Forever Young

Chapter Five

The edge of the blade drew a line of blood across the upper arm of one of the Lost Boys, a lad of about twelve, named Alley after where he'd been found. The boy turned, startled, his face contracting in pain.

Peter laughed and tossed a second knife into the air, catching it by the blade and taking aim at a different boy.

"What'd you do that for?" one of the little boys asked, his sensibilities offended.

"Because it's fun," Peter said in return, still smiling. "Would you like to try?" He threw the knife at the little boy and it stuck neatly in the ground in front of him, mere millimeters from his bare, dirty toes.

The youngster shook his head and ran to hide behind a group of boys playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt.

Peter shrugged and made an airy gesture, summoning another razor-sharp, shining blade into his waiting hand. "Come on, now, doesn't anyone want to play with me?"

The tone in his voice, boredom edging into annoyance, wasn't lost on the older boys. Steeling himself, Iggy stepped forward. The last months had changed him. He'd gotten taller, his shoulders more broad. His fiery hair had grown out, nearly reaching his shoulders now, though he kept it tied back in a tail. His freckles were hidden under war paint. His dark eyes looked steady.

"I'll play with you, Peter," he said, pulling a smile onto his face as Peter's attention turned to him.

Peter eyed him, his grin getting bigger. "Delightful!" He pointed imperiously at the young man. "You're the target."

Iggy's smile didn't falter. "I figured," he said. He crossed the clearing, shoving the other boys out of the line of fire, until he reached the treeline. Turning, he put his back to one of the mighty oaks and stood very, very still.

"See, my Boys? That's what loyalty looks like!" cried Peter happily.

The older boys knew better. Iggy's actions weren't born of loyalty; at least, not loyalty to Peter. He was trying to keep the younger boys from the elvish boy's violence.

The first thrown knife thudded between the fingers of Iggy's left hand. It didn't touch his flesh but it was close enough to feel the chill of the steel. He didn't flinch.

Peter's eyebrow quirked, amused and inquisitive. He threw the second blade almost lazily. It somersaulted through the air, wobbling and slow, before sinking in the bark between Iggy's knees.

Iggy stood still, his eyes fixed on Peter's. He was tense, anyone would be in that position, but no fear showed on him.

Peter tilted his head to one side, a pleased smile, quite different from the one he'd been wearing minutes ago, curved his mouth.

The third knife soared, whistling as it cut through the air before stopping just short of Iggy's heart. It froze in place, hovering, its tip poking a hole in the boy's jerkin.

Suddenly, Peter was there, too close, holding the hilt. He grinned up at Iggy. "Very good, Ignatius," he murmured. "Look at you, how you've grown up."

Iggy looked down to meet Peter's eyes, hating it. "Most people do, eventually," he said evenly, well aware that he was likely signing his death warrant.

"I know. It's tragic." Peter stepped closer, his body nearly touching Iggy's. He only came to the lad's shoulder, now. He moved the blade, lightning fast, to bury with a thud next to Iggy's neck. "I don't know why you insist on doing it. It's rude. To grow up and leave me as soon as I start to grow fond. You've just begun to get interesting." He glared up at Iggy, irritation plain in his eyes, eyes that looked just like sunlight through leaves. Peter put his fists on his hips. "It's not fair."