Finding the Lost Boys: The Second Star Trilogy: 1, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Cat Bowser
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without explicit written permission of the author.
Chapter Headers/Dividers and Title Page Graphic by Elisha Bugg
Editing by Belle Manuel
Cover Art by RFK Covers
Formatted in Atticus
Contents
1. Dedication
2. Author's Notes
3. Author's Notes Specifics
4. Prologue
5. Chapter One
6. Chapter Two
7. Chapter Three
8. Chapter Four
9. Chapter Five
10. Chapter Six
11. Chapter Seven
12. Chapter Eight
13. Chapter Nine
14. Chapter Ten
15. Chapter Eleven
16. Chapter Twelve
17. Chapter Thirteen
18. Chapter Fourteen
19. Chapter Fifteen
20. Chapter Sixteen
21. Chapter Seventeen
22. Chapter Eighteen
23. Chapter Nineteen
24. Chapter Twenty
25. Chapter Twenty-One
26. Chapter Twenty-Two
27. Chapter Twenty-Three
28. Epilogue
29. Acknowledgments
30. About the Author
31. Other Stories By Cat Bowser
For my love, my Stephen. Thank you for always being my strongest support and my believer.
For my father-in-law Klay, whose love of adventure and enthusiasm for creativity was infectious. May your spirit always reside in Neverland.
This book is meant for adult readers. For specific CW, turn to the next page. If you do not wish to see them, skip to Prologue
This book is meant for adult audiences. It contains depictions of child death, manipulation and gaslighting, adult language, and some graphic descriptions of violence and injury.
The sea screamed.
He used to believe the ocean was incapable of such things. If anything, the only time it made noise at all was when the waves crashed amid the rocks that made up Siren Cove (not to be confused with the serene nature of Mermaid Lagoon). Then, it would rumble and make an unpleasant roar but quickly recanted its supposed fury.
No such event tonight.
Biting his lower lip hard and repressing the whimper daring to escape despite the unsafety of the environment, the boy stumbled onward, slipping down to his hands and knees. He cursed his empty knife-hand. His only weapon, eaten up by the sand.
The seawater, frigid as the night, set flame to his injuries and he had plenty. Water usually soothed cuts, bruises, and sores but there was something different about the seawater. Maybe another curse of the island he hadn’t been privy to?
Certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Or maybe it would…No, no. Peter is still out there. Just because this got the best of me, doesn’t mean it’ll get Peter. Nothing beats Peter!
Shaking his head, the young boy kept running.
He wasn’t a big boy, not by any manner of speaking and his poor posture made him seem even smaller. Despite many attempts by others to encourage otherwise, he wasn’t happy if he wasn’t walking half-slumped over as if avoiding a nonexistent beam from clonking him in the head. Most of the others called him ‘Hunch’ for this reason. He’d long since forgotten his real name.
He moved slowly and close to the ground, trying to contain his breathing to short, quiet bursts. Just like Peter said, Hunch. Don’t be loud. Not until the battle’s won!
Long, unruly brown hair that clumped when wet and always fell into his face disrupted his vision, and he pushed it back every few minutes with sand-caked fingers. Mixed with the dirt of the day and sweat, the dozens of freckles amid his nose were lost.
But his brown eyes never stopped tracing behind him.
Played this game before. So many times. Pirates and Lost Boys.
Not a game anymore though.
A clang, the sound of metal being drawn. He could almost see it, the long, curved edge of a pirate cutlass.
Peter, where are you?
Falling flat again, the boy squeezed his eyes shut. The ocean waves choked him, but he only pressed his face deeper into the wet sand. Coarse and rough, he went limp and still.
Only the sound of the ocean, rattling the rocks.
It’s okay. Peter went the other way to track their ship. He’ll notice I didn’t meet up with him. He’ll come save me. Peter’ll come.
Another sound, slick and smooth, of metal on a scabbard.
Hunch went to his knees, rubbed the sand clear of his eyes, and scanned the horizon. Nothing. There was nothing.
His wounds ached, protesting such an assessment.
Something’s out there. The Pirates know magic, the cloak of night, just like Peter said they did! They’re traveling by shadows, just like the stories! No wonder I can’t see them!
But they can see me.
He ran. Not stiff, ragged running. These were more wide and long leaps, pressure to the balls of the feet more than heel to toe.
These were panicked, uneven jolts of energy, taken in spurts.
Hunch thought such an adventure would end in scars and a great many wonderful tales of bravery to share. After all, being chosen to go on a night mission with Peter was not a task for beginners. It required skill, cunning, and valor.
A punch of pain sent him sprawling.
Drops of blood crawled down his legs to pool on the ground, calling the sand together to form morbid marbles of red. Glancing behind him, Hunch mused it looked like he was leaving a deliberate path to be followed.
He was painting a target on his back.
The crow came.
Nearly collapsing into tears, Hunch gave low praise to whatever magic ruled the island. “Peter! Peter! I’m here!” Waving one hand wildly in the air, he laughed—the frantic sort of laugh when salvation had come at last. Peter was here!
Dropping to his knees, Hunch dug his hands into the sand. Only one person gave that kind of cry and oh, were those pirates in for it now! Not even the shadows could hide them from Peter!
A light thud sounded in the sand and his hands enclosed his old knife. Peter must have found it! Yes! Now, there was a chance!
The crow came closer, and a sharp breeze severed strands of hair from around his left ear. For a moment, he thought the ear went with it. Grasping at his temple, he only had a heartbeat to realize he was still intact before the crow came again.
Then, again.
Louder.
Closer.
A flash of metal shone against the sliver of moon, then only the screaming of the sea remained.
Lost boys might not age, but they died all the same.
Surprised? Wouldn’t blame you. After all, why would a land that grants eternal youth be battered down by death and grief? But take it from me, you can’t have a land of adventure without danger, without risk, and without bloodshed. If there’s no risk, there’s no thrill.
But knowing someone I knew died never feels good. It twists the gut and pulls the heart, and overall, just ends up with the whole body feeling ill.
A low patting of feet next to me drew my eye. Shifting to the left, I glanced down, and Cat looked back up at me, without missing a beat in her step.
Cat, as if the name wasn’t a dead giveaway, is a stray cat that comes around. Sometimes, she comes inside the Underground House with us. Sometimes she hangs around in the trees. Doesn’t usually cling to anyone in particular, but she sure as hell attached herself to me, despite my protests. Hence, my uncreative name for her.
Take today, where she was adamant about being my traveling companion.
“What are you doing out here?” I stretched my arms over my head as I went, keeping up my pace. Cat adjusted her speed to match mine. “Don’t cats hate water?” I lifted my hand, catching the faint droplets misting the air. Rain was rare in Neverland but given Peter was no doubt distraught, much as he might hide it, seemed appropriate.
Cat didn’t give as much as a peep in response. Not that I expected her to. Rather stubborn feline that she is.
In any given event, I had no time to waste with her. Not today.
Boneback Hill was well known to us Lost Boys. Not too far from home, there wasn’t much substance to it. Making it to the top in a sprint could be done in under a minute and the sprinkle passing for a stream at its base hardly made enough mud to dirty the soles of our boots. And given our propensity for mischief and bacteria-gathering, that was saying something.
I knew this place. I mean, the other boys know it too but not like I do. Been here too often to not memorize it. After all, I’m the oldest. When the others came, I was already there with Peter. It has its benefits, believe me.
Still, why Peter insisted on calling this place Boneback Hill was a fucking mystery. When I think of bones, a scrawny hill with naked trees that occasionally have white flowers which smelt like rotting wood isn’t exactly what comes to mind. In my mind, a far more adept name might have been Scrub or Thorn Hill for all the little stickers that cling to the feet, no matter how careful you stepped.
So, we were down from thirteen to twelve. It left me, Peter, Drake, Samuel, Timothy, Ralph, Thomas, Noah, Daniel, Ethan, Jade (our only girl now), and Joshua. Hunch, or Hank as he was originally called, had been our lucky thirteen.
Some luck.
Trudging up the hill, I pitched forward twice because of that wretched feline deciding to claim the path for herself. The damn thing has four legs and a tail, so why is she so intent on sharing mine? Weaving in and out around my ankles made for a difficult trek.
“Go annoy Samuel.” Scoffing and giving a halfhearted kick in her direction to make sure my point was clear, I made my way to the tiny clearing where the other boys had beaten me. Cat snarled behind me, but I wasn’t going to waste any more time. Let her be angry.
It’s not much of a clearing, just a circle where the grass no longer grew, and a dead log and tree trunks could serve as seats. Not enough to seat all twelve of us, but enough Peter could perch on the knotted tree branch above everyone and the half-tilted stump next to him could serve me. High enough to keep my knees out of the mud and the proper place for the second most important voice in a meeting. Reserved only for those Peter deemed worthy of it.
Like I said, I get benefits.
“You sure?” Timothy was practically climbing the tree to claw at Peter’s lap. Short and carrying a little extra weight about his neck and cheeks, he was more dirt than boy most days. More leaf and stick than brown hair. Suited the nickname ‘Mutt’ that Peter gave him in a sense; he was as wild as an untamed pup.
Annoying. As. Hell.
“Since when am I wrong?” Peter’s tone carried a gravity of authority everyone responded to by muscle memory alone. Well, all but me. I was his equal more than his underling. He won’t admit it, but he knows it. “I called you here because I saw it happen.”
“How? He was the fastest of us!”
Thomas joined in the cacophony of voices. “He even outruns you, Peter.”
Tension crackled amid the air, enough the light rain ceased a bit, becoming more occasional tears from the clouds than a steady stream of solid mist. The island responded to Peter (though not always predictably) and with the hardness in his jaw, anger overtook his apparent seriousness.
And, believe me, you never want Peter serious, but you want him angry even less.
All the boys know their place in the pack and mine has been evident for as long as we’ve been a group.
My job is to keep Peter from doing anything stupid. Or at least, nothing damagingly stupid.
“Peter doesn’t need to be fleet of foot.” God, I was going to gag on flowery tongue; words are usually Samuel’s obsession, but Peter responded best to words woven to boost his ego, and purple prose did best. Trust me, I know. “Name me one time Hunch could outfly someone.”
There it was. That glimmer of self-righteousness. Made him pretentious as hell but never failed to cool his temper. Peter chuckled, tossing his salt-pepper hair to the left and right as he rocked his head. “You just aren’t clever enough. If you knew how easy flying was, you’d feel so stupid.”
Mist turned to clear skies. I never know how much the island will respond to Peter and how much it won’t but given the craziness that inhabits this place, I’m not in a hurry to find out, thank you.
I gave Timothy a deep kick to the ribs as I flopped by Peter’s side, scrunching my knees up to fit on the lopsided tree trunk. It was half sunk into the wet earth and seemed to seep lower each visit, but it was stable enough for a short meeting.
And short it would be. Peter had the attention span of a gnat.
“Hunch is dead.”
Welp, there it was.
Damn it. I knew it but hearing it still hurt. I mean…Hunch? If there was a boy in our group who didn’t deserve to die, it was Hunch and Samuel. And Hunch was a lot less grating. Plus, he was a good fighter, a good hunter. Had ears like a freakin’ fox so who got the drop on him? Especially with Peter! If you went on an excursion with Peter, you were supposed to be safe!
Don’t say anything. Peter needed his moment, and I liked Hunch enough to not wreck any attempt Peter might try at a tribute. Though, calling attention to other people wasn’t his forte.
No markers in this wretched place for a memorial but each huge tree here had a name attached to it, if you bothered to learn them. Least you won’t be alone up here.
Three other trees, including the one Peter used for a grandstand, served as reminders. Garfield, Maximillian (never call him Max!) and Star (the only other girl we ever had and the only one who refused to allow Peter to change her name). I refused to forget their names but I gotta admit, it seemed foggy to remember when they weren’t just names.
Time was a bit of a foreign concept in Neverland. It did its own thing and never the same way twice.
“Hunch died but he died fighting.” Peter stood, rising into the air slowly. “I saw the whole thing and he showed—“
“But died against who?” Jade stood, hands on her hips. All fire, as usual and one of the few that wasn’t afraid of Peter’s own bite. I smirked, despite myself.
Ralph (Peter called him Twin 1, horrible as that is) yanked at Jade’s arm. “Shut up! He’ll tell us!”
Arms crossed, Jade slumped back to the ground. “Better be good. You went on a hunting trip, remember? How do you come back and he doesn’t?”
A sharp jingling cut the air.
Oh hell no. You had to show up you snarky, miserable, little shit?
A bright blue light erupted in front of Jade, all full of glitter and enough starlight to blind a God. Loose strands of the girl’s hand suddenly were sucked into the intruder, and she screeched in response.
Only one thing could not say a word and immediately make me want to grind my ears to stubs so I wouldn’t have to hear that aggravating tinkle for one more moment.
God help me, I was gonna squash that annoying little—
“Tink!” Waving his hand widely, Peter’s voice rang over the small clearing, sharp and coarse. “Tink! Knock it off!” He leapt down from the tree branch, slowing his descent as he came to the ground.
I leaned into his side as soon as he was close enough, “Want me to swat her?” Bad form perhaps but oh so satisfying. Please, please, please…
“No!” Damn. “Tink, knock it off!”
After a moment, the fairy released Jade’s hair and flew up, narrowly missing Jade tossing a rock her way, dropping onto Peter’s outstretched palm.
In case it wasn’t clear, that fucking fairy can self-implode for all I care. No, that would be too quick. I’m not one for unnecessary violence but ooh, I’d make an exception to rip her damn wings from her.
Slowly. With a blunted knife. Red hot.
I don’t have a problem with fairies. Really can’t afford to in Neverland. The blasted things were everywhere on the island. Peter sure likes them but I dunno if any fairies consider us as friends. There’s a faint balance between annoying and fun.
But not Tinker Bell. That ostentatious little bitch would serve us all better if someone would scream ‘I don’t believe in fairies’ until she hit the ground dead. I’m half-tempted. If I knew it would affect her and not some other sprite, I would, Peter’s rage be damned.
The black-haired, green-eyed fairy would live on Peter’s shoulder if she could, and she deserves none of such prestige. How has she earned that? She didn’t risk her neck in any of our adventures. She clung to Peter for protection and offered none in reply. The fact she would attack like that when anyone so much as sneered in Peter’s direction didn’t exactly help her case. But Peter calls her his dearest and oldest friend.
Sometimes, I question if Peter is incredibly naïve or incredibly stupid.
“So, Hunch is dead?” Jade stood up and paced forward, stopping in front of Peter, arching her head up. Repeating herself, deliberating. “He died.”
Jade’s short, probably always will be. Even Samuel is a bit taller than her, but Jade has all the poison of a viper. Aside from me, Jade is one of the few who will tell Peter off for his bull and none of Peter’s usual tactics dissuade her. You’ll know when she’s ready to go off. She’ll plant her feet, like they are heavy stone, shoulder width apart, slap her hands on her hips but still keep them in fists and even if there was a storm whipping her snow-white hair around, her gaze would not leave. Those light blue eyes become locked, solid as anchors in a sea.
