She woke with a jolt. Cold sweat covered her body and her hair stuck to her damp forehead.

Wendy was alone in her room again. She opened her hand. She’d fallen asleep holding the acorn. Maybe it was nerves, but Wendy swore she could almost feel the acorn thrum with some kind of energy. Her hand shook so hard that the acorn rolled off and onto the bed. She hugged her legs and pressed her forehead into her knees as she took deep, shuddering breaths.

It was real, it had to be. It wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. She didn’t know when or where, but her brothers and Peter had been there.

Peter.

A delirious laugh bubbled in her throat. Her Peter. Peter Pan. He was real.

And she needed to find him.

CHAPTER 9

Stories

Unfortunately, responsibilities and volunteer shifts kept Wendy from immediately searching for Peter. She was already late for her shift, and rushing around to get dressed and out the door did little to ease her raw nerves.

Wendy was already halfway across the yard and digging her keys out of her bag when she saw the cop car. She froze, keys dangling from her finger. Her head whipped around, searching for someone in uniform. Right now was really not a good time for them to come poking around again! She needed to find Peter and—

“I don’t understand why I’m being questioned.” The frazzled voice came from next door. Mr. Davies stood on his front porch. He fidgeted with a rolled-up newspaper in his hands, the knuckles white. Next to him, his wife clutched the robe she wore. Detective Rowan was on the step. Detective James stood just behind her and to the right.

“We’re just talking to people in the area, Mr. Davies,” Rowan said in a mild, even tone. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her expression impassive. Her badge glinted on her hip.

Mr. Davies was still in his pajamas. His face was ghostly pale. Wendy imagined her face looked very similar when she had to talk to the police.

“We think one of the missing kids was taken from their home, so we want to remind people—especially those with children—to lock their doors and windows at night, and to make sure any weapons have been properly locked up.” Detective Rowan paused. “Do you have any firearms in the house, Mr. Davies?”

Mr. Davies quickly shook his head no.

“Donald used to hunt, but he hasn’t done that in years,” Mrs. Davies explained tersely, as if Detective Rowan was a huge inconvenience to her.

“I got rid of all my guns a long time ago,” Mr. Davies confirmed. He looked past Detectives James and Rowan, and his eyes snagged on Wendy standing in her yard. He quickly turned away, but Detective James followed his gaze and was now watching her.