The Lost Boys Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Flowers for the Dead

  Chapter Two: Gray Eyes

  Chapter Three: Extraordinary!

  Chapter Four: A Special Gift

  Chapter Five: Promise

  Chapter Six: New Year

  Chapter Seven: Closeness

  Chapter Eight: Compromise

  Chapter Nine: Tales from the Past

  Chapter Ten: Fade to Gray

  Chapter Eleven: A Light at the End of the Tunnel

  Chapter Twelve: The Vengeance of the Thirds

  Chapter Thirteen: Conversations, Phone Calls and Best Friends

  Chapter Fourteen: Birthday Present

  Chapter Fifteen: Charming Ways

  Chapter Sixteen: Vigil

  Chapter Seventeen: Lost Boys

  Chapter Eighteen: The Spell Bond

  Chapter Nineteen: The Bet

  Chapter Twenty: The Secret Terrace

  Chapter Twenty-One: Sky

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Under Pressure

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Ugly Duck Syndrome

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Spring Ball

  Chapter Twenty-Five: No Going Back

  Chapter Twenty-Six: The Plan

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Game On!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Poker Game

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Love Lullaby

  Chapter Thirty: Secret’s Out

  Chapter Thirty-One: Finding Death

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Break-Up

  Chapter Thirty-Three: The Date

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Surprise Meeting

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Graduation

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Recording

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Lady Knight

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Full-Blast Christmas Spirit!

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Matter of Time

  Chapter Forty: Winter Song

  Chapter Forty-One: Keep Breathing

  Chapter Forty-Two: A Birthday Wish

  Deleted Scenes

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Fate has brought them together. But will it also keep them apart?

  Having moved to a strange town, seventeen-year-old Joey Gray is feeling a little lost, until she meets a cute, mysterious boy near her new home.

  But there’s a very good reason why Tristan Halloway is always to be found roaming in the local graveyard...

  Perfect for fans of Stephenie Meyer and Lauren Kate, The Lost Boys is a magical, romantic tale of girl meets ghost.

  About the Author

  Lilian Carmine is a writer and freelance artist, living in São Paulo Brazil.

  She is currently working on illustrated children’s books, animation, comic books, character design and creation, and digital painting – as well as the next book in The Lost Boys series.

  I dedicate this book to Gillian Green, for believing in me and my story.

  To my parents, Joao and Nise, for showing how important books are and for giving me all the support I ever needed and letting me be free to pursue my dreams.

  To my second mother Selma and my second father Paulo, for always being there for me and for cheering me all the way.

  I dedicate it to Eva Lau and everybody at Wattpad, for all their support; to Tamsin Jupp, my darling Dandelion girl, Robyn Williams and Hannah Rose, my first and most beloved Lost Girls.

  I dedicate this book to the love of my life, my husband, my Tristan, for the encouragement, for showing me in example to always strive for excellence in whatever you choose to do; for being my unwavering arm in every storm; for being there for me and loving me no matter what, until the end and from the start.

  To Tom, Doug, Danny and Harry, for teaching me what real friendship is all about, and to the amazing musicians with their beautiful songs which inspired me throughout each chapter of the book.

  But most of all, I dedicate this book to the Lost Boys Army.

  This book wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your immense love and support.

  Keep on rocking,

  Yours always,

  Lily.

  Chapter One

  Flowers for the Dead

  I really was lost.

  I had been wandering in this old cemetery for about twenty minutes, trying to find my way out, but every time I thought I was getting near the exit I found myself even further in.

  The deeper I went, the older everything seemed. The statues were more broken and the tombs were mossier and less cared for. Snow slumped over the graves, but the main path was surprisingly clear. I was seriously tempted to start shouting for help, like a pathetic child that had got lost from its mommy. I could already feel an embarrassed blush creeping up my cheeks at the mere thought.

  And to think this whole misadventure had actually started with me and my good intentions.

  It began when I suggested to my mother that I could go grocery shopping for her, since she was so busy at our new home, unpacking and getting a head start on her new job. She had been offered this new fancy position, with an astronomical salary and a bunch of amazing benefits, at a branch of a renowned law firm. It had resulted in a rushed move to this small town called Esperanza, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. It was all very sudden but the job offer had been so good that she’d had no choice but to accept.

  We’d always struggled with our finances, but now finally we wouldn’t have to. Mom was so happy with this surprising turn in her career; and if my mom was happy, I was happy.

  Even if it had meant I’d had to quit my school and enroll somewhere new just so I could complete my final year and graduate.

  As well as school, I’d had to leave all my friends, but somehow I hadn’t been that upset. It had made me realise I wasn’t that close to anyone anyway, and I supposed – hoped – that I would make new friends here.

  Anyway, I’d left my mom in her new home office, buried under a huge pile of folders, but as soon as I headed out the door I bumped into this crazy-looking old lady with bright purple hair and big thick glasses, asking me to help her carry this humongous vase of flowers that she said she had to take to her husband. Of course, I had to help her. My mother had brought me up to always be respectful of my elders – and she was really old! What harm could it do if I gave her a hand?

  I’d regretted my goodwill as soon as she handed me the vase of flowers. It was huge! And so, so heavy. I hadn’t even walked half a block before my back was killing me. I also had dirt all over my face and at the top of my sweater.

  The old lady, who was called Miss Violet, had kept up a constant stream of chatter all the way to wherever we were going to meet her husband, asking me all kinds of inappropriate questions, like where I was from, whether I had a boyfriend, what my name was … OK, fine, the name question had been appropriate enough, but the rest had been just plain nosy.

  I mean, why had she needed to know about my relationship status? So what if I didn’t have a boyfriend? That was none of her business! I hadn’t been much into dating back in my old town anyway. I’ve never seen what was so great about it. Boys were so often annoying and bossy, trying to tell me what to do or that I should act more like a girl. I didn’t need anyone telling me what to do or how to behave or that I should wear dresses instead of my baggy jeans. I was fine without a boyfriend, thank you very much.

  The topic of boys had already put me in a sour mood, and then I had to try to be polite while I endured the conversation that always followed when I told a stranger my name. Miss Violet, for all her purple hair, was no different: she’d frowned at me from behind her big glasses. “Did you just say your name was Joe?” I could easily have bet my mom’s swanky
new salary on her next sentence. Come rain or shine, a certainty of life was always: “But Joe is a boy’s name!”

  Every freaking single time!

  As usual, I had sighed loudly in response. It’s not like I don’t know that I’m a girl and Joe is a boy’s name, people! You could at least try to be more creative with that clever observation!

  Miss Violet, to her credit, had made an attempt to cover up her surprise. “I guess it’s all right. Kids nowadays have all kinds of weird things going on: boys with earrings, girls with tattoos. A girl with a boy’s name isn’t all that bad,” the old lady had said after a minute mulling over the weirdness of my name.

  And then, finally, we had arrived at our destination, where Miss Violet’s husband was apparently waiting for his flowers. I had been so shocked at the sight that I hadn’t been able to make any witty comebacks. Because Miss Violet had led me straight into Esperanza’s old cemetery, and then to her dead husband’s grave, where she’d asked me to put the flowers down beside his gravestone. I’d felt so guilty for complaining about the heavy vase and the dirt that I’d quickly apologized and excused myself, to let the old lady chat with her “husband” in private.

  It was one of those cold but crisp December days and I’d decided to go for a stroll around the cemetery. The pale sun had even peeked out from behind gray clouds, and the snow had stopped falling earlier that morning. It felt like winter was giving me a break today, letting me enjoy this little walk in almost pleasant weather, for a change.

  At least, it had been enjoyable until the point when I’d got lost. And now here I was, aimlessly walking around an old graveyard, trying to find my way back to Miss Violet or, better still, the way out. A gentle breeze brushed over my face and the air suddenly smelled vaguely of carnations, even though I couldn’t see any flowers around.

  And that’s when I saw him.

  Chapter Two

  Gray Eyes

  A boy, just a few feet away. And he was beautiful.

  He was sitting on a small mossy tomb and swinging his long legs up and down distractedly, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the horizon. He clearly didn’t notice me standing there, watching him.

  He looked about my age. And did I mention he was beautiful? He had smooth black hair, the same color as mine, but styled kind of funny – it was way too tidy for my taste. He had the neatest side parting I’d ever seen on a boy. I wondered what product he was using to keep it so slick and glossy.

  He was wearing a white shirt tucked tidily into smart black trousers. I would have thought he was dressed for a funeral were it not for the well-worn black leather jacket that gave his more formal clothes a cooler edge. He looked sad, though. Maybe he’d lost someone too, like Miss Violet, and wanted to be alone.

  In the end I decided to approach him. At the very least, he could show me the way out. I gathered some courage and closed the distance between us, stopping right by his side, thinking my proximity would cause him to notice me, but I still had to clear my throat to get his attention.

  He jumped, startled, looking at me for the first time with wide eyes. Only now could I see his eyes clearly, and they took me completely by surprise. He had extraordinary gray eyes! But not the sort of gray we use to describe a pale tone of blue. His eyes were really, truly gray. As in the-absence-of-all-color gray.

  He almost looked like an old photograph. And his monochrome clothes further enhanced the lack of color of his eyes. But his gaze wasn’t dull; his eyes hinted at a sharp intelligence. They glinted with the wintry sun, flaring and piercing bright. And I swear to God that, for a split second, I saw them lighting up from the inside. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. The whole encounter was so eerie; it caused goosebumps to rise all over my skin.

  At that moment, I was lost in his eyes. He seemed so surprised that he wasn’t even blinking, his gaze locked upon mine, like he was in a trance of sorts. It took me a while to feel able to produce coherent conversation again.

  “Hey. Hi, sorry, I was just … wondering if you could help me find my way back to the main gate? I’m a little lost,” I said, still entranced by his gaze.

  He blinked a couple of times now, like he was trying to snap himself out of his own stupor, and slowly looked around, as if to check I was really speaking to him. There was no one else around. Of course I was speaking to him!

  “W-what?” he stuttered.

  I frowned. What a strange boy! Maybe I had been wrong to think his beautiful looks were matched by a sharp mind. He seemed to be having a hard time understanding what I was saying.

  “Can. You. Help. Me? Do you know a way out of here? I’m a little lost,” I asked again, unable to keep the mocking tone out of my voice. I spoke loudly and slowly, like I was talking to a small child. Or a very stupid person.

  It was his turn to frown. “You don’t need to talk like that! I’m not an idiot, miss!” he said, offended. “I was just … surprised, is all … that you’re talking to me.”

  Okay. That was definitely odd. And he wasn’t making any sense. And he talked funny. Calling me “miss”. Clearly Esperanza was more old-fashioned than I’d first feared. That or he was crazy. And there I was, all alone with a crazy boy, in an abandoned old cemetery. Commonsense dictated that I should get the hell out of there, and fast.

  “Okay, sorry to bother you. You’re obviously …” Mental, I thought. “… busy right now, so I’ll just go, then. I’m sure I can find the way out myself, “I muttered, stepping away slowly so as to not startle the clearly deranged boy in front of me.

  “No, wait!” he said, jumping off the tomb. He moved very softly and elegantly, I noticed, like an athlete. “I’m so sorry, miss! You must think I’m crazy, or something,” he said, smiling the sexiest smile I have ever seen.

  And I mean that; it was the most breathtaking, beautiful and honest smile I had ever seen in my whole life! It made my heart skip a beat. My resolve to get the hell away from him faltered and vanished in the brightness of his smile. “Or something,” I muttered quietly, and glanced down in nervousness, but he heard me anyway and chuckled.

  “That’s all right. I assure you I’m not crazy, though. And I can help you find your way out. We’re almost in the centre of the cemetery. It’s a long walk from here to the front gates. You want the main entrance, I presume?” he asked, walking over to me.

  I nodded. He was now standing a few inches from me and I could see his face in detail. He had a thin straight nose that defined his face, a strong, square jaw and, currently, a playful smile at the corners of his full lips. He had broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. He was taller than me, but that isn’t hard since I’m a shortie. He was staring down at me with those odd, piercing gray eyes.

  “Who gets ‘a little’ lost anyway?” he finally asked after a moment of silence. He looked properly amused now.

  “What?” I asked, confused – and in truth, I’d got a little lost again, this time in his eyes.

  “You said a while ago that you’re a little lost,” he said. “Either you are lost, or you aren’t. Don’t you agree?”

  “Um … I don’t know. I know where I am. I’m in the cemetery. I just don’t know where exactly in the cemetery. That could be considered a ‘little’ lost. Because it’s not completely lost,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly, resting my case.

  He let out a loud laugh. The breeze had picked up and some leaves twirled around us, and there was that carnation scent again, enveloping me.

  “Maybe you do have a point,” he conceded, turning to his left. “Come on. I’ll show you the way out.” He was already walking away.

  I ran to keep up with him and those long legs of his. “Hey, you’re not, by any chance, a murderer leading me to some secret spot where you kill and bury all your victims, are you?” I asked in a serious tone.

  “A murderer?’ He looked puzzled.

  “You know … a crazy killer who’s waiting for innocent lost girls to come ask for directions …”
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br />   Now he looked slightly bemused by my vivid description. “I’m not a criminal, miss. Or a murderer. Though if I were a crazy killer, well, I would probably lie to you about it. So you’ve got yourself in a pickle there,” he said, laughing. “However, you’re the one looking like you’ve been burying stuff here. You do know there’s dirt all over your face, your clothes … and a bit in your hair, too?”

  I dusted myself off, embarrassed as hell. “I-I just had an incident with a gigantic vase of flowers on the way here,” I said, blushing beet-red. God! He must think I’m the crazy one now! Damn those stupid flowers! “So … what’s your name?” I asked casually, trying to divert the subject from my grubby shabbiness.

  He gave me a sideway glance, but continued walking, a little slower now. It took him some time to answer me. Which I thought was strange. Once again. He was definitely gaining points in the “odd” department.

  “I’m Tristan,” he stated and gave me a cautious look.

  Tristan. It was a weird, old-fashioned name, which seemed to suit him. I didn’t dare say anything, though. Not with my history; with my curious name. I would never throw stones at other people’s glass roofs when I have a crystal-thin one of my own. “Nice to meet you, Tristan,” I replied simply.

  He side-glanced me again, a suspicious look in his eyes. “What? No funny jokes? No teasing? No smirking whatsoever?” he asked defensively.

  “Why? It’s a beautiful name,” I said with a serious face. “It’s from the Tristan and Isolde legend, right? He was a knight and there was something about a secret affair, or something like that, yes? I don’t remember the whole thing right now. But it’s a lovely story.”

  “Yeah. That’s right. My mom had a thing for these sappy old romantic books,” he mumbled darkly, and then raised an enquiring eyebrow at me.

  “What?” I asked defensively. “I pay attention in English, that’s all! And it so happens that the Tristan and Isolde tale is fabulous, not sappy at all, and I honestly enjoyed reading it very much. You know it’s not pathetic to enjoy reading books!” I finished lamely. I caught him trying to stifle a laugh.