Page 15 of Freeing Hook

“You really think we can trail him without him noticing?” I can’t help but glance over at Michael in the corner, who is now humming along with his pot-banging.

“Surely you’re not thinking of bringing him along with us, whatever we do,” says Victor, pointing his blade in Michael’s direction.

“I’m not leaving him alone. Not when we’re still not sure what happened the night Nettle died.”

Victor sets his knife down on the counter, tapping his fingers against the wood. “That does complicate things, doesn’t it?” I’m a bit taken aback when I don’t detect any mocking in his voice.What’s even more shocking is when he says, “I could stay behind and watch him.”

Suspicion instantly creeps up my spine. “And why would you offer to do that?”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Why do you assume there’s nothing I can do out of the goodness of my heart?”

“It’s not that. It’s that you’re not the trusting type. You’re the type who likes to see things done yourself. Why would you offer to stay behind and leave everything in my hands?”

Victor groans, wiping his slick hair from his forehead. I really wish he wouldn’t do that while he’s cooking. At home, the cooks with hair that long would have been required to pin it back.

“When we catch Tink, we need her to cooperate, right? If we want to get information out of her?” asks Victor.

“And?”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit problematic if I’m around.”

I narrow my eyes. “And why is that?”

Again, Victor runs his hands through his hair. I guarantee he’s not going to wash them before touching the food. “Because Thomas and I used to make a sport of hunting her.”

I snort. “Excellent.”

“Yeah, well, nothing that can be done about it now.”

“When you say hunt—”

“I mean, we used to track her down and blow darts into her wings.”

I don’t much like Tink after what she did to Wendy, but the thought of darts puncturing her wings makes me a tad sick.

Victor’s no longer looking at me. He’s just staring at a knot on the countertop like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “Like I said. Can’t go back and change it now.”

“And you think I’m going to let you watch Michael after admitting that?”

Victor whips his head toward me. His face is red, and not from the heat of the stove. For a moment, I think he might yell at me, but he must swallow it because he says, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to your brother, okay?”

Despite all rationality, I believe him.

“Michael’s not always easy to watch,” I warn.

“I’ll manage.”

I glance at my brother, then back at Victor. There’s an earnestness in Victor’s eyes I haven’t often seen. He might be rough around the edges, but he isn’t cruel, and he hurts for the loss of his brother.

“Fine,” I say, knowing instantly I’ll come to regret it. “But tell me: whose idea was it to hunt Tink?”

Victor pretends not to hear me.

As I’m clearingthe plates after dinner, I count and realize I’m missing one. When I go to the table to search for it, I find it empty. Strange, one wouldn’t expect a dinner plate to go missing between the dinner table and the kitchen.

I’m pondering where it could have gone when the roots on the ceiling descend, dumping Smalls onto the floor with considerably less care than they did Peter. Smalls huffs as he shoves himself to his feet, his pale face flushed red and his dusty brown hair disheveled. He wipes the dirt off of him until he looks up and spots me, at which point his hands stop mid-sweep.

The child salutes me, whistles, and bounds off.

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