Long Lost, стр. 44

On the morning after the terrible thunderstorm, downed tree limbs, wide puddles, and shoals of wet leaves littered their small New England town. The sky was gray, the ground dark and damp. The river beneath Parson’s Bridge swirled high around the pilings. The rush of its swollen waves could be heard deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where Pearl was seated on a fallen log.

Of course, without her sister to play in it, the Enchanted Forest was just another part of the woods. But it was still a pretty spot, and a slightly drier one than the sunken stretches along the riverbanks. Pearl had brought her notebook and pencils with her. She was writing a fairy tale about two sisters and ignoring the dampness that seeped from the mossy tree trunk straight through her dress.

It was odd to be there without Hazel. The sisters hadn’t spoken in nearly two days, not since they had argued at the carnival in the meadow and Pearl had run home alone. It was the longest they had ever gone without exchanging words. Oh, they had had other arguments, of course—dozens in a single day—but this was the first time that their anger had grown wide and deep enough to carve a chasm between them.

Pearl didn’t know how the trouble would end. However, she knew Hazel, and she knew that their battle was far from over. In a way, she hoped it would continue. At least the battle was something they did together.

A rustle came from the ferns to Pearl’s left.

Pearl paused her pencil, listening.

“Pixie?” she called out. “Is that you? Come here, boy!”

But Pixie did not appear. The ferns, and the woods around them, hushed. Only a few birds twittered in the treetops beneath the smoke-colored sky.

Pearl squinted back down at the open page. Maybe when she was finished, she’d let Hazel read the story. Maybe then Hazel would understand.

Pearl caught herself. No. She was still angry at Hazel. Hazel didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

. . . But perhaps Pearl would give it anyway. Because, although Pearl hated to admit it, life without her sister’s company was proving to be drab and dull indeed.

She was bowing over the open pages once more when there came a louder, closer rustle.

A shadow poured across her notebook.

Pearl turned with a gasp.

A black hooded figure loomed above her.

Pearl shrieked as the Searcher raised a hand—an ordinary human hand—and smeared a fistful of mud across the open page.

“There!”

The other hand threw back the deep hood, revealing Hazel’s laughing face. Pixie bounded out of the ferns beside her, dashing around the pair in happy, barking circles.

“You?” choked Pearl.

Hazel let out another peal of laughter. “You should see the look on your face!” She leaned against a tree, holding her sides. “Oh, Pearl! Your eyes are like goose eggs!”

Pearl jumped off the log, every thought of peacemaking flying from her mind. “Why would you do that? Why do you have to be so hateful?”

“Because you deserved it,” said Hazel, her laughter ceasing at last. “Now we’re even. Or closer to even.” She stepped toward Pearl. “This all started because you wouldn’t listen to me and got us both into trouble.”

“Into trouble?” Pearl echoed. “I was almost caught by the Searcher! And now you come here, dressed like that, to scare me?” She stood toe-to-toe with her sister, her fury flaring. “Hazel, I was nearly taken!”

Hazel broke into laughter once more. “Oh, you were not, you ninny. There is no Searcher.”

Pearl could have kicked her. “Hazel, I saw it. I felt its hand on my neck.”

“I know you did. But it wasn’t the Searcher.” Hazel spread her arms in their big sleeves. “It was just Matthew from the carnival, dressed in this old magician’s cloak.”

Pearl stepped backward. “What?”

“We thought it would be funny if he followed you and gave you a scare. So he pretended to be the Searcher. That’s all.” Hazel lowered her arms. “The Searcher is just a silly old story, and you’re a silly little girl for believing it.”

Pearl stared at Hazel, her thoughts spinning, her heart crumpling.

Then, before Hazel could brace for it, Pearl dropped her book and pencil, lowered her head like a charging bull, and barreled straight into her sister’s stomach.

The two of them fell to the muddy ground.

Pearl was shorter and lighter, but she had surprise on her side, and at first she kept the upper position. Her advantage didn’t last long, however. Once Hazel managed to brace a boot heel in the mud, she flipped Pearl onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. Hazel knelt above her, trying to catch her writhing arms.

“Get off me!” Pearl yowled.

“You started it!” Hazel shouted back. “Do you give in?”

In answer, Pearl shoved off from a nearby tree trunk, sending Hazel toppling over once more. The two of them rolled through bracken and mud, Pixie dancing around them, barking uproariously at the fun.

“You’re not going to win, you little idiot!” Hazel yelled, pinning Pearl to the ground under her knees. “Tell me that you give in, or I’ll give you another haircut!”

Pearl ceased struggling. She sagged back against the mud and leaves, panting. Hazel relaxed her grip, panting too. Seeing her chance, Pearl lunged forward and snatched the knife from Hazel’s pocket, where it was always kept. As Hazel sat up, trying to grab it back, Pearl kicked her sister in the ribs, knocking her aside. Hazel let out a gasp of pain. But Pearl only scrambled upright and dashed off into the trees.

“Come back here!” Hazel shouted, once she could take a breath. “Give me back my knife!”

“I won’t!” Pearl shouted back. “I’m going to throw it from Parson’s Bridge!”

“You will not!”

“See if I don’t!”

The sisters hurtled through the woods, darting between the thick trees, skidding in the mud. Hazel’s stride was longer, but the cloak slowed her down, and she clutched her hurt ribs as she ran. Pixie galloped at her heels.

“Don’t you dare throw my knife in the river,