Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (43 page)

“You shouldn’t do that!”

I stop breathing, heart hammering, my hands holding the vessel closer to me. I slowly turn around, but I’m well and truly alone in this tiny room.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jennifer’s voice answers, muffled.

I instinctively recoil from them before I realize there’s a small door hidden behind the curtain of roots dangling along the curved wall of the chamber.

I press my ear to the door. What is Jennifer doing down here, and who with, when she should be at the party with Arthur?

Every still-functioning cell in my brain is firing signals that tell me this is none of my business, but the dumber part of me, the one that always wants to know what’s going on, tells me I need to find out what other evil plan the Queen of Hell has hatched.

The small door swings back at my touch without a sound. I let my eyes adjust to the sudden flickering light of torches before I edge forward into what I find is the vast cellar.

“You see how she is, simpering in front of everyone else like she owns the place,” Jennifer continues, talking to some unknown guy. There’s no doubt in my mind who she’s talking about, however.

The door closes behind me, blending in so perfectly with the rest of the wall, I can’t see it anymore. I have a second of panic before I realize that nobody’s seen me come in, and I’m perfectly out of sight.

My dress rustles about my ankles as I step around the ceiling-high rows of barrels to get a better look.

“Anyway, we shouldn’t be meeting here anymore,” Jennifer says. “It’s too dangerous. We could get caught.”

“It’s safer,” the boy answers. “You saw Rei. You don’t want that to happen to you as well, do you?”

Jennifer snickers. “Please, with her here, I say it’s probably safer out there. And don’t tell me you actually like her.”

“I never said anything,” the guy says back. His voice sounds familiar, though I can’t quite place it.

I crane my neck around another barrel of alcohol, but the next row is empty as well.

“You know, there’s something awfully strange about her,” Jennifer says.

“What do you mean?” the boy asks.

“Well, for one, why make her come here now? I mean, they’ve kept her away all those years, why bother bringing her here at all? I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with this picture.”

I hold my breath as the two of them speak. Despite my abhorrence for her, I have to concede that Jennifer’s got a good point, one I’ve asked myself a gazillion times.

“Perhaps it’s because her abilities were latent,” the boy says, calm.

“Please, she didn’t even know how to do any kind of EM when she got here,” Jennifer says.

I lean against the wall of casks, doing my best not to make a sound.

“But she comes from a long line of strong blood,” the boy continues. “It would have been stranger if she hadn’t been able to use elementals. Besides, you saw how much she’s improved in so short a time—she was able to get herself to the surface without anyone’s help.”

“Stop defending her!” Jennifer says, her tone as sharp as a samurai sword. “About that, you never told me how you ended up being the first one to save her.”

For the first time since I’ve been eavesdropping, the guy lets out a sigh. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t been annoyed with Jennifer sooner.

“I couldn’t very well explain why I was outside the school walls, could I?” he asks. “It was either that or have us exposed, and I would never let that happen. Besides, it was my duty as a knight, and would you like me as much if I turned away from my vows?”

With a jolt, I finally realize who’s been talking to Jennifer all this time. I stoop down so my eyes can peer through the holes left between the stacked barrels and hold back a gasp.

A few feet from me are Jennifer and Lance, standing so close to each other that if one sneezed, the other would be sure to be covered in spittle. My hand clenches convulsively around the stone bowl as I watch them embrace. I guess Lance is no robot after all. Then the second shoe drops. That little tramp! How dare she fool around with another boy, however pretty he may be, while she’s engaged to Arthur?

Something grasps my hand, and in the next second, I feel tiny, sharp teeth sink into the meat of my thumb. I scream and fling the
bowl aside, sending Puck flying into a cask. He hits it so hard one of his horns sinks into the wood and gets stuck.

“Who’s there?” Lance calls out.

There are some hurried footsteps, but I’m too concerned with the blood flowing freely down my hand to pay much notice. I wince as I prod the wound; this is definitely going to need some stitches. I just hope I’m not going to catch leptospirosis
²⁹
or some weird Fey disease.

“You!”

The cry of outrage gets me to look up as Jennifer advances toward me like a banshee.

“How dare you spy on us!” she yells. Her blond hair is unusually disheveled, and her alabaster skin shows red spots of anger; even in enraged she manages to look pretty.

“I was here first,” I say. “What were you doing here? Oh wait, never mind, I already know.”

I look pointedly over her shoulder at Lance, who’s turned a few shades paler, but doesn’t look away. Jennifer slaps me, her blow stinging my cheek with such force that it echoes in the cellar.

“Jennifer, you should calm down,” Lance says, finally approaching us.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she yells. “I’m sick and tired of everyone dictating my every move, my every word! I won’t have any of it from you too!”

Puck manages to extricate himself from the cask, his horn coming out of the wood with a pop. The wine pours out of the new hole like a fountain, flooding us. Jennifer squeaks as a burgundy wave hits her dress, splattering her and Lance together. Using the diversion, I run away as fast as possible.

The morning bells draw me away from my dream—a boggy mess where I’m caught fighting Jennifer, who turns out to be a monstrous Fey in disguise, while trying not to fall in the ever-widening hole that’s opened at our feet.

I make a final punch, my fist getting caught in my covers, and end up falling face-first out of bed.

“Better hurry,” Keva says, already decked out in her pristine uniform. “This is the last day of fun before we have to go back to the everyday drudgery of school.”

I grunt, sitting up like a mummy.

“At least my parents aren’t here today,” she says, “so I’ll be able to actually enjoy myself.”

I rub at my eyes before the pain in my sore hand reminds me of the previous day’s events, and how much I hate parties.

I take my time to extricate myself from the bedding and put on my last clean uniform. Then we go find Bri and Jack who are waiting for in the hallway.

“What’s the matter with you guys?” Keva asks as we drag our feet towards the staircase like we’re going to a funeral instead of a fair.

Daniel barrels through us, knocking Bri down. Jack and I both catch her before she can plummet down to the bottom of the stairs.

“Watch it!” Jack yells.

“Sorry,” Daniel sneers. “Didn’t see Crazy here.”

“She’s not crazy!” Jack retorts, shaking with rage. “So shut it.”

“Well, her twin’s in the loony bin,” Daniel says, “and you know blood doesn’t lie.”

With a chuckle, he rushes down to the ground floor, Ross and Brockton laughing at his heels.

“I swear,” Jack mutters, “if he says anything more to you about…I’ll—”

“Get pummeled into mincemeat,” Keva finishes for him. “Not a very wise choice, I’d think.”

“Let’s just get going,” Bri says, sounding tired.

Subdued, we make our way to church while everyone around us is laughing and making plans for the last day of the festival which is to consist of games and contests.

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” Keva says in a listless tone, “but you guys are really no fun right now. So once Mass is over, I’m gonna explore the fair on my own. Deal? Great then.”

I ignore her. Keva will never change and will always place her own interests first.

“How is your brother?” I ask Bri when we get inside the church.

She kneels on the prie-dieu, her head in her hands.

“He’s not doing too well,” she says, her thin voice barely carrying over the muted din of the growing crowd. “He seems… more agitated.”

“How so?” Jack asks. “Is he getting bored?”

Bri shakes her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t make sense. He keeps talking about a reaping or a tithe…It’s just horrible to see him so scared and not be able to do anything about it.”

She lets out a muffled sob. Feeling awkward, I pat her back lightly.

“He’s safe, though,” Jack says, looking as much at a loss as I am. “People are taking care of him while he…recovers.”

Bri lets out a small chuckle that shakes her frail shoulders. “Safe?” she asks, sounding near hysteria.

I look around, noting the curious stares thrown at us. Keva, on the other hand, is doing her best to ignore us.

“Safe?” Bri repeats a little louder. This time, there are more than just a few casual glances in our direction. “Do you know how easy it is for them to get out of there? Just to get to visit someone, you have to jump through twenty thousand hoops, but can they even keep an eye on their patients?
No!
”

“Shh,” Jack says, his face and neck red.

“What if he gets out again?” Bri continues.

“I wish we could help, truly,” I whisper soothingly, “but what can we do for him?”

Bri turns her fevered eyes toward me. “We can get rid of all those filthy Feys,” she hisses.

I’m too disturbed to pay much attention to Mass, and barely manage to mouth the appropriate responses. Instead, my thoughts keep whirling between Bri’s fervent hate for the Fey, yesterday’s strange events with Puck, and Jennifer’s cheating. I scratch my itchy hand, which still bears the mark of Puck’s teeth.
Everything’s so crazy now, I’m afraid of going even more insane if I stay here.

At that thought, the image of Lugh’s golden eyes swims back before me like in a dream, bringing with it the recollection of that terribly embarrassing moment when we kissed. It’s strange how soft lips are, like trying to kiss a marshmallow, except with teeth.

When Lauds is finally over, I rush toward the exit, in desperate need of calm and quiet.

“Morgan?”

I turn around at the sound of Father Tristan’s soft voice.

“Yes, Father?”

“May I have a word with you?”

Sighing inwardly, I follow him to the back of the church. When we’ve reached the apse, he turns to face me, his unblinking gaze making me squirm.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been to confession yet,” he says.

I eye him with circumspection; is he angry or just stating a fact?

“I, uh, didn’t really think it was obligatory.”

“It’s not,” Father Tristan says. “But I thought you may need it.”

“Why?” I ask. “You think I’m always up to no good?”

A tiny smile appears on the priest’s wan face. “I didn’t say that. However, it’s always best to make sure you are cleaned of all sins before you go out into the world. You never know when Azrael may erase your name. And when that happens, wouldn’t you want to present yourself with the scales as much in your favor as possible?”

I shiver at his mention of the angel of death. What is he trying to convey to me? That I’m going to die soon? Is this a threat?

I swallow convulsively before I manage to answer. “Do you tell this to everyone here?”

“No,” he says after a pause. “Yet most people go to confession at least once a week, and they don’t get in trouble as often as you do.”

A cold fear washes through me. Does he know of my time in Avalon?

“I don’t have anything to say,” I mumble, “except, perhaps, that I don’t get along with everyone at school, and I often wish I could strangle them. I do believe that is my worst sin, Father.”

Father Tristan doesn’t respond right away, keeping me rooted to my spot while he examines me. I try really hard to keep my expression as blank as possible, willing him to believe me.

The church doors slam open before he can further question me, however, and we turn at the sound of someone running toward us.