“Bella, that’s enough,” Pete says, the tone of his voice indicating a stern warning.
“Fine!” Bella says. But she leans close one more time and whispers, “I still wouldn’t advise any emergency council meetings if I were you.” She winks, spins on the heels of her boots, stomps to the center of the city, and stands in front of the statue.
Pete rolls his eyes. “Did you have to do that?” he says.
Bella cocks her weight to one hip and grins.
“But the rules state we must vote first. You have no idea if these two are associated with the Marauders,” Justice says, picking up his notebook and flipping through the pages.
“Gwen and Mikey are my guests. They’re staying,” Pete says, dismissing the altercation between Bella and Justice. He strides toward Mikey and me. “I declare you, Gwen … What did you say your last name was?” he asks.
“I didn’t say what it was. It’s Darling, Gwen Darling,” I mumble.
“Hmm, not as bad as Gwen the Immune, but you might consider taking a new name now that you’re a Lost Kid,” Pete says. “All the smart kids do. You could go with Stubbornly. Feisty. How about Cheeky?”
The boys erupt in laughter.
I scowl. “Thanks for the advice, Prince Charming.”
“So is that a no?”
I give him a light smack on his chest and narrow my eyes.
Pete winks. “I’m only kidding.” He throws his arms in the air in a dramatic display. “Gwen Darling, do you promise to protect all of those smaller than you, even the Lost Bugs, except when Sous the Chef serves them for dinner because there is nothing else to eat?” Pete asks a little too loudly.
The littlest of the Lost Boys giggle, some of them scrunching up their noses at the suggestion of eating bugs.
“I guess so,” I say.
Pete turns to Justice. “Are you satisfied now?”
Justice’s telescope eyes scrutinize me before he gives a quick nod.
“Excellent! Gwen Darling, I declare you a Lost Kid. You will all regard her with the same dignity as you would any other Lost Kid. Anyone who treats her otherwise will have to report to me, and I assure you the Plungers have an endless amount of drains to snake. I’m sure they’d be thrilled with an extra hand or two,” Pete says.
A hush blankets the gathering of boys, but no one challenges Pete.
He points at Mikey. “And he’s a Lost Boy, too. No questions asked.”
A melodious cheer erupts from the crowd. Bella claps with an expression of boredom on her face. “Huzzah,” she says with sarcasm.
Mikey smiles a muddy grin, still dirty from his earthy disguise. Justice studies my brother with a pinched expression but says nothing. An East Asian boy Mikey’s age raises his hand and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Pete! Hey, Pete! Right here!” the boy shouts.
The crowd parts as the young boy steps forward.
Pete rolls his eyes. “Yes, Gabs?”
“Does she like to tell stories? I mean like real stories. Not the stories you tell because they’re way too short, and I don’t think you really like telling stories anyway. Stories like my mum used to tell about warriors and battles and even fire-breathing dragons that roar so loud it shakes the ground like an earthquake. That’s really where earthquakes come from, you know. It’s dragons who are really, really, really mad. The kind of mad your mum gets because you drew on the walls when you know you shouldn’t. And the dragon mums, they’re mad because someone stole their dragon eggs and the mum dragons are trying to find their babies. Sometimes they dive into mountains and make volcanoes. That’s not really lava, you know. It’s dragon spit that will burn you up and then you’ll know better not to touch the dragon spit because … well, I guess you won’t because then you’d be all burned up. Anyway … does she tell stories?”
“And that is why we call him Gabs,” Pete says through the side of his mouth.
The boy peers at me with obsidian-colored eyes hidden beneath overgrown, jet-black hair. He waits for my response, an eager, wide-eyed expression spanning his face. Immediately, I like Gabs, and from the crooked smile on Mikey’s face, I can tell he likes him, too.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I …” My gaze catches the hint of disappointment in Gabs. When I glance back at Mikey, he’s fidgeting with the arm of his teddy bear. Because he was only five when the war started, hardly old enough for primary school, I realize he doesn’t know how to make friends. He pulls his bear in tighter before he speaks.
“She tells great stories,” Mikey says shyly, but a frown forms. “Well, she used to when she was just my sister and not my mum.”
Confused, I glance down at Mikey. “Mikey, I’m not your …”
Gabs wraps his arms around my waist. “Oh! You’re a mother? Will you be my mother, too? I’ve missed my own mum so much.”
I look at Pete, surprised. He gives me a lopsided smile and shrugs.