Page 66 of Losing Wendy

“Someone’s after blood,” says Joel, his gaze tracing the lines on Freckles’s face.

“Someone,” says Victor through gritted teeth, “killed my brother.”

The Twins tense simultaneously, but Peter doesn’t back down from Victor’s stare.

“Why don’t you go back to the Den, Victor?”

“Why, so there won’t be anyone around to say that you were wrong?”

“No, because we all know how you get when you’re emotional.”

Victor’s face and neck take on a crimson hue. “I’m not emotional.”

“Sure, if anger isn’t an emotion,” whispers Nettle under his breath.

Victor snaps, lunging for Nettle, but Peter steps in his path, catching Victor by his wrists. “Go back to the Den,” he says, his voice calm, emotionless.

Victor looks like he’s about to fight Peter, but instead he turns and spits on the ground. “Fine, but when you find my body slain in the woods, I hope it makes you think twice before trusting him again.”

He stomps off, but Peter calls after him, “I don’t want you going by yourself.”

“I’ll go,” offers Simon, finally regaining some color as he steps off the tree where he’s been leaning.

Peter nods, and even Victor doesn’t argue. I can’t help but think Simon, with his calming presence, is the best person to pair with anyone who’s tottering on losing control.

“Who found him?” Peter asks, glancing around at the boys. The Twins both raise their hands.

“When?”

“An hour ago,” says the first.

“And what were you doing out by the cove?”

Both twins flush, but the second lets his gaze slip to his bag on the ground. It’s half open, a gill net so large it hardly fits into the bag pouring out.

“You know better,” is all Peter says. The indifference in his tone is enough to make both boys hang their heads.

I want to ask what they were trying to catch, but this doesn’t feel like the right moment.

“Which begs the question, what was Freckles doing out here?” asks Nettle.

Benjamin peers down at the body. “And who did he run into on the way?”

“Is anything missing?” asks Joel. When I shoot him a questioning glance, he shrugs. “Thomas…” He goes quiet, glancing up at Peter as if he wonders if he’ll be punished for speaking the boy’s name. “He always wore this red and blue beaded bracelet. Couldn’t find it on his body.”

I frown. “Wait? You found Thomas’s body?” I’m not sure why, but I’d assumed Thomas had gone missing and been presumed dead.

Peter opens his mouth, but Smalls beats him to speaking. He hasn’t said anything yet, just stared at Freckles’s body, slack-jawed. “He had bruises all over his throat,” says Smalls.

Without thinking, I shoot Peter a glare. One that’s meant to say,And you tried to convince the boys it was an accident? Do you think they’re stupid?

Peter averts his gaze.

Baffled, I check Freckles’s neck, but there’s nothing nefarious there. Whoever killed him, it’s clear they did it with a blade to his belly. When I kneel closer to Freckles, wiping his red hair from his brow, another scent cuts through the blood. Singed hair crinkles to ash in my hands. Like the killer took a match to the tips of Freckles’s hair. The scent tugs at a memory, one I can’t quite place.

“Was Thomas’s hair burned?” I ask.

The boys look around at one another and shrug. “If it was, none of us noticed,” says Benjamin.

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