Everland(34)

I flinch beneath her grasp, feeling as if bugs were crawling over my entire body. I detest being touched. When her scarred hands fall away, I am grateful.

She bites her bottom lip and for the first time since I’ve walked in she meets my gaze, searching my face for … what? Understanding? Compassion?

“Please, let me see her.” This time her tone lacks admonishment, but instead sounds as if she’s pleading.

Something catches my eye. A glint of gold shimmers beneath a cot. I walk toward it, but the Professor shoves her way between me and the cot. She stares at me with intent, dark eyes.

“That little girl may be sick, but she still might be useful.”

“I don’t follow you,” I say, scrutinizing her delicate features. She’s quite pretty … for an older woman. She’s practically my own mother’s age, but there’s something about her. Something my mother never had. A beauty that lies deeper than her appearance. There’s a fondness I have for her, but not in the romantic sense. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

The Professor continues talking, but I’m distracted by the shimmering item on the floor. I kneel to pick up the gold object. It is a link from a chain belt or piece of jewelry, but as I scan the room, there is nothing that matches it. The Professor notices the chain link in between my gloved fingers and her eyes widen, stopping midsentence. “I … I’ve been looking for that,” she says, reaching for the gold metal.

I wrap my gloved fingers tightly around the link. Again she’s hiding something from me. After months of working with her, I’ve begun to recognize her slight idiosyncrasies. She’s a terrible liar. With a sigh she prattles on. I am lost in my own thoughts, inspecting the piece of metal and wondering of its origin. I miss everything she says to me except the last words.

“… if she dies, we all die.”





Shouts erupt from an angry crowd gathered at the statue of Eros as I slip into the city square. Pete stands at the base of the fountain, surrounded by dozens of other boys. With a stern expression on his face, Pete sifts through an onslaught of questions.

“Are you bloody mad?” shouts Pyro. The muscles in his neck cord beneath his dark skin. “No one gets rescued from Everland.”

“Pyro’s right. Why would we risk four of our own for one measly little girl?” Pickpocket says, fidgeting with the brass buttons on his waistcoat.

“Measly girl? Is that what Bella is to you, Pickpocket? That girl is worth more than twenty of you boys,” Pete says hotly.

“We’re not talking about Bella, we’re talking about some girl who may or may not even be alive,” Pickpocket says. “For all we know Hook’s already dissected her or whatever that madman does to kids.”

Mikey, his face cleaned of the mud stains from earlier, hides behind a wooden barrel a short distance from the disgruntled group. I crouch down beside him.

“What’s going on? They all seem so angry,” I whisper.

He wraps his arms around my neck. “They don’t want to help get Joanna back.”

“Don’t worry. Pete will convince them,” I say. “And if he doesn’t, I will.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Pyro says. “No one ever comes back from Everland. You know the rules! If you get caught, you’re on your own.”

“No one’s returned because no one has tried,” Pete says.

The gathering of boys say nothing, but pass worried glances among themselves.

“I am going, whether you choose to come or not,” Pete says, resting his hands on the hilts of his daggers. “I’ve given Gwen my word and I intend to keep it. On my own, there’s no guarantee the mission will be successful. But if you come with me, if I can count on you, I know we’ll get Joanna back.”

“Why us?” a stout boy says, his hands twisting the fabric of his oversize brown trench coat. His milky eyes stare past Pete. “What do you need us for?”

“Mole, who is a better tracker than you?” Pete asks.

“Nobody. I can smell a Marauder several blocks away,” Mole says, wrinkling his nose. “Among other foul things.”

“And you, Pickpocket, there isn’t a Lost Boy who can crack locks like you can,” Pete says, pointing at the muscular boy.

“That is true,” Pickpocket says gruffly. The Lost Boys nod in agreement.

“And you, Pyro, you know everything there is to know about explosives,” Pete says.

Pyro removes his derby hat and scratches his closely shaven head. “True enough. I could blow a hole a meter wide into a steel door with just a stick of dynamite.”

“So let me get this straight—we’re putting our necks on the line for her?” Pickpocket says, pointing to me. “Even she knows how crazy this is. Look at her! She’s cowering behind a barrel.”

“Stay here, Mikey,” I whisper as I creep from behind the drum.

“We’re putting our necks on the line for her sister, to be accurate,” Pete says.

“Please!” I say, addressing the boys. “I need your help to get her back. If Pete says you’re the best, then you have to help.”

“I’m not risking my life for your sister. Count me out,” Pickpocket says, storming past me. “You’re on your own, Immune.”