Get Lost (15 page)

“Excuse me!” the guard yells at me.

With my nose in the air, I toss my head his direction. “May I help you?”

“What are you doing down here?” he says, holding onto the top of his gun still in its holster.

“A transfer.” I wave the small case in his face. “This item was requested to be transferred tonight.”

The security guard glances over my security badge and then at the clipboard before picking up the package to match the sticker numbers to the information written there. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Oh honey, I don’t know. I just do what the big man tells me even if it means dropping the glass of wine I was nursing on my day off.” The words cause him to nod in agreement.

“I know what you mean.” His sudden distraction causes him to merely hand the clipboard back. “Just the other day, I was on this date, and someone called in sick. Had to just drop everything for them.”

“I hate that,” I say with a pouting lip. “If she was with you, she was probably pretty special, huh?”

Loving my response, he licks his lips. “Not too special. Not as special as you might be.”

Aiden pipes up, “Wet floor.” The two of us turn to face him as he moves the mop, “No walk. Wet floor.”

“Got it.” The guard points a trigger finger at him. “Hey, do you mind letting me out on the side? I hate having to do transfers through large parties like the one upstairs. Safety of the art first, you know?” My sympathetic voice is followed by his understanding nod.

“I do.” The security guard escorts me up the stairs. As I turn the corner, Aiden gives me a quick wink before mopping the floor where my heel prints would be.

The guard allows me to exit on the side where Justin’s car is parked, waiting for me. I stroll toward it, making sure no one is watching me and knowing the window is almost closed. The minute I’m inside, I pull a spare key out of my bun and start the engine, taking off down the road.

A few lights away from the museum, I let down my hair and remove the glasses and the badge before taking a left turn to head home with the real painting beside me.

Chapter Eleven

Nervously, I shake my leg as I watch my bedroom balcony window, knowing that, at any minute, I’m going to be greeted by a very angry mob, most likely with Peter at the head of the line. I can’t believe that I not only pulled off a successful heist but that I conned the con man! I pulled the old switcheroo and just might get everything I want. How often does that happen?

Sure enough, an enraged Peter pushes my bedroom doors open, with Belle, Justin, Eiden, and Aiden behind him.

“Where the hell is my map?” he shrieks at me.

“My map.” I correct him quickly. “I stole it. It’s mine.”

“Mine!” he shrieks like angry toddler. Stomping his foot, he continues, “Mine! Mine! Mine!”

“Wow, that’s not a cute look on you.” I shake my head, slowly leaning  forward.

“Tell me about it.” Belle giggles beside him, her arms folded across her bright pink T-shirt.

After running his hands through his hair several times, he sighs. “I’m cool. I’m cool. I just want my map.”

“My map.”

“Mine.”

“You mean mine.”

“Mine! Mine! Mine!” His fit continues for a moment, while everyone watches on, muffling their snickers.

“You know what? Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “If you want it, which you clearly do, you’ll give me what I want in return.”

“What?” Peter lowers his eyes in a glare.

“You wanted something from me, so you deceived me to get it. Well now, I want something from you, but I’m not going to waste time deceiving you to get it. I prefer not to con my way through everything. No offense, sweetheart.”

Justin speaks up. “None taken.”

“You are a world class con though.” My smile flatters him enough to motivate Justin to adjust his tie.

“Why, thank you.”

“Conning really is just a different sort of art, isn’t it?”

“You know I…”

“Excuse me, Romeo and Juliet. Yeah, if you don’t mind, my map.” Peter waves his hand at me. “What do you want?”

“I want you to make me a Lost Boy.”

Justin’s grin extends from ear to ear as I see hope leap into his eyes. Aiden and Eiden raise their eyebrows at me, both slightly excited as well.

“You won’t be a very good Lost Boy. You’re a girl.” Peter starts off condescendingly. “Besides, everyone on my crew serves a purpose, the tech wiz, the weapons magician, my con artist. What exactly would I need you for?”

“The fact that, for every piece of art you’re chasing, I know the information you need.”

“Justin can read a book and do the same.”

“You know, I’m planning on reading a lot less these days. Beginning to hurt the eyes.” Justin points to his face, while Peter angrily looks over his shoulder at him. I try to suppress my grin as I continue, “But does Justin possess the same expertise as I do? I assume you’re after more artwork. I was bred in the art world. I have access and information to things you might not even know about. There are clues and stories in these artworks that you can’t find anywhere else.”

“And why couldn’t I?”

“Because they are the types of stories that are passed down from generation to generation, the kind that don’t make it into textbooks, like the fact, for instance, that the Sous Clef ’s frame was locked because it needed a key.”

“Like the one around your neck?”

“Isn’t that the reason you really needed me?”

Justin stands strong, proud that I had figured it out, while Peter’s face begins fading into a shade of red.

“Aw, is poor Peter upset I figured out his little plan?” Immediately, I lean forward. “I’m smarter than I look.”

“Well, that’s good because you look like…”

“Peter!” Belle snips at him.

Clearing his throat, Peter continues the fight. “While it’s an enticing offer, you can’t. You  can’t be eighteen.”

“I’m not,” I interject. “I’ve got an hour before I officially turn eighteen.”

Uncomfortable, he turns his head to Justin. “Can’t you talk some sense into her?”

After staring deep into my eyes for a moment, reading me the way we’ve both become accustomed to, he shrugs. “She’s a big girl, Peter. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Does she?” The words are weighted with meaning. More irate than before, he yells, “Come on! Everyone else here thinks this is good idea? Did everyone  fall off the crazy train this morning? Really! There’s no other way?”

“No,” I smile, “and time is ticking away. Because if you don’t agree on my deal before the time is up, I’ll return the map.”

“You wouldn’t.” His voice is low, slow, and deliberate. “My father should be home relatively soon too. Imagine his excitement to know his only daughter saved a priceless piece of artwork.” The words cause Peter’s face to cringe. “Imagine the headline of the newspaper. Young girl…”

“Beautiful,” Justin interjects, sliding one hand into his pocket.

“Thank you. Correction. Beautiful, young girl saves priceless artwork from thieves.” Peter’s body tenses. “The article will read something like ‘Some way, somehow, this smart, sweet, innocent girl managed to put her life on the line to save the priceless creation from some snarling, pathetic, worthless…”

“Enough!” He holds a hand up to me.

Belle rolls her eyes. “Oh, just give the damn girl what she wants. She’s smarter than you gave her credit for. The team likes her. I like her. She has no desire to sleep with you, so that’s a plus. Besides, I’m so ready to go home.”

“Fine!” Peter yells at the top of his lungs. “Let’s get this over with, so we can get our map, and we can all go back to Neverland.”

Trying not to be excited, I hop up as Justin is ushered to my side. “Tell her the rules and precautions.”

“All right. You are from this day on a Lost Boy. You never existed here. Your parents will never remember you. You were never born.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Peter gripes. “She’s a Darling. It’s not the same. You did exist. Your parents will remember you. You were born, and nothing can change that because of your purpose. So, from this day on, you have to understand your loyalty no longer lies with the Darling clan or its associates. Got it?”

My eyes glance over my shoulder at a picture of me, my mother, and my father outside a restaurant on my tenth birthday. That year, we were living in North Carolina, and my gift from them was a set of custom designed paints and brushes.

“Got it?” Peter repeats. “Got it.” I swallow  uneasily.

Peter waves a hand for Justin to return to speaking, “Repeat after me: Lost Boys are lost without each other but found together. We protect each other, we care for one another, we love each other. This is your family, and you are to treat it as such.”

I do as asked and carefully repeat it, trying to remember all the words.

“That was your Loyalty Oath. Belle gives you the joys and powers, but in exchange, you  have to give up something.”

Belle, who is picking at her cuticles, doesn’t stop until Justin clears his throat. “What? Me? Oh!” Quickly, she floats over to me and lands. “As you know, every  Lost Boy can only tell his or her own story, so you already know what Justin gave up—his love of music. You too, in turn, have to give up something. From you…well, Peter?”

“Her ability to sketch.”

“Like I do in my sketchbook?”

“Wait, but, what if she needs that?” Peter argues with himself. “I mean it came in handy this time.”

“Her ability to paint came in handy.” Belle corrects him with a finger.

“That’s true.” Peter smiles at his beloved, glad my misery is coming. “Take that.”

“You can draw with paint all you want. Sculpt, dance, whatever, but never again can you pick up a pencil and sketch.”

My jaw bobs up and down as I hear my front door close. “You’re kidding. I can’t just give up broccoli or the nervous babble I have?”

“You like broccoli?” Eiden scrunches his nose. “Focus.” Justin rushes the moment.

“Nope.” Peter smiles proudly as my face is painted with despair. “God, I love that look on people’s face. It’s so priceless.”

Hearing the sound of the keys hit the coffee table, I feel my heart begin to speed up as I stare into Justin’s gorgeous eyes, which are desperate for me to give it up. I nod and sigh. “Deal.”

“Yay!” Belle squeals and plucks a black pin from her wings. Moving my bracelet out of the way, she painfully stitches a star on my wrist before a pencil burns itself in the middle on the flesh. “There. You’re officially a Lost Boy. Welcome to the family.”

“Now, my map, please.” Peter huffs.

I walk over to my bed, toss the pillows on the floor, and remove it from behind my bed frame. I toss it at him, and he quickly opens it like a kid at Christmas. Delighted that he got what he wanted, he turns to head toward the window.

“Let’s go.” Belle nods at us.

Watching the others float up, I ask, “Wait, how do I fly? Wonderful thoughts?” Suddenly Peter, Belle, and Justin give me a sarcastic look. “Hey, that’s how it works in the stories.”

“Your star gives you the ability. Just lift,” Belle says with an eye roll, as Peter snuggles with the map while they exit out of my window onto a brand new ship.

“Come on,” Justin says from the balcony edge. “Just a second.” I point a finger at him.

Quickly, I put my pillows back on display, pull a note from my dresser drawer, and grab my backpack, a suitcase, and the special bear Justin gave me. With a soft smile, I give the note a kiss and place it in the middle of my bed.

I hand Justin my suitcase and take his hand as we lift into the air toward the ship.

With an excited look on his face, he smiles. “To Neverland then.”

I glance back, and I see my bedroom door  crack open. A heavy hearted sigh leaves me before I turn my attention back to the ship that’s almost identical to the first one I was on at Jimmy’s workshop.“To Neverland.”

The story continues with book 2, Lost In Lies

Love Get Lost? Try The Spark, Future of Flames book 1 by Lisa Messier

CHAPTER ONE

SEAMUS

“Hey, over here!” Jack yelled, his red hair standing out from the shadows he’s standing in. “Seamus, you have got to see this!”

Lifting my head from the fragments of an old urn, I look around.  There’s Jack, a core member of my archaeological team, frantically waving from the deepest recesses of the cavern we’re in.  He steps back and disappears into the wall. I push myself to my feet, feeling my knees pop. I sigh and dust myself off. I run my hands through my short, dark hair. Not a grey one in sight. I have the same glasses prescription I’ve had since I was twelve. My hearing is fine. Yet somehow, in my mid-forties, I have the joints of an eighty year old man. Perhaps it’s all the time I spend kneeling and digging in the dirt. I stretch, shaking my head as my back cracks, and head to the back of the cave.

It takes a minute or two before I see the passageway hidden there.  Jack must have stepped into it.  Pulling out the flashlight I always carry on a dig, I make my way down the tunnel. Running with my hand on the wall for balance, I can feel the silkiness here too.  It’s almost too smooth. I’ve never seen stone this uniform in a natural cave before, and I get the feeling it didn’t just form this way. The passage curves a time or two, and after rounding a corner, there ahead of me, is a light.  The glow is soft, welcoming and completely hidden from the main cave.

I step out of the tunnel into a cavern with the most amazing crystal formations I’ve ever seen. The walls glow with colour, and the air seems to hum with power.  I stand in shock, staring all around me.  I have been digging for as long as I can remember and almost two months here in Ireland, but I have never seen a site like this. The colours are so vibrant, so intense. I can barely breathe.  The glow of light seems to flow from the walls themselves, or possibly from the crystals covering them.  The floor glints and gleams in the light from the walls, and I reach down, only to find the softest sand I have ever felt. I let it fall through my fingers, amazed by the rainbow colours that glimmer in the soft light.  The heat in here is even greater than the outer cave, like a warm summer day.  I can feel myself relaxing into the warmth.

“Seamus, this way,” I hear Jack, his voice just above a whisper.  I turn my head and see him standing beside another formation.  This one seems to flow off the wall, and it’s the only place where the crystals invade the floor of the cavern. This particular formation is different because there’s a rectangular shape under the crystals. The lines are clean, sharp and incredibly precise.  It gleams the most unusual colour, a pale blue, like the coldest of ice.

I stand to my feet, walking toward Jack and this new discovery, only to realize the base under the crystal is actually made from ice.  I place my hands on the ice and feel an intense chill sweep through me.  The crystals have formed around this block of ice, yet they haven’t damaged it in any way.  This is unexpected.  This type of growing crystal is like a tree root. It will grow through anything, and it digs deep.  Yet the ice itself is smooth, perfect and cold to the touch.  There are no fractures, no scratches, and the crystals haven’t dug into the ice at all.  They haven’t even worn down the edges of the ice. It must have taken at least a thousand years for the crystals to grow so far over the base.

I shift my flashlight to see the ice more clearly, and my heart stops.  There, before me, is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.  Preserved perfectly in the ice, she looks as though she is merely sleeping, this angel from heaven.  Her hair is the shifting colour of fire, or the most perfect sunset. Her skin is the colour of the richest cream and looks as soft as silk.  Her lips, perfect in shape and a deep red, are curved in a slight smile.  Her slim figure is clothed in a gown the green of new leaves, and her hands rest protectively on her rounded belly.

This goddess, this most lovely creature, is pregnant, or rather, she was when she was entombed.  I can see now that this cavern is her tomb. She has been buried in the ice. She was placed in this cavern so long ago that the crystals have started flowing over her casket. My hand rests on the ice above her, as though I could reach through to brush her hair off her forehead.

I stand and stare for what seems like hours, and yet no time at all. I can feel Jack nearby, but he remains silent, paying homage to this Queen.  I watch this still figure, forever asleep, and wonder who she was.  A Queen, she must have been, or someone’s goddess.  She was surely someone of great importance to be buried like this.  I’ve never heard of a tomb like this one. Even the mummies of ancient Egypt are not so well preserved. Her beauty is perfect.

Suddenly, the questions burst over me. Who was she? How could she remain so perfect? Why hasn’t the ice melted in the heat of the cavern? Why has it remained unmarked under the weight of the crystals? How did they preserve her so perfectly? Exactly how long has she been here? And what exactly are these crystals made of?

“We need a sample of the crystals from both walls and from around this casket,” I say, turning to Jack. “Don’t damage the ice getting them though. Oh, and we should gather a sample of the sand as well. This is still a living cavern, isn’t it? Water still flows? The crystals are still growing?”

“As far as I can tell it is, Seamus. It, well, it feels alive. You can feel the energy in here, the moisture in the air.  I’m sure it’s still alive.  I already have samples of the crystal, both from the wall and from the ones by the casket.  I also have one of the sand too.  I won’t be able to get a sample of the ice though.  I don’t want to damage it. Thankfully it’s incredibly solid.  I couldn’t even scratch it.”

The thought that Jack has already attempted to gather a sample of the ice bothers me.  I feel defensive for the woman inside.  I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.  “We need pictures,” I say, rather abruptly. “Video too.  We’ll need Diane for that.  There’s no one better than her.  And we need a way to clear the crystals back too, if we are going to free her.  Perhaps the laser cutter would be the simplest way?”

“Free her, Seamus?” Jack asks. “Don’t we want to preserve the site as it is?”

“No, Jack.  I can’t leave her like this.  We need to trim the crystals. We can’t leave her overgrown with them.  We don’t know if the crystals will start to damage the ice. It’s better we do what we can to maintain this site as it was meant to be.” I know, with everything in me, that this is vital. I can’t understand how I know this, but I am sure she would hate being trapped, hate being held down by the weight of the crystals encroaching on her place of rest.  I take a moment to wonder at my certainty, but then I simply accept it.  Running my hands over the smooth ice again, I lean over the woman. “We’ll get you out,” I say. “Don’t worry.  It won’t take any time at all.” I move my hand to a place near her shoulder, and I swear I can see her shoulders relax.  My imagination must be playing tricks on me, but I can feel the relief in her at my words.  I know somehow she has heard me.

The next morning, as dawn breaks outside, we bring Diane and Mark into the crystals cavern.  The awe of the room sweeps over me again as I approach my sleeping angel. Resting my hands on the cool ice, I glance back to see the others still frozen in the cavern’s entrance. Jack nods at me, and we agree in silence. Let them take their time. This place is too wondrous, too sacred to rush.  Time is needed to absorb the sheer beauty of the cavern itself.

Diane moves first. She is a small siren of power, incredibly petite, and takes nonsense from no one. The fact that she is silent is a testament to the power of this room. She is our record keeper and is responsible for all photos, sketches, video records, audio recordings and any other physical records we need. She has an unbelievable eye for detail and routinely catches things the rest of us miss. Right now, I can see her eyes darting back and forth as she analyzes this room. Her eyes are wide, almost unfocused, as she tries to take it all in. She slowly moves across the cavern, toward the ice casket and my angel inside.

I can see the shock cross her face as she sees my angel in the ice. My hands move across the ice in a soothing gesture. I’m swept away by an intense need to comfort this creature who has been locked away for so long. “It’s okay,” I breathe, barely audible, even to myself. “Diane is a friend,” I explain. “She’s here to help us free you.”

“Mark, come over here,” Diane’s voice is hushed, and I know the magic of this place is affecting her. “Tell me I’m seeing things?”

At the sound of her voice, Mark blinks as if he is waking from a long, deep sleep. He starts across the floor, only to pause after a step or two to reach down to the floor. Lifting a handful of sand, he watches it pour through his fingers. I remember the softness of it and the way it glimmers in the light of the walls.  He stares at the falling sand as though hypnotized and lifts another handful only to watch it drift down again. He is pulled out of his stunned state by the sound of Diane calling him again.

He straightens and slowly approaches us.  He reaches out to touch the ice, running his hands over it. I had forgotten how tactile Mark is. I have a sudden urge to push his hands away and wish for a moment I had left him behind. I don’t trust him with my sleeping goddess.  Mark glances at me, and I wonder, as I look down, if he can see the anger in my eyes. I see my angel in the ice and instantly calm.

“We need him,” I whisper under my breath. “He has the tools to free you.” I barely realize I’m talking to the woman in the ice. It’s insane really. She has been dead for over a thousand years, but I need to protect her. I need to be able to offer her comfort. Drawing a deep breath, I force myself back under control. I raise my head and know my eyes show nothing of the turmoil I felt just a moment ago. “Can you do this, Mark?” I ask quietly. “Can you clear the crystals away from the ice without damaging her?”

“Of course I can, Seamus, but are you sure this is what you want? Shouldn’t we keep everything exactly as it is? This is a huge find, and we need to report it to our funders. With a find like this, something so unique, we need to let them decide what we do next.” Oddly enough, that is the exact response I had expected from Mark. He lives by every rule ever written. He is always playing things safe.

“No, Mark,” my voice is firm. “We need to do this. I need to bring this place back to what it’s supposed to be. The bureaucrats will just mess everything up. We’ve found enough in the outer caves to keep them happy for months. If we bring them into this, they will take her away, and put her up on display in some museum somewhere. I can’t allow that, Mark. How do we know that whatever has kept her so perfect isn’t tied to this cave somehow? What if we take her out of here and the ice of her casket starts to melt? What will that do to her? Or what if she starts to decay out there? That cannot happen.  I can’t allow that. Please, Mark, we need to do this.  We have to protect her at all costs.”

In this moment, all my focus is spent on Mark. He will make or break us here. Jack will follow my lead. He always has, ever since we were children. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Diane leaning over the ice, her lips moving, and I know she is talking to our angel. I am confident that Diane will fight to protect her if necessary. But Mark? We need Mark. He’s the only one of us who can use the cutters to clear the crystals away. If he runs back to the bureaucrats, we’ve lost. I keep my eyes fixed firmly on him, willing him to agree to help us. I can see the war in him. I can feel his need to protect her warring with his need to play it safe.

Suddenly, Diane straightens. Spinning around, she pins Mark with her gaze.  This petite woman can hold the attention of every man in a room when she chooses, and she is turning that full ability on Mark. “Look at her, Mark,” she says softly. Her voice is gentle, but there is no denying the note of command threaded through it. “She’s pregnant, Mark. What happens if we take them from here? What if Seamus is right, and they need this cave? We could destroy them both, just by telling our funders they are here.”

Mark is shaking his head now. “We don’t know that it will hurt them to be moved out of here. No doubt whatever it is keeping them safe is built into the casket itself. They’ll be fine, even better protected I would bet.”

“Are you really willing to take that chance, Mark? Are you willing to risk them both? Please, Mark, don’t condemn them. Look at her, Mark.  Help us free her. You’re the only one who can,” Diane’s voice is magic, and I can see Mark begin to come around.

“Alright, alright. I don’t like the idea of bringing them in any more than you do. But I want a record, Diane, of every moment.  I want pictures, videos, sound recordings, everything. Photograph it as it is now and record every step we take. If this gets back to the bureaucrats, I want our butts covered. And I think we should get samples of everything in here too.”