Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (8 page)

I shriek, and dash back inside the classroom.

“Demon!” I yell. “In the hallway!”

Keva and Owen rush over to poke their heads out the door. “Where?” they ask.

“It was this close to me,” I say, bringing my thumb and forefinger together until they almost touch. “And it was making weird noises, and it had horns, and—”

A shiver courses through me as a light
clippity-clop
reverberates down the corridor. Every cell in my body’s poised for flight, but I can’t make myself leave my new friends behind, defenseless.

I try to pull Keva and Owen away from the door and the danger lurking outside. “We need to get out of here!”

Owen bursts out laughing. “You mean Puck?” He’s so incapacitated by his chortling that he has to hold on to a desk not to fall.

I look back outside to find the owner of that terrifying shadow appear around the corner, its beady eyes staring me down beneath a pair of small horns. It lurches toward us on a set of hairy hooves, its fists swinging from side to side with every step.

My hands unclench as the strange creature reaches the level of our class. Belying his gargantuan silhouette, it barely manages to reach my knees, and I do feel somewhat foolish at my initial reaction.

“Puck?” I say.

The creature looks around at the mention of his name, but otherwise doesn’t stop.

“Our resident hobgoblin,” Bri says, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Hobgoblin?” I repeat feebly.

“Another Fey type,” Owen says. “Kinda like elementals.”

Keva tsks. “Daniel, I must apologize to you,” she says. “You were right. She is just a backwater dimwit who’s been held back. There’s no other explanation for it.”

Breathe, just breathe, I remind myself.

“You really don’t look too good,” Bri says when I sit next to her.

Eyes closed, I rest my head on my books. “I’m OK,” I say, more for my sake than hers.

“It’s really not that bad,” she says.

“So you keep saying.” I straighten up. “But I thought angels had”—I flutter my hands about my sides—“wings, you know?”

Bri cocks her head. “Well, some do, of course. Just like some of them look like us, but there are some who look… different.”

“And don’t forget about those who can change shapes,” Jack says, sitting before her.

“But then, how can you tell them apart from us?” I exclaim.

I hear Daniel snort on the other side of the room. “I would think it’s rather obvious, wouldn’t you?” he says, and his two friends snicker. “Puck doesn’t exactly look human.”

“Obviously!” I snap, then point at Bri accusingly. “But she said they could look like us!”

I bite on my lip to stop myself, but I know it’s too late when I see the hurt look on Bri’s face. Cheeks burning, I turn away. No matter my best intentions, I always end up ruining everything I touch, one of the reasons I never keep any friends.

A tall, burly man enters the room, the light from the chandeliers reflecting off his shining pate. He eyes us, his long mustache hanging severely low like the tusks of a walrus.

“All rise,” says a surly girl at the front. “And bow.”

At once, the class obeys and says, loud and clear, “Good morning, Sir Boris.”

The teacher’s gait is slow and uneven as he makes his way to the lectern, his clothes clanking and clinking with every step.

“I don’t like how you talk to my sister,” Owen whispers to me over his shoulder. I try to ignore him as he turns around. “And for your information, she
did
say Fey didn’t all look like us.”

Sir Boris clears his throat. “Mr. Vaughan,” he says, setting a large book down on his desk.

Owen spins around.

“Considering class has started, you may share what you have to say with the rest of us.”

“I was just telling her some Fey look like us,” Owen says, sheepish. “Sir.”

“So they can,” the teacher says, nodding so his mustache comes to rest on his large stomach. “So how can you distinguish them from us?”

“Uh…pointy ears?” Owen ventures.

The class bursts out laughing. “Always ready to entertain, aren’t you, Mr. Vaughan,” Sir Boris says. “But perhaps your neighbor will once again enlighten you?”

“The Fey don’t like iron, sir,” Jack answers automatically, and I see Owen slap his hand to his forehead. “So anyone who wears it is human. It’s also how we identify ourselves.”

“Right,” Sir Boris says. “Now everyone sit and put your books away. We’re having a quiz.”

A collective groan rises from the seats, but the teacher makes his slow way from desk to desk unfazed, distributing his sheets.

When he arrives besides me, he hands me a test as well, but adds, “No need to worry, Pendragon. This time I’ll let you find the answers in your book.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I say.

“It’s ‘sir,’” the large man says, moving on to the next desk.

While everyone’s writing away madly under the pressure of a ticking grandfather clock, I open the book in question:
A Field Guide to Elementals.

With trembling fingers, I flip the pages to the introduction and start reading.

Many believe that, being the simplest form of elvins one can find, elementals are also the easiest to tame, but that is not so. This field guide was created with the intent to discuss the four major families and their sixteen genera, their strengths and weaknesses, and the best methods to subdue them. This edition also has an extra section on the maintenance of the creatures once captured.

I pause, take a deep breath, then turn the page. The first chapter talks about the classification of various elementals with four main branches linked to the four elements: gnomes for earth, undines or nymphs for water, sylphs for air, and salamanders for fire. I pause at the last illustration—a drawing of the incandescent lizard that lit up my dorm room! And now I wish my high-tech nuclear version was correct.

I hide my face in my book, on the verge of tears again. What have I done to deserve this? This, there’s no doubt about it, is a
book of witchcraft. And the Bible’s clear on its stance on anything related to sorcery—it’s the same as transacting with the Devil himself! I cross myself at the thought, but…

Surely having a quick look isn’t going to be enough to send me to Hell, is it? And, unable to resist my curiosity, I resume my reading.

This is, by far, the strangest class I’ve ever taken, and the more I read, the more I realize the world is a lot more vast and unfathomable than I’ve ever realized. Which I find both terrifying and…a little exciting. Sister Marie-Clémence wouldn’t have recognized me if she’d seen the avidity with which I peruse the book, or the keen interest I take in the lecture that follows the quiz.

“Gianakos,” Sir Boris snaps, “where is the most likely place for a gnome to keep its ogham?”

I sigh. Again with the big words, and I’m too afraid to draw attention to myself again by asking questions.

The boy who was called on stammers, “Its f-feet, sir?”

“Are you asking me, Gianakos?”

“N-N-No, sir,” the boy replies, his face as bright as his red hair. “The-The feet.”

“A plausible answer,” Sir Boris says, “considering many of them have rather large extremities, but wrong. As usual. Watkins?”

A girl sitting at the front answers eagerly, “Most have them hidden in the ground, sir. Usually a cache or under a rock.”

“Because, as you ought to know,” Sir Boris says with a particular look at the red-haired boy, “Fey can voluntarily separate themselves from their oghams and have their powers unaffected. As long as the ogham remains surrounded by their natural element, of course.”

He goes to the blackboard and writes down a list of possible places that gnomes—or earth elementals, as I’ve just read—like to use as hiding places.

I’m not quite sure what these sources of power, or oghams, look like, and copy everything down in the hopes that I’ll soon find out.

“The key to finding these hiding places,” Sir Boris continues, “is to trick these creatures. Their powers are usually proportional to their smarts, and they’re prone to using deception and arts to outdo you.”

“But never lie,” Keva says.

Sir Boris’s stare makes my roommate cringe. “But they can’t lie,” he finally says. “Though there are ways of twisting the truth.”

He unfurls a chart hanging from the board. On it are the same four elemental illustrations pictured in my book. He turns to the diagram of a lumpy, hirsute man with a bulbous nose and large, hairy feet.

“Fey people always hide their oghams where they’re safest,” the professor continues, “which makes sense. Look at us: all our vital organs are protected within our rib cage.”

I nod in agreement—at least
that
I understand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daniel’s friends push their chairs back, and something flashes. I snap my head around in time to see a glowing wave of green hurtle toward me. I try to duck, but the desk is in my way. Then, about an inch from me, the green current rebounds in the air as if it’s hit an invisible wall, and hurtles back the way it came.

There’s a loud crash, and the whole class turns to find Gianakos sprawled on the floor, the legs of his chair broken.

“Causing trouble in class today, Mr. Gianakos?” Sir Boris asks. “Guess I’ll see you in detention later today then.”

The boys at the back snigger, but I catch Daniel giving me a long, considering look.

The dull sound of the bell reaches our classroom, and everyone jumps up to leave.

“Everyone is to write a five-page essay on two gnome types, their behavior patterns, and the best ways of approaching them by
next class,” Sir Boris says. “And don’t forget, what’s the one thing you need to remember about EM?”

“Iron is the only true weapon against a Fey,” the class intones.

As I hurry by, the teacher calls me over. “Pendragon, I believe this is your first time being exposed to the topic?” His blue eyes seem to be dissecting me from the inside out, analyzing every little defect of mine.

I nod. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“You’ve got quite a lot to do if you want to catch up with your classmates then,” he growls, his mighty mustache quivering. “I expect you to turn in all the homework you’ve missed in the next two weeks. You may ask Vaughan for the list, since she’s evidently waiting for you.”

A month’s worth of homework to do in two weeks? Is the guy out of his mind? But the teacher’s too intimidating, and my nerves deflate before I can utter a sound of reproach.

“You shouldn’t have said that to her,” I hear Bri say outside. “She’s new. She’s scared—”

“That’s no excuse,” Owen cuts her off. “You were helping her! No, she’s annoying, and I don’t like her.”

I hang back to hear what more they have to say about me, shame burning my insides.

“You don’t even know her,” Bri retorts. “It’ll get better once she’s more used to this place.” Owen chortles in derision, and she adds, “For once, try to put yourself in someone else’s shoes!”

Before they can get into a full-blown fight, I walk out of the classroom.

“Sorry for making you wait,” I whisper, avoiding their eyes.

“How was your first class?” Bri asks as if nothing was wrong.

We head up a narrow staircase tucked away in a corner, and Owen hurries ahead of us without waiting.

“Don’t worry about him,” Bri says. “Or about Boris. He’s not so bad, as long as you do what he says.”

Jack coughs lightly, as if afraid to disagree openly with her.

“Well, he
is
rather bad,” Bri says, and before Jack can cough again, she adds, “and I really hate his class, but I’ll still help you.”

This time, Jack coughs so forcefully that Bri glares at him. “Actually, Jack here will help you out since he’s so eager to help and has the top grades. Besides”—she turns to me with a bright smile—“you can always ask Arthur, since you’re his sister.”

However unlikely it is that’s ever going to happen, I just smile back, concentrating instead on not destroying my budding friendship with Bri and proving Owen wrong.

We sprint together to the other side of the building and skid to a stop across the way from wrought-iron doors that guard a library.