Everland(35)

“Lost Girl,” Pete corrects, his expression serious. “She’s one of us now.”

I gaze at the green-eyed boy, my chest swelling at his words. Lost Girl. They settle over me and I realize for the first time that I am a part of their group. Their family.

Pickpocket halts but doesn’t turn around.

“Please, just listen to me for one minute,” I say, placing a hand on Pickpocket’s shoulder.

He turns, folds his arms, and frowns. It is then I notice them, the gloves that cover both of his hands.

“Joanna and Mikey are the only family I have, at least until now,” I say, glancing at Pete. He nods, encouraging me to continue. “Surely you had a sister, a brother, parents, someone you’ve lost. You’d want someone to help you rescue them if you had the chance, wouldn’t you?”

Pickpocket leans close to me, his hot breath whispering against my cheeks. “My family is dead. I am my own family now.” He shoves me aside, his leather-gloved hand brushing against my arm.

Impulsively, I grab his hand, curl my fingers under the leather edge, and rip it off. The Lost Boys gasp.

“What are you doing?” he yells, protectively pulling his fist into his chest.

I throw his glove to the ground. “Show me your fingers.”

“What are you talking about?” he says. His eyes dart from me to the other boys. He tucks his naked fist into the crook of his arm, hiding it from view.

“Show me your hand,” I demand, reaching for him.

Pickpocket doesn’t budge.

“Do it!” Pete says in an authoritative tone.

Pickpocket glares at Pete but reluctantly holds his hand out. His fingers are covered in boils. The skin on his palms is flaky and the backs have spots of raw flesh. He winces as my fingers barely graze his hand.

“You’re not immune,” I say.

More boys join us, erupting in a flurry of whispers. Pickpocket reaches for his glove. He shifts uncomfortably, noticing the shocked expressions on Mole’s and Pyro’s faces. “It’s only a few sores. What’s it to you?” he says, growling.

“I can help you.” I show him my hands. “I am immune. The only Immune. My body contains the cure—the antidote or whatever. I am resistant to the virus. Or at least that’s what Doc seems to think.”

Immune. I inhale deeply as the term spills from my lips. As if uttering those two syllables breathes life, truth, and hope into a word that once tasted bitter on my tongue. Immune: a word that once was degrading, but now encompasses the fate of this boy, the fate of all of the Lost Boys, and possibly the rest of humankind.

Pickpocket gazes at my unblemished hands, turning them over and inspecting them as if they were a priceless work of art, a Degas in the midst of nursery-school finger paintings.

“I can help you,” I say, with a confidence bubbling in my voice that surprises me. “But I need your help, too. Together we can find a cure, for you, for Bella, and for any other sick Lost Kid.”

“You’re really an Immune?” he asks. His voice is flat, devoid of emotion.

“That’s what Doc says,” Pete interjects as he leans against the fountain.

I place a hand on Pickpocket’s arm. “Look, I know what it’s like to lose family. I’ve lost my father and mother to the war, and now I’ve lost Joanna not only to Hook but, if I don’t get her back soon, to the virus. We don’t have to lose anyone else.” I point to a group of kids playing a game with Bella. Her wings flutter and the boys mimic her, waving their arms in the air. “You don’t have to lose any more family.”

Pickpocket watches Bella float above the Lost Kids, a pained expression crossing his face. He glances down at his blistered hands.

Taking his hand gently, I peer into his dark eyes. “You have my word. I will help you.”

Pickpocket pauses, peering at his fingers and then at Bella. “I’ll help you find your sister, but not for me. For Bella.”

“Me too,” says Mole. “I’d do just about anything for Bella.”

“I suppose I’m in as well,” Pyro says. “I don’t want to be the only prat who says no.”

The smaller boys cheer and break into imaginary sword fights. “Take that, Hook!” Gabs shouts, jabbing another boy with an invisible knife. The other boy dramatically feigns death, grunting as he collapses on the ground.

“Then it’s decided,” Pete says, raising his voice above the chatter. “You guys head over to Blade’s place. Arm yourselves with the best weapons Blade has.”

“You comin’, too?” Pickpocket asks, jerking his glove onto his hand, seemingly still annoyed with me.

“We’ll be along shortly,” Pete says, his face emotionless.

“Suit yourself. Let’s go, Lost Boys,” Pickpocket says, leading Mole and Pyro toward the weapons armory.

Enthusiastic, I turn to Pete. His grin is wide as he walks toward me. “They’re going to help!” I say with excitement.

“Nice job, Immune,” he says, giving me a fist bump. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Well, I probably could have, but batting my eyelashes like you did wouldn’t have worked as well for me as it did for you.”

“I didn’t bat my eyelashes!” I protest.

“Hey, Pete, is Jack going to be the leader while you’re gone?” Gabs asks, fidgeting with the ends of the dirty scarf wrapped around his neck. He leans in and whispers, “He can be awfully bossy when you’re not here.”