Everland(38)

“I mean it, Bella. There’s no place for your childishness here.”

“Or what?” she retorts. “You’ll ground me? Take away my toys? You might be the leader, but I’m not just some random girl you picked up on the street and declared a Lost Kid.” Bella flicks her hand toward me.

Pete stands a little taller, his face flushed with anger. “Random Lost Kid or not, she’s one of us now. And if I see you so much as scowl at Gwen, you will be banished.”

“Pete!” His name tumbles from my lips loudly, drawing the attention of the other boys.

Despite the flash of defiance in Bella’s eyes, I also see tears well up. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Pete presses his lips together and turns his back to Bella. “It’s the same as I’d do for any other Lost Kid. If I have to, I’ll personally escort you from the Lost City, and that’s a promise.”

“Pete, stop it!” I say, positioning myself between Bella and him. I lay a hand on his arm. “That’s enough. You’re being too harsh on her.”

Bella shoves me away from Pete. A tear slides down her pink cheek. Her eyes shift from me to Pete and back to me. She points a finger at me, her hand trembling. “I hate you! I wish you never came here!”

My breath catches as I gaze into her angry blue eyes, a fury in her expression so similar to Joanna’s the last time I saw her.

“Bella, I …” Before I can finish my sentence, she sprints away, her blond hair fading into the bustle of working boys. “Bella!” I call after her.

“Let her go,” Pete says. “She just needs to cool off.”

I whirl and grab him by the shoulder, spinning him to face me. “How could you talk to her like that? She’s just a kid and you aren’t her dad.” I give him a slight shove.

“I am her guardian.” Pete turns and storms through the city center. I follow behind. “And I was defending you. You ought to be grateful,” he says over his shoulder.

“What guardian threatens banishment? And I should be grateful? For what?” I step in front of him, forcing him to stop abruptly. I wave a hand in the direction Bella has disappeared. “Protecting me from her?”

“She attacked you. I wasn’t about to let her get away with that.”

I roll my eyes. “She pulled my hair. Besides, what happened to ‘you’re no damsel in distress’? You don’t think I can hold my own against a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Look, I was bluffing about exiling her to Everland, but we have rules and I can’t have discord among the kids. The last thing I need is an uprising or, worse, anarchy.”

“She’s a child, Pete! They’re all children, not a bunch of rebels trying to dethrone you.” Incredulous, I stomp off in the direction of the building with a sign that reads WEAPONEER.

“Gwen, wait!” Pete shouts, hurrying after me.

Ignoring him, I dash up the steps, taking two at a time, and shove the door open. Inside, Pickpocket is testing out the scope on a rifle before placing it in the scabbard on his back. Mole holds a medieval-looking staff with spikes. Pyro attaches several grenades to a pouch on his hip. A string of firecrackers loops around his derby hat. Next to him, Jack clips random tools to his belt. Each weapon and tool that the boys hold is decorated with brass engravings and embellishments that reflect the flicker of an overhead lamp.

A boy with spiky black hair steps into the room from a closet in the back of the building. Leather and copper pistols are strapped to each of his wrists. Daggers and guns hang from his weapons belt.

“Hi, guys,” he says with caution as Pete follows me. His gaze darts between Pete and me. “What’s going on?”

“Gwen, this is the way things are run around here,” Pete says. “Don’t be mad at me because I’m doing my job. I have to do what I have to do to keep the peace.”

Ignoring him, I walk up to the spiky-haired boy. I pull my daggers from their sheaths and slam them on a table. “Are you Blade?”

“Yes,” he says hesitantly.

“I need replacements for these. Apparently, they are about as good as butter knives, at least according to that dolt you call a leader.”

Blade gives a sideways glance toward Pete before replying. “Sure, I’ll be right back,” he says. He hurries to the closet and pulls aside the sheet covering the doorway.

“Gwen, talk to me.” Pete places a hand on my elbow.

I jerk my arm away. “You know what? You are nothing but a bully. What you did to her was far worse than what she would do to me or anyone else.”

“What’s going on?” Pickpocket asks, placing his revolver in its holster on his back.

“What do you want me to do?” Pete says, frustrated.

I cock my weight to one hip. “You can start with an apology.”

“Apologize? Fine! I’m sorry!” Pete holds his hands up defensively.

He sounds insincere, although I’m not surprised. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would readily admit fault to anything.

“It’s not me you owe an apology to,” I say.

Blade walks into the room and places two matching knives on the counter. Brass trim wraps around the grips. They are the most impressive daggers I’ve ever seen. I snatch the blades from the counter and, without further inspection, I thrust them into the sheaths attached to my hips.