Page 2 of Lost Girl

“Have you been studying me?” I chortle, jokingly I should add.

Her response, however, is anythingbut. “I’ve studied you since I was old enough to understand what gifts you possess. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

It’s not, really. Tigerlily has always been curious and analytical, since we were kids. While I wanted to roam the forest, widdle spears, and prove myself to my father, my sister would spend hours reading, practicing her piano skills, or simply watching our people bustle about. She knew everything about everyone.

“So in what phase am I the calmest?” Another joke, because me, calm?

Perhaps in another lifetime.

“Waning,” she replies, surprising me in the process. “I wouldn’t venture to say calm is the right word, but you’re definitely easier to handle then.”

Our conversation comes to a halt as we round the side of the palace to the back where the festivities are being held in the lush garden. Bach’s melody fills the air, sounds of laughter and chatter ringing out amongst the serene tune. Champagne, hor d'oeuvres—it’s a celebration at its finest.

What exactly are we celebrating, you ask?

Peter Pan’s death.

Word throughout town is Hook and the little Tinksley Bell crossed the portal with the intent to end him. The boy’s demise doesn’t surprise me. I always knew our land would find a way to rid itself of his unwelcome presence.

I’m more surprised it was not only Tinksley who wielded the blade, but that she’s chosen to hang on the Captain’s arm.

Then again, from where I stand, it doesn’t appear she’s the same girl anymore.

She’s one ofthemnow.

“Come on, let’s go say hello.” My sister loops her arm through mine.

We do, exchanging pleasantries with anyone who stops us. Naturally, they all ask for our father, in which we assure them he’ll be on his way soon.

Somewhere along the way, a champagne flute finds its way into my hand. I’m sipping the bubbly, taking in the ornate decor of whites, golds, and lavish flower arrangements while Tigerlily converses with a few of the townspeople, when I hear it...

Fuzzy.

Distant.

But the sound meets my ears no less, my head snapping in the direction of Hook’s castle.

Pulling my sister abruptly from the conversation, I ask her, “Do you hear that?”

Tigerlily arches a brow and quickly apologizes on my behalf. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t hear it?”

“Hear what, Tavi?”

Of course she can’t hear it. My sister isn’t like me. What gets me is that no one else—even those who probablycanpick up on it—seems to hear it, either.

That or they’re choosing to ignore it.

I can’t, though. The more I focus, the clearer it becomes.

Chains.

Chains clanking.

Chains clankingdesperately.

And a woman’s nearly hoarse voice screeching, “SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!”