She smiles, a little delirious. There is something familiar about that smile—dangerous and crazy and impossible. Memories swim up, snatches of things I didn’t know where memories. I gasp.

Belle smiles. “Do you remember now, Gwendy bird? We’ll tear you from the clouds and rip you to pieces. You can’t have our Thief.”

“It’s not real,” I mumble, my lips numb. “It can’t be real.”

I’ve spent seven years hearing that. Learning to believe that.

She smiles, a bloody rictus, and I shake my head, nausea swimming through me.

“Belle, who is Peter?” I demand.

“Peter? He’s a thief. The best and worst of all of us. He’s ours, and you stole him.”

The alarms scream, and nurses rush the room. My stomach swims, and I almost throw up as I’m pushed aside like flotsam.

It can’t be real.

I know that. But.

For the first time in years, I allow myself to wonder if we were all wrong.

Chapter 34

The AGZ house is deserted, an empty husk. I stand in the middle of the living room and stare at it. The walls are cracked, the paint peeling.

It looks abandoned, like no one has lived here for ages.

My breathing is tight and uneven, and I can’t—none of this makes sense.

“What the hell?” James murmurs. He gives voice to the questions I have, but I’m too terrified to ask. “Did it always look like this?”

“No,” I whisper. Which is terrifying. Because I’m not sure I am stable enough to stomach more delusions.

“You said alone,” Peter says, his voice harsh. I glance up. He’s leaning against the rotting wood of the staircase bannister, a frown pulling at his face. He’s not pleased to see James.

“What the hell happened here, Peter?” I ask, my voice shaking.

He glances around carelessly. Paint blossoms under his gaze, the walls coming together to stand whole, dust and grime vanishing. A plush couch appears from nowhere.

“
Fuck,”
James whispers, and I cling to that. Because it means it has to be real. Its not my mind fucking with me.

“We didn’t need it anymore. So we let it go,” he says, dropping onto the couch. The puff of air smells like wild places, and I take a stumble step forward. “I told you I could prove it.”

“This only proves I’m crazy—and so is James.”

“You refuse to believe, even when evidence is staring at you.” He shakes his head. “Even when you are miserable. You have never been as happy as you were on the island, but you refuse to believe that it could have been a real happiness.”

I shake my head. I’m trembling, and Peter sighs. “Gwendy. Do you understand that I would never hurt you? That I would never let anyone hurt you?”

“That’s what you’re doing, though,” I gasp.

“I wish there was an easier way, pixie. I’m out of time.”

“What’s happening to Belle?” James demands.

Peter’s eyes narrow dangerously as they shift to him, and I have a moment of concern. “She’s dying,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“Belle’s life is tied to the island. She was born there—it’s her blood more than it is my haven. But she needs faith—the belief that it is real, to sustain her.”

Dread tickles my belly. I shake my head and step back. “This isn’t my fault.”

Peter moves, faster than I can anticipate, his arms wrapping around me. “Do you know that I love you?”

I nod, and a smile lights his face. “Then let me tell you about the way we met.”

I sit on the bed, humming softly to myself. I can hear Mother and Father, if I try hard enough. If I’m awake. When I sleep, the screams and gunshots are too loud, and I can’t hear anything but that truth.

And my own screams, echoing into the empty ocean, when I jerk awake.

I should go upstairs. Fix the sails and try to get
Second Star
on some kind of course. I don’t know how long I’ve drifted—how long it’s been since the attack that changed everything.

I should go, but I can’t bring myself to move, not from this comfortable nest of blankets and pillows, the only place on the boat that still smells safe—like leather and sweat and Mother’s perfume.

Here there is no tang of copper pennies or gunpowder. It’s just home.

There’s a dull thunk on the deck, and I stifle a scream, ducking down into my blankets.

They’ve come back. The ones who killed Daddy and Mother, they’ve remembered me at last and come back to finish the job. I wait, not even breathing, for their raucous voices and laughter.

But it doesn’t come. Nothing does. Just a curious silence and the soft pad of feet on the deck as someone small wanders my ship.

Outrage finally propels me out of my nest. Whoever is on my boat doesn’t have any right to be, and clearly thinks it’s deserted. Maybe, after I yell at the idiot, they’ll give me some water and direct me home.

I don’t want to go home.

The footsteps pause, and then shift, coming for the staircase. They are still light, but purposeful. Like a direction has been given. I stop on the stairs, and the door opens.

He’s backlit by the sun, a fey, smiling boy dressed all in green. There is a shock of red hair poking out of his strange hat, and a mischievous smile brightens his slanted, exotic eyes. The Boy stares at me and grins, a crooked little smile.

“Hello, pixie girl. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m lost,” I say.

His smile grows a little, and he shakes his head. “Can’t be. I found you. And I’m a bit of an expert on lost things.”

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“My island. Would you like to see it?”

I hesitate. “I’m not supposed to go with strangers.”

“Would you rather stay here? It seems dangerous.”

There’s a certain unassailable logic to his words. I shrug, though, trying to seem very above it all and distant. “I don’t know you. You could be dangerous.”

He laughs. “Oh, I am. But I would never hurt you, Gwendy.” He takes a step closer and extends a hand in a childlike caricature of an adult gesture. His eyes sparkle, and it feels, for a moment, like the whole world is holding its breath. “I’m Peter.”

Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves