Page 37 of The Last Lost Girl

I am not prepared for the wave of emotion that crashes over me.

A ridiculous llama filter distorts our faces, but the app glitches, revealing them once, then twice, as we laugh at how we look. “Ava!” Belle snips in her high-pitched, altered llama voice before trying to eat my hair. “Oh my God, Belle, stop!” I giggle back, then shriek when she actually snaps a piece between her teeth. “Gross!” I push her away, but she wraps an arm around my neck and fake smooches my cheek.

This was just a few months ago, in the winter. Belle was herself then. The charm that held the shadows at bay still hung around her neck. She hadn’t been poisoned by them yet.

I was sick when we recorded this, nursing a fever smothered by copious doses of Advil so I didn’t miss a shift. But that night when I dragged myself into the apartment, Belle was waiting for me with ramen from my favorite shop, my comfort rom-com already queued up, and a fuzzy blanket.

You can see the bookshelves and the copies of Pan behind us, lit with twinkle lights. Her favorite.

We’re sitting on our ugly AF, saggy brown couch in heavy sweaters sharing the most comfortable, worn-until-matted blanket on the face of the planet. Both of us are wearing messy buns. And Belle is the picture of health because she never got sick. My nose, however, is red. When my laughter turns to coughing, Belle hands me a mug of hot honey and apple tea.

My heart aches because I miss her so much, and every second I waste not looking for her… Belle just gets that much farther from me.

The shadows are a chasm I could never cross, and Neverland has proven to be an even greater rift.

It’s good to see her face and hear her voice. To be reminded of that night, because I have the oddest sensation that I’d forgotten it. That I might be forgetting her – little by little.

Not the fact that I need to find her, of course. I am still determined to do that. But small things are starting to escape me. Like what honeysuckle smells like. I know I’ve always thought she smelled like the plant, but now I can’t remember if it’s sweet or heady. Or the way she rations her favorite sour candies – the ones that make me pucker so badly she cackles. I can’t remember how many she saves for each day now, only that she does and it’s a very specific amount. Like the number of candies is a number that’s significant to her, even though I can’t put a finger on what it is or why it matters to her.

My slipping memory must be a trauma response, because it’s not normal to forget my sister so quickly. Panic can cause forgetfulness. It can make people think less clearly. I’ve been in a constant state of panic since I landed on Neverland’s shore last night. That’s all.

I blink rapidly to clear the tears that spring into my eyes and look toward the windows.

The pirate’s warm knuckle tips my chin back toward him. The moment our eyes meet, I feel like my chest is caving in. I don’t understand why his touch elicits that response, or why it’s suddenly so hard to breathe. Or think. Maybe because he can see much more from my reaction to the silly video than those short, recorded seconds reveal.

Hook’s voice is careful, but I don’t miss the strain in them. “Tinkerbell brought you here.”

I press my lips closed, afraid to confirm his words, yet worried that my silence is answer enough.

His hand cups my elbow with a barely-there touch, but it’s one I can’t ignore. It’s tender, when I know how harsh Hook can be. He leans a little closer. “Do you know how or where to find her?”

My hands begin to tremble. I hold them tight against my bruised sides and look away again.

“Please. We cannot allow Pan to find Tinkerbell.” There is suppressed panic in his eyes, in his posture. His breathing is strained. He stands on the balls of his feet as if he plans to spring into action if I confirm it for him.

Every inch of me tenses. “Why not?”

His dark lashes flutter. “Because Tinkerbell stole something from him before she left Neverland. She betrayed him, Ava. And you don’t want to know what he does to those who prove to be disloyal.” He wets his lips and continues. “Tinkerbell left when Pan was just a boy. His magic wasn’t mature then like it is now. If she’s here, she’s in grave danger. If he finds her, she’s dead.”

“You want more than just to save her from Hook. You want what she took from him. Don’t you?”

“Yes!” he hisses.

I blink at the sound, at the brutal honesty. Belle is a skilled thief, but what could she steal that is so equally important to Pan and Hook? “What did she take from him?”

He rubs a hand over his mouth. “His collection of shadows.”

My heart thunders. “Shadows?”

Hook nods. “The shadows of every person Pan dragged to Neverland.”

A breath gets stuck in my chest for a long moment because I immediately know that Hook is telling the truth. That oily shadow so different from hers is not one, but many.

I wonder what ‘many’ is. Thirty? Three hundred? Three thousand?

I look down at the floor to search for Hook’s shadow and confirm that like me, he has none.

Hook gestures to the planks beneath us. “It looks like you need her to return yours, too. Otherwise, you’re trapped here like the rest of us.”

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