Page 36 of Losing Wendy

“He didn’t seem completely illogical when I spoke to him. Do you think he might have had a legitimate complaint?”

John looks at me knowingly.

“What?” I ask.

“You do this thing where you betray what you believe in the form of questions.”

A knot forms in my throat. Not because I feel exposed, but because my brother has taken the time to get to know my tells.

“What’s your hypothesis, Wendy?”

I sigh, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t know.”

John shifts, and I know he’s staring me down. Challenging me.

I’m always so afraid the truth will hurt others. I forget that some people crave it, while others possess the ability to examine it without feeling.

“I wonder if somehow they were more at fault than we’d like to believe. The looks they exchanged when he asked if they knew who he was… They were hiding something.”

When I glance up at my brother, he’s thoughtfully picking at the bandage on his hand. “I got into some of Father’s accounting books last year. He’d run up quite a bit of debt in the past few years. With as much enthusiasm as he has—had—for life, I could see him making rash decisions in an attempt to pay off the debts, assuming all would work out fine. The most reasonable conclusion is that Father pressured someone to set sail under treacherous conditions. Perhaps he sent the captain off during a storm, or worse, in a vesselthat had no business being in the water. And then Father’s enthusiasm wasn’t enough to carry it through to its destination. The captain must have lost someone along the way.”

“I didn’t know Father was in debt.”

John doesn’t explain why that might be. He doesn’t have to. Not with the weight of my failed dowry hanging around my neck.

“Did you figure out what the Shadow Keeper wants from you when you chased him down?”

I shake my head. “That’s the strange thing. He’s always tried to convince me to come with him. But now that I’m here, he acts like he doesn’t want me at all. Like…”

John cranes his head. I know better than to think I’m a match for my brother’s curiosity.

“Almost like I’m meant to be some sort of punishment.”

“You do have that gaping Mark on your face. Perhaps he displeased whoever cursed you and she hopes he’ll fall in love with a woman Marked to another. That he’ll be eaten alive with jealousy.”

“Perhaps,” I say.

“As long as whatever it is keeps him away from you,” John concedes.

I can’t help but agree. Little has gone my way tonight, but at least I’m not being forced to bed a stranger. At least I have the comfort of having my brothers nearby.

“I’ll figure out a way to get us home,” I tell my brother.

He looks at me a long time from behind his spectacles, his hair disheveled. I can practically feel the pain in his heart, like I’m the one with the missing finger, and it’s my pulse pounding. “I’ll be impressed when you make that happen, considering we don’t have a home to go back to.”

CHAPTER 14

The next morning at breakfast—a spread of wild berries, roasted pine nuts, and spindly red citrus fruits—Simon recites The Lost Boy code of conduct to us.

First, and most importantly: There’s no trying to escape Neverland. Apparently, this rule is to do with safety and not the fact that Peter is a maniacal overlord intent on kidnapping the young.

John seems less than convinced.

“Most of the island is free range, but we’re to be back in the Den by last light, no exceptions,” says Simon.

“Makes sense,” says John. “I assume the wildlife is most active at night. Do you set traps during the day?”

Simon appears impressed, if not a tad annoyed that John is a know-it-all. I can’t blame him.

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