Peter cracked his knuckles and tried to hold in the many colorful curse words that were ready to spill forth out of his mouth. She was home. Her bedroom light was on, and he could see her pacing in front of her window.

How in the world had she made it back? Why didn’t she message her brother? Why didn’t she stay and talk to him at least? He knew she felt their mutual attraction. He hated to admit how hurt he’d felt when she hadn’t reacted after she saw him at school. Nothing had registered on her face. Every part of him had wanted to run up to her, crush her in his arms, and kiss her deeply. And then she’d accepted a date with someone else right in front of him.

It had killed him to see her sit next to that kid with the octopus arms. It had been so horrible that Peter hadn’t even felt a pang of guilt at losing him to the morphling. What did that say about him? Was he becoming as heartless as the Red Skulls?

He wanted to believe that Jeremy was just an exception, that he’d let his jealousy cloud his judgment. Because losing a kid to a morphling always affected him. When he closed his eyes to sleep, sometimes their faces would come to him, haunting him. But they couldn’t save everyone. There are only so many lost boys and hundreds of Red Skulls and morphlings. The numbers would never be even. For every morphling they killed, there was another one to take its place. If only they knew where they were coming from, they could find a way to get rid of the morphlings for good. If only Mr. Barrie still had his wits about him, he might be able to give them more insight. Now, he had to rely on his daughter, Tink, and the brightest of the bunch, Slightly.

Peter flew to the window and floated right outside, being careful to stay in the shadows.

Wendy was pacing across the floor, her delicate hands running over her face in worry. She paused when she caught her reflection in the mirror and panicked at her appearance. Her jacket was covered with a dark splatter. Wendy ripped off her outer jacket and rolled it up in a bundle before hiding it in the back of her closet. There was still some black goo in her hair, and she tried to wipe it off. Frustrated, she grabbed a pink bathrobe off the back of her bedroom door and headed into the hall, closing the door after her.

Peter needed to take a closer look at that jacket. He slid open her unlocked window and listened, waiting until he heard the sound of water running in the hall bathroom.

Peter slipped inside her room knowing he had a few minutes time until she came back. He felt a pang of guilt at being in her room, but he pushed it aside as he headed toward her closet, rationalizing that he couldn’t protect her if she was hiding stuff from him.

“What are you hiding, Wendy?” he whispered. Pulling open the doors revealed a typical teenage girl’s closet: an array of colored shirts and scarves and an overwhelming number of shoes and purses. After some digging, he finally found her jacket balled up on the floor, hidden behind two shoeboxes. Peter knelt down and grabbed the jacket, opening it to see the black goo.

“What have you been doing?” He touched it and confirmed it was the same stuff they’d found coating the alley. “Was that you, my little bird?” he whispered, somewhat shocked by her courage to take on the morphling. Peter was about to put the jacket back when he saw something else hidden. He couldn’t stop himself as he pulled out a gray T-shirt and held it up.

He froze when he saw the dark red stain; he knew it was blood, surrounding a bullet hole. It was the shirt from that fateful night of her death and rebirth a few weeks ago.

Peter’s hands shook with barely controlled frustration and guilt. “I’m sorry, Wendy.”

The shower turned off, and he knew he needed to be quick. Peter put the gray shirt back but took the jacket with him to show Tink. He leaned back on his heels just as the bedroom door opened unexpectedly, and John walked into the room.

“Wendy, are you here—what are you doing here?” John yelped in surprise.

Caught off guard, Peter fell backward and grasped at the clothes to catch himself, snagging a long-sleeved dress, but he accidentally pulled the closet rod full of clothes down with him, burying himself under a pile of lacy shirts and glittery prom dresses.

“I knew there was something off about you. You’re a perv. Get out of my sister’s room right now,” John whispered angrily, his eyes glancing toward the door.

“No, wait.” Peter tried to push the clothes off and escape, but he was just getting even more tangled. He stood, a pair of denim jeans wrapped around his foot. “I came here to see if she made it home, just like you.”

“But we left at the same time. I left before you. How could you have arrived here that fast? It’s not humanly possible.”

“Well, funny thing is—regarding the human part, I can fl—”

The bedroom door opened and Wendy came in, her pink bathrobe wrapped around her slim frame, her blonde hair hung in damp curls down her back.

Wendy’s eyes squinted in anger at seeing her brother, but they widened in shock when she saw Peter.

Her eyes took in the boys and her destroyed closet.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” she hissed.

Peter tried to hide the jacket that he was still holding behind his back, and her face reflected her disgust.

“Now, I can explain.” Peter reached for Wendy, but there was a bra wrapped around his hand. He grimaced and tried to flick the pink lace contraption off his hand, and it went flying toward John, hitting him square in the chest.

“Aagh!” John jumped backward, batting it away. “Help me.”

Wendy snorted, pulled the bra off him, and shoved it in her top dresser drawer. Peter caught a flash of papers and a map in the drawer.

“Grow up, John,” Wendy growled in frustration, her arms crossing over her pink robe defensively.

Peter slowly made his way to the window, but Wendy turned on him, her finger waving in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me . . . after the night I’ve had? You are not going anywhere until you clean up the mess you made.”

She gestured back at her closet and the wooden rod that was then on the floor with all of her clothes. Storming across the room, Wendy plopped down on her bed, curled her feet up under her long bathrobe, and stared them both down, daring them to disagree.

Her wet hair pooling around her shoulders, her pinched and angry face surrounded by the pink fuzzy bathrobe, Peter couldn’t help but liken her appearance to that of a wild and angry mermaid. She could have screamed or yelled for her parents—and it would’ve been normal, expected even. But instead, she just sat there, silently challenging him. The tables were turned on him as he shifted uncomfortably.

He adored the new confident Wendy.

His hand waved in a circular motion as he gave the flashiest of bows. “As you wish, my lady.”

He moved to lift the closet rod up, trying to keep as many of the hangers still attached, but as soon as the rod lifted a foot off the ground, the hooks slid off the other end.

“Help him, John,” Wendy commanded.

John’s shoulders stiffened, and he tried to back away. “No, I didn’t do it. I’m not touching—”

“You let him into my room. I blame you. You can help him. The sooner you do, the faster you both can leave.” Her tone left no room for argument.

Peter glanced at John and watched as her brother rolled his eyes and caved. He came over and grabbed one side of the bar. Between the two of them, they were able to get the bar up easily, without losing half of the clothes. Peter grabbed the loose hangers and shoved them onto an open spot, but Wendy called out, “Not there. That’s winter clothes. They go on the left.”

Feeling sheepish, since it was evident, he placed them in the correct spot and even glanced over his shoulder, and then she nodded in affirmation. His lips pinched together as he tried to hide his enjoyment at being with her. He picked up a red knee-length dress to hide his face and the smile threatening to widen to clownish proportions. The tags were still on it, and he glanced at Wendy and couldn’t help but wonder why she bought that dress. Was it for a prom or dance? Did she buy it for that guy? Did she hope to impress him? A sour note hit him deep as jealousy reared its ugly head. He held out the dress, which was on the verge of being daringly inappropriate, and whistled at the price tag.

“What’s this one for?”

Wendy wouldn’t meet his gaze, her head finally dropping. “I don’t know why I bought it. Maybe it was a dance that I missed. I don’t remember.”

With the rod rehung, John scuttled to the door, doing as little as possible to help put the clothes away. “It was. I remember the day you bought it. You were hoping that Jeremy would ask you to the dance.”

Wendy went still, her silence spoke volumes and her eyes were downcast. She pulled her robe tighter around her neck.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold your breath on him asking you out again,” Peter said, then felt his face go hot. That was tactless and rude. He shouldn’t take out his jealousy on her. He tried to think of kinder words to explain the disappearance of the guy she supposedly liked, but the words became lodged in his throat. He couldn’t say it. Just the thought of saying his name made his temper flare, and his hands unconsciously formed into fists.

“You know about Jeremy, then?” Wendy said softly, her own hands clasped in her lap. It looked like she was holding back tears. “That he’s gone.”

“How do you know he’s gone?” Peter asked wondering what she had seen.

“Because I couldn’t save him from that . . . that thing. I tried, but he was . . . he was gone.” She looked up at Peter, her eyes glassy as she held back tears.

They were his undoing. Was she upset because she cared for Jeremy, or was it guilt because she couldn’t save him? It was tearing him up not knowing.

He cleared his throat. “So, you saw the morphling?” Peter asked, hoping she would say no, and that he hadn’t failed her. But he knew based on the blackness on her jacket that she had done more than just seeing it. She had encountered the morphling and not only survived, but escaped and lived to tell the tale. He didn’t know if that made him feel proud that she was strong enough to face the beast or like a failure because he wasn’t there when she needed him the most.

“And you weren’t scared?” John asked, the tremble in his voice betraying his fear. “How did you get away?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She began to clam up, her shoulders stiffening, and she kept staring out the window. Finally, she relented and explained what had happened in the abandoned lot and how she had defeated the morphling with the light tower. “I know it sounds crazy but I didn’t make it up.”

“I believe you,” Peter answered, hanging up a sundress and stuffing her shoes back into the shoeboxes. “Because I know what you’re capable of. I’ve seen you take on a morphling before.”

“I did?”

“Yes, and this won’t be the last morphling you face, Wendy. I know you know that.”

Wendy shook her head. “No. I don’t want to relive that horror again.”

She fumbled with her robe, and she became aware of her state of dress, but she was trying to not draw attention to it.

“Are you done yet?” she asked irritably and glared his way.

Peter hung the final shirt and fixed the last shoebox, then clapped his hands together. “Yes, I’m done.”

John moved to Wendy’s side and sat on the bed. “Then, I think you should go now.”

He wrapped his arm around his sister.

Peter stepped toward the window and Wendy scooted away from him, and then he almost slapped himself in the forehead. Dumb. Not the window. Don’t go out the window. Use the door. He covered his folly by addressing Wendy. “I hope you had time to think about what I said, about Neverland? You can’t stay here anymore, not when those morphlings could come here at any moment.”

“And go where?” One golden arched eyebrow rose in speculation; her blue eyes flew to John, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“With me, someplace safer than here,” Peter said.

“John?” she asked, looking at him for an answer.

“Well, you got to admit that something is after you. I mean, first, the attempted kidnapping and then, that monster. Wendy, I’ve never seen anything so terrifying than that thing in my life. This is way beyond something that we can handle.”

“But what about Mom and Dad? I can’t just leave again, and I barely know him.”

“Well, let’s give it a night to think upon it. I’m sure we can come up with something to tell them.” He turned to Peter. “Does it have to be now? Can we have a few days before you take her from us? Just a few final days to say goodbye to our family?”

“John, you can’t be seriously considering me leaving like that,” Wendy said, apparently affronted by her brother’s bluntness.

“Look, Wendy, you need answers, and they seem to have them, and the means to protect you.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is the only thing I know. The last few weeks with you, Mom, and Dad are all I have.”

“Don’t you want to know more about who you are?”

“No—I mean yes . . . but I’m scared.”

John tucked her head under his chin and hugged her. “And I’ll protect you. I’ll always be your brother, you know. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“You know it’s the right decision,” Peter spoke up softly. He hated having to break their family up, but he could protect her better if she was with him.

“No.” Wendy lifted her chin in defiance. “I won’t leave my family.”

“I can’t protect everyone, Wendy. You naturally attract shadows and morphlings. By not leaving, you are putting John and your parents at risk.” He could see her wavering when he mentioned her family.

“I never asked you to protect me,” Wendy said firmly. “I never asked you to bestow on me a past that I may not want to remember. Her eyes were blazing and she stood up, squaring off with him.

Peter knew he had overstepped a line and he couldn’t retreat fast enough. If he pressed harder, he could lose her.

“You need to leave now.” She demanded, pointing at the door.

“What?” Peter said at her sudden demand. “Wendy, think about what you are saying.”

“I am.” She stood up and looked to her brother for support. “John, can you see him out, please?”

John nodded and addressed Peter, “Look, I think you’re super cool and all, but you need to leave now.”

“What?” Peter said, confused at suddenly being kicked out.

“You heard my sis. Plus,” he whispered. “She’s not properly attired, and I’d have to have to kick your butt and defend her honor if you don’t leave.”

Wendy glanced down at her bathrobe. Her face flushed in embarrassment and as soon as they entered the hall, she slammed the door behind them.

“You know I’m right.” Peter turned to John. “You need to convince her to leave.”

John was firm. “It’s not your decision. It’s hers, and you have to accept that.” His head dropped, and his voice became soft. “I tried to make that decision for her the last time. I convinced her to run away, and what happened? She died. I won’t make the same mistake again. This is her decision.”

John went to the front door and unlocked it for Peter, then held the door open. “How did you get in here, anyhow? The front door was locked when I got here, and we always lock our front door.”

“I flew through her window,” he answered truthfully.

“Right,” John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He paused and looked up at Peter. “Let me tell you something. For what it’s worth, I think you are the best choice to protect my sister.” He opened the door, and Tink stood on the front step, her arms crossed in exasperation.

“Don’t you answer your phone?” Tink tried to barge in through the door, her head craning to see into the foyer.

John stuttered and ran his hand through his hair. “You didn’t call me.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not you. Peter.”

Peter shrugged and stepped out of the house, his heart heavy with sadness.

John rubbed his hand across his forehead. “You people are weird. This is just too much.”

He closed the door on the both of them.

Tink didn’t take the rejection well.

She took a minute to regain her composure, and then gesticulated at the closed door, giving it a piece of her mind. “Yeah, that’s right. You couldn’t handle all of this,” she yelled, motioning over her body. “And it’s not weird,” she added, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re weird . . . We’re perfectly normal.”

“Yeah, you tell that door, Tink.” Peter snorted.

“Shut it, Peter!” She growled at him, her face scrunched up in anger.

“I think it already is.” He pointed at the door, and he couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. It seemed that Wendy’s brother was able to get under her skin, and he hadn’t seen anybody do that in a while.

The door opened, and John’s head popped out.

“See, you’re talking to a closed door. Perv and weirdo,” he muttered, shutting the door again, then turned the deadbolt.

“What . . . @%#.” The ringing bells of Tink’s censor band went off, and she turned to see two wide-eyed and shocked adults standing at the end of the driveway. Mary stood frozen, holding a plastic Tupperware container, while George held his keys in his hand.

“Can we help you?” George asked as he came up to the front door. “Are you friends of Wendy and John?”

“No, apparently he thinks I’m weird, and . . .” Tink’s band started to go off under her breath.

Mary, unsure of what to do with the noise and the upset teen, opened the container and reached inside. “Here, have a cookie.” She shoved the cookie into Tink’s mouth.

The bells stopped. Mary smiled in relief.

“They’re oatmeal,” George said as he opened the door and ushered Mary inside quickly. “It’s her secret recipe.” He waited to see if they did anything else, and when neither Peter nor Tink moved, he wished them a goodnight and shut the door. It was the third time that night that one of the Owens family had shut them out.

Tink, with a mouthful of cookie and crumbs falling from her lips, whined, “I hate oatmeal.”

Peter threw his head back and laughed. His humorous laughter echoed into the night, mixed with Tink’s cursing bells.

---

Wendy dressed for school and spent more time in front of the mirror than she normally would. She fluffed the cascade of her blonde hair around her shoulders. A hint of blush and lip-gloss completed her outfit—a soft teal long-sleeved shirt and jeans, with flats. She knew the blue made her eyes pop and look more azure with only a hint of green ringing them, but her face looked pale. Makeup and clothes couldn’t cover the mess of mixed emotions she was battling. Even though she had put on a brave front for Peter, she was still trying to mask her doubt.

“You got this,” she mumbled, then pinched her cheeks and added more blush. Last night, she was running on shock and adrenaline. It was only in the light of morning that she could face the reality of what she had done. Her hands shook as she put her phone into her purse.

She would leave to protect her family. It was for their own good, she didn’t doubt it, but she wouldn’t go with Peter. She would go alone. Wendy headed down the stairs and spent the morning with both of her parents and a very sullen John. Those were the last days she might have with them, and it was surreal. Tomorrow, by that time, she could be walking out the door and never return. It didn’t seem like a grand adventure; it sounded terrifying. She might need a day or two to gather her courage.

She tried to act normal and got into her car. She stared at the semi-full garbage bin by the garage and waited for John to push it down to the curb. She could leave right then, and they’d be safe. Just drive away and never come back, and she could avoid Peter and Neverland. If she continued to run, they would never find her. But then, the shadows would.

John ran back up to the car.

“You ready?” He got into the passenger seat.

Pretend you are 007, and that this is a matter of life and death. Be suave, be sincere, and don’t tell him how scared you are. “Yep.”

Her morning classes flew by, and she was so on the edge that she didn’t even notice the turmoil among the students. The whispers of worry, the chiming of the phones as they directed it her way once again.

John came to her in between classes and hissed under his breath. “Why haven’t you checked your phone?”

“It didn’t ring,” Wendy snapped, pulling her phone out of her purse and showing it to him. She’d completely forgotten to charge it and noticed it was dead.

“Well, maybe, you should plug it in.” He held up his phone and Wendy saw a picture of Jeremy and her together at the theater last night. A banner in the middle of the screen read—Hatler hits a home run!

“What? No, that never happened!” Wendy seethed. “And you know it. You were there. I have no idea where they got this picture.”

“He posted it.”

“Who? Jeremy?” She didn’t believe it. She grabbed the phone and looked at the photo a little closer. She wasn’t looking directly into the camera, so he must have taken it on the sly. In fact, it was hard to tell from the angle if it was even her.

“Yes, him, and it links you to him that night.” His voice dripped with implication, and Wendy caught his meaning.

“Is it obvious that it’s me?” she whispered. “This isn’t going to look good when Jeremy doesn’t come back to school. I’m a prime suspect now.”

“I don’t think it’s conclusive. I’ve heard rumors that it’s you, but I’ve been trying to squash those. So far, I’ve only heard of a few people who have commented on his radio silence, Brittney in particular. So, stay away from her. Actually, the less you talk about last night, the better.” He nudged her shoulder as Brittney approached like a lion stalking her prey.

“I haven’t seen Jeremy at all today. Have you?” Brittney pouted. “He promised that we would study together after school in the library. Well, that’s what he texted me last night.”

Wendy knew her friend enough to know the code words. Studying in the library meant make-out session in the stacks. It was the perfect cover, a hardly used dark corner of the library. Wendy pressed her lips together to keep from calling her a liar. But then, maybe, she wasn’t lying. Maybe, Jeremy had texted Brittney in the bathroom when he realized their date was heading south. Or maybe, it was all a ruse to get Wendy to spill details from last night. Luckily, she didn’t have to answer.

John shrugged. “Nope, and good luck studying.” He said harshly, pulling Wendy away from Brittney and down the hall.

There was a definite difference in how she felt in just the last twenty-four hours, ever since her encounter with Peter and the appearance of those shadows and the morphlings. Her life had become a roller coaster, and she was waiting for the next drop.

She was able to defeat the morphling once, and Peter had hinted that she had defeated one before. Deep down, she had a feeling she could do it again. Maybe, she didn’t have to leave after all.

But then, how could she protect her family?

Her confidence faltered, the weight of the world dragging her down, and she struggled to concentrate on her next class. Every slammed door, dropped textbook, or scraping of a chair across the floor made her jump.

When her teacher slid a test in front of her, she tried to focus on the questions, but her paranoia began to get the better of her. The words swam in front of her, the black ink blurring together into a blob and forming the shape of the morphling. The paper trembled in her fingers, and she tried to blink, but she couldn’t shake the image of the shadowy morphling, and it began to move across the paper.

“No!” she yelled, crumbling up the test.

Her cry drew the attention of her teacher, provoking a flood of anger. “Well, if you feel that way about the test, you can retake it in detention after school.”

“No, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean to.” She tried to smooth out the test paper, but he snatched it out of her hands.

“Sure,” Mr. Barnum answered, “You didn’t mean to destroy your test. I’ve heard that one before . . . No, wait a minute—I haven’t. Either way, I’ll see you after school.”

Just great. Wendy groaned internally. She told John about her detention in between classes, and he was adamant that they drive home together. He would just work late in the computer lab until she was done.

After school, she made her way to the library and handed the slip to the detention monitor, who just pointed to the back, toward the tables by the window.

The library was in the old unrenovated wing of their school. The windows were high and slim, creating many dark corners for teens to sneak away and make out, but cozy enough to study in the cubicles. There were lights that were always flickering or needed replacing, but she thought it gave the room character.

Wendy carried her books to the back and sat at a table in the corner.

She was alone in the library. When Brittney came traipsing toward her, she curled her lip in distaste, having forgotten all about her old friend’s meet-up with Jeremy.

Wendy had to admit she was surprised and assumed that Jeremy had indeed texted Brittney. After all, there was that old saying about keeping your friends close and enemies closer . . . although she wanted to stay as far away from everyone at the moment.

Brittney sat one table over and turned her chair away so she didn’t have to look in Wendy’s direction. Which was fine, she got a beautiful view of Brittney’s back.

Not having any homework, Wendy grabbed a book off the nearest book spinner and pretended to be interested. It was a book on horticulture.

Phones were not allowed in detention, but that didn’t stop Brittney from pulling hers out and tucking it inside a textbook.

Movement at the front of the library drew Wendy’s gaze. A student came in and asked the detention monitor a question. A moment later, both moved to the other side of the library, out of sight.

Brittney’s book dropped, and she turned to face Wendy—to strike with her venomous words. “You’ve been cut from the team. You just weren’t able to keep up with the rest, and I’m not sure how much time we can give you.”

The news should have upset her more, but Wendy couldn’t help but smile. “That’s great news,” she said, her voice genuine.

Brittney frowned. “What? I said we don’t want you!”

“Yeah, and I said thanks.” Wendy smirked.

That put Brittney in her place for a few minutes, but then her frown slipped upward into a wicked smile. “So, Jeremy last night. He told me what an ice queen you were. He said some not nice things about you.”

Wendy’s temper rose. “Oh, I get it. You were hoping to get a rise out of me because of our date. Well, I don’t like the guy. You’re welcome to him.”

“You think I want your leftovers?” she huffed.

“Why are you here, then?” Wendy challenged and immediately regretted the whole exchange. It was then that Wendy noticed the angle at which Brittney was holding the phone. She was videoing her in secret, and she had just admitted to being with him.

“I don’t care what you think, and that’s the truth.” Brittney held up the phone and spoke into the camera. “There you have it, guys and gals. Wendy was dumped last night. But don’t worry. I’ll save Jeremy from the Ice Queen. Oooh. Streaming live from the library.” She pursed her lips and smiled at all of her online fans.

“Fabulous,” Wendy murmured under her breath and tried to ignore the lip smacking coming from Brittney as she batted her eyes at her phone before ending the live stream. A few minutes later, a frustrated Brittney began to vent quietly under her breath. “What’s taking him so long?”

Wendy felt a tickling at the back of her neck, a warning that she was being watched. She looked around the library and noticed a dark-headed older teen deep in the stacks, looking at a book. She couldn’t help but feel like she knew him from somewhere.

Of course, she probably knew him, just couldn’t remember if she did.

Brittney looked down and loudly huffed as she swiped and tapped her finger on the screen of her phone. “What’s going on?” She held up her phone as if trying to receive a better cell signal. “The signal dropped.”

A warning coursed through her body, the hair on her arms rising.

“You need to get out of here now!” Wendy jumped up and ran for Brittney’s backpack and began stuffing her notebooks and purse inside it.

“What’s the matter with you!” she snapped, grabbing her stuff back and plopped it back on a table. “I told you, I can’t go until Jeremy shows.”

“He’s not coming. He’s gone.” Wendy’s breath stuck in her lungs as she scanned the library worriedly, her admission triggering a recessed fear. She looked around for the monitor, who still hadn’t returned. Not a great sign.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Brittney asked.

A lurking shadow moved from behind the far stacks, and Wendy sat up and leaned to the right to see it more clearly. A shadow waved her way frantically.

“Uh-oh!” Wendy bit her lip and looked around. There were a lot of dark shadows created by the waning sunlight and the flickering lights overhead. The older dark-haired boy had left as well.

Another shadow stepped out and seemed to be flying in circles around Wendy. She tried to wave off the shadow, but Brittney was watching, her hand holding up her phone. She didn’t want to create another online sensation. The shadow continued to pester Wendy until she gave up and followed it down the stacks.

As soon as she did, the second shadow entered her and coldness filled her body. That shadow filled Wendy’s mind with a violent vision of morphlings descending on the school library, which caused Wendy to lose her balance. She could feel the shadow’s own fear radiate into her bones as it tried to warn her of what was coming.

“Run!” Wendy felt herself say aloud. “They’re coming.”

But the shadow wouldn’t leave her; she could feel it clawing, wanting to stay inside her, and Wendy tried to shove it out of her mind.

“No,” Wendy shouted. She then pictured herself, yanking the shadow out of her body—the impact causing her to fling back into a metal bookshelf.

Wendy’s head connected with the shelf, and she fell. She could see the black inkiness leaving her as her body hit the carpeted floor. Fighting the shadow had left her system drained and disoriented.

The first shadow knelt down beside her, and Wendy could almost see its human features and its worry.

She felt something tug at her shoulders, then slowly drag her across the carpet but before she could determine where it was taking her, she slipped into unconsciousness.

---

“Run, they’re coming,” Wendy cried out, her voice echoing hauntingly from deep within the stacks. Brittney sighed, not taking the warning seriously, and shook her phone as she searched for a signal. She couldn’t believe that after buying the top-of-the-line, most expensive device, she had zero cell signal while filming her former friend’s humiliation.

Brittney didn’t feel any sympathy toward Wendy. Not when she had a hunch that her total disappearance was a sham, put on to gain sympathy from the school and, more likely than not, Jeremy. She knew that her friend’s social media followers had to have tripled since her disappearance and her glorious homecoming. She had become an instant celebrity. Brittney had even contemplated doing the same thing. Disappearing for a few weeks and claiming to have no memory of where she’d been. Of course, she would actually do the interviews and TV spotlights that Wendy’s family had refused.

Especially with the frequent disappearances, her miraculous return would be heavily documented. She could write a book. A tell-all. But first, she’d have to come up with a plan for where she’d go—how she’d survive and fake her kidnapping.

Brittney smiled as she envisioned the interviews. She could already picture the outfit she’d wear to her first one. It would be that pink romper from Macy’s. But that wouldn’t help her gain more followers. She needed to keep posting things about Wendy, and then maybe some of her fame would rub off on her . . . if only her phone would get a signal.

But at the moment, she just needed to find her and video her. Oh, why did her signal have to drop? Her interest was piqued. Was she going to meet someone?

Brittney grabbed her phone and snuck off down a parallel aisle, being careful to keep her head down and not make a ton of noise.

Brittney pushed record and tried to video the rest of the rant. She blew out a frustrated breath, and then, she heard a “thunk” as Wendy was flung back into the bookshelf and sank to the floor.

What was going on? She leaned down and tried to peer between the shelves and saw Wendy’s eyes wide open, dazed, and looking at her before they closed.

Something moved in the corner of her eye, and Brittney only caught a glimpse of it moving toward her. She felt a cold presence hit her hard in the chest—she gasped and coughed. Her breath turned cold, and she could see the white cloud of her exhalation. Her limbs were chilled, and she felt as if she was moving through mud.

A few moments later, the strange feeling passed, and she was able to regain more control of her body. Maybe, she’d had a mini episode or heart murmur, or it could be her excitement over her make-out session with Jeremy. If he ever showed.

Except . . . an unusual iciness permeated the usually warm library, and she felt a chill of fear. Brittney had never been afraid of the dark, but she found herself shivering, wishing she’d chosen an aisle with a little more light. She looked up as the overhead bulb chose that moment to go out, leaving her in semi-darkness.

A book fell over behind her.

“Is someone there?” she called out.

“Yesss,” a voice hissed from over her shoulder, and she turned. Something brushed against her, and she shrieked, dropping her cell phone to the floor.

“It’s not funny,” she yelled and tried to peer between the shelves. Someone must have thought it was funny to reach through and touch her. Her money was on Jeremy.

“I dare you to do that again,” Brittney fumed and reached for her phone, but it was gone. Really? She got to her knees and looked along the bottom shelf. There it was. Next to a book on monsters and myths, but on the floor. She squatted down to pick up the phone and caught a glimpse of fabric on the other side of the bookshelf. She leaned over for a better look, and there she had a clear view of Wendy passed out on the other side of the bookshelf.

“Wendy?” Brittney called out, worried that something might have happened. Wendy’s head rocked back and forth as she was dragged along the floor, but Brittney couldn’t see anything pulling her.

She grabbed her phone and held it up, watching through the screen as Wendy continued to slide across the floor. Brittney reversed the camera to film her own beautiful face.

“See, I told you something weird is going on with Wendy. She . . .” Her words trailed off as something dark appeared over her shoulder in the camera, sliding out between the books and pooling into a snake’s head. Its mouth opened wide.

“What the—” Brittney cried. Her phone dropped to the ground, cracking, the camera still recording. “Wendy!” she screamed.