Page 119 of The Last Lost Girl

“Good.” Peter draws one knee up to his chest and swings his other. “That’s good.”

I want to ask him why he said that. Is he glad I’m about to meet him because I haven’t yet, or is he trying to warn me that Hudson isn’t nice?

When I woke in the middle of the morning and again sometime during the night, I’d forgotten my own sister. She was sitting on the banquette reading a red leather-bound book, but snapped it closed when I panicked, then kindly sat with me and explained who she was, where I was, and what we’d been doing, and a strange fog lifted from my mind. Bits and pieces started coming back. Triumphant moments, like when two men escaped Neverland and returned to the ship. Passionate moments that Hudson and I shared. Moments I’d prefer never to speak of again.

I don’t tell Belle, but I know I’ve forgotten a lot. I just can’t grasp how much. Time seems to skip and move forward, then feel like it’s moving backward like the hands on the pocket watch I feel constantly ticking against my chest.

Once I finally start to remember after my mind feels wiped clean, it feels like no time has passed other than the few hours I spent sleeping. But Belle says I slept far longer than that, and even woke twice since. She explains that Hudson’s ship has been moored in the western port for two days and that I’ve already returned many of the townspeople’s shadows.

I don’t remember any of it. The last shadow I remember moving was Sydney’s. But I haven’t told anyone yet. Something in my gut advises me to keep that secret to myself.

Belle leaves so I can bathe and refresh myself before we begin again.

Smee brings me a basin of water and a few clean cloths and tells me to help myself to Hudson’s wardrobe, as my things are hanging out to dry. I walk behind the privacy screen with an arm full of the pirate’s clothes.

I scrub quickly and get dressed, then fold the screen and return it to its place. The clothes smell like Hudson and don’t fit me even after I do what I can to make them work. Water sloshes in the basin as I carry it outside and toss it into the sea.

Smee swoops in to grab my dirty clothes, cloths, and the basin. “I can help wash them,” I offer.

“It’s no bother. I have little to do while the restoration continues.”

The restoration. They’ve given it a name.

If we’ve been here long enough for it to have a name, Pan’s already heard about it. I thought I would get stronger the more shadows I transferred, but I don’t feel strong. I feel strained. A rubber band stretched so taut that it’s about to snap.

Belle laughs with Dublin and Kenya at the stern. Rio is in the crow’s nest, singing at the top of his lungs. Kauai holds a pole with a line cast into the water, waiting for a fish to take his bait. Milan sits near him, flipping through the pages of a book. I walk toward the ship’s bow, wanting a minute alone.

I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do next. Do people come to the ship, or do we go into town door to door?

Milan approaches with a finger tucked between a book’s pages. It’s bound in red leather like the one Belle had this morning – at least, I think it was this morning. “Ava, are you well?” he asks.

“I am.” I fake a smile. “How about you?”

His dark brows slant as he glances around to see if anyone is near. “I need to ask you something.”

The shadowy vines peel up from my chest, but instead of reaching toward him, they curl around me protectively. The hair on my arms rises despite the blazing sun. “Sure. What did you want to ask?”

His hand is shaking when he rakes it through his dark hair. “Do you remember yesterday at all?”

“What about yesterday?”

He keeps quiet. His eyes dart around one more time, charting where everyone is…

I study the book he’s holding. Dark leather. And the pages his finger holds apart reveal handwriting. I can’t see it well enough to see if it’s Hudson’s spidery script. “Is that one of Hudson’s journals?”

His dark eyes flash with warning. “Keep your voice down.”

“Look, maybe you should talk to Hudson about –”

“No!” he hisses. “Not him.”

My heart pounds. Belle’s eyes meet mine and she flies straight to us. “Milan!” she greets brightly. “How are you?”

He snaps the tome shut and tucks it into his pants, covering the leather with his vest. “Well, Tinkerbell. You look lovely this morning.” Milan’s eyes dart to mine, pleading, then he smiles and inclines his head. “Thanks for the talk, Ava.”

“Anytime.” I brush it off like we were simply talking about the weather.

Belle scrutinizes him as he walks away. “What was that all about?”

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