“It’s complicated, but what you need to know is this: Not all children are resistant to the Horologia virus. Especially not girls, it seems,” Pete explains. Running a hand through his hair, he paces, stops, and steps toward me. “Look, I won’t lie to you. The few girls we have found, they don’t last long. In fact, they rarely last a month. When we find them, they are already showing symptoms and …”
My hammering heart skips a beat. “And then what?” I demand.
Pete stares at me, his gaze intense. “They die.”
Time stands still and my vision blurs. I back up, placing my hand on the hilt of my second dagger. “So if girls aren’t immune, what use am I to you?”
Pete looks away. “Because … Bella is dying.”
His words strike me like a stray bullet piercing my heart. I meet his glassy gaze. He swallows. The muscles in his face grow taut. He’s not lying.
“What do you mean? She looks perfectly healthy,” I say.
“Bella is alive only because of Doc.” He winces and shakes his head, as if saying those words is painful. “The virus is like some bizarre, cancerous, flesh-eating disease. Her fingers and toes are black, blistered, and the flesh is peeling away. The only reason she appears well is because her gloves and stockings are lined with medication to dull the pain. Doc also came up with some sort of a booster shot from the antibodies of us Lost Boys, but it only slows the progress; it doesn’t cure it.” Pete pulls up the sleeve of his jacket. A macramé of dark tattoos gives his skin the illusion of machine parts. The intricate details permanently etched in ink are stunning. I reach for his arm, hoping to get a better look, but something catches my eye and my breath hitches. A colorful display of blue, purple, and yellow bruises in varying stages of healing tint the inked gears, springs, and other mechanical gadgets. Before I have a chance to really inspect the tattoos and injuries, Pete pulls his sleeve back down and continues, “But you … you show no signs of infection. You may really be immune, and if you are … well, maybe … just maybe …”
A thousand thoughts flood my mind, but only one renders me speechless. I can’t utter the words that are about to make me crumble like the rubble along the street.
Pete lets out an audible breath. “I believe you are an Immune, a real Immune. That’s why Hook wants you, I’m certain of it. You’re the only girl I’ve seen who actually seems unaffected by the virus. How you lived out there without showing symptoms is a miracle. Judging by the fact you have a sister who has also survived, there has to be something about you two. Something genetic, I suppose. Maybe the cure lies in you and your sister.”
Unable to catch my breath, I rest my hand on my chest, lean against the ladder, and will myself to inhale slow and steady breaths. “Joanna’s not immune.” My words barely tumble out as a whisper.
Pete places a firm hand on my shoulder. “What?”
I meet his gaze, his green eyes searching mine with confusion. “She’s not immune,” I say, shaking my head, accepting the truth I’ve known all along but have denied until now. “Joanna has sores on her hands. They’ve only recently appeared, maybe a few weeks or so ago. I didn’t know what they were. I was trying to treat it with antibiotics, but the blisters weren’t responding to treatment.”
Panic glasses over Pete’s eyes. “Even more reason to get her back soon. The sooner the better. She needs to see Doc.”
“Who is this Doc person?” I ask, sheathing my dagger.
“He’s our physician, a prodigy of sorts,” he says with a wave of his hand. “We have to get to the Lost City as soon as possible. We’re going to need help getting Joanna out of the palace. Let’s find Bella and Mikey. If they dodged Hook’s men, they’ll be at the eastern tunnel entrance just outside of Everland’s border. It isn’t too much farther.” Pete starts to climb the ladder when something large splashes into the murky sewer water just up the tunnel in the inky darkness.
“We’d better hurry. There are things more sinister down here than those twits,” Pete says, nodding toward the manhole above. He scrambles up the ladder and pushes the cover off, climbing back through the hole. A second loud splash sends chills up my spine. I climb the ladder and Pete reaches a hand out to me. I grip it, a lifeline keeping me from shattering into a million little shards.
Rain stings my cheeks as a fresh storm erupts from the dreary sky. My hair clings to my skin, obscuring my vision, and hangs limply on my soaked clothes. The scents of the wet asphalt and damp vegetation mingle in the air. We trudge through an overgrown meadow, which appears to have once been a park. Twisted and rusty monkey bars of a playground structure rise from the tall grass, providing cover when the Marauders’ zeppelins buzz overhead, patrolling the outskirts of Everland.
I am thankful for the bit of warmth the scavenged coat provides. Wishing I had Mikey’s umbrella, I blink away the rain from my vision. Pete appears unfazed by the weather, although it is hard to tell with his goggles concealing his eyes.