Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (9 page)

“This place is huge,” I say, admiring through the gaps the rows upon rows of bookshelves bursting with volumes and scrolls.

“Trust me, you’ll get sick of it soon enough,” Bri says. “Now come on, we’ve got to go in for our hour of doom lore. History,” she adds, when she sees my questioning look. “You’ll see when you hear Lincoln talk.”

I follow her into a wide auditorium where a short, energetic man greets us. “Come in and have a seat,” he says, making a sweeping gesture with his one and only arm.

I find a spot close to Keva this time, who doesn’t seem too pleased at the sight of me.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Sir Lincoln says, “let us resume where we last left off.” He jumps onto his podium, sending his full head of white hair quivering. “You all know how humans had
to live under the heavy yoke of the Fey, those lost angels who got caught on Earth after the last battle between Heaven and Hell.”

I spy Bri yawning profoundly in the back, but the professor doesn’t seem to notice.

“We also covered the terrible wars that we were forced to undertake,” Sir Lincoln continues, striding along his dais, “all because of their little games. As if we were nothing more than pawns.

“Look at Troy. A great, mighty city fallen because they refused to pay tribute to certain of the Fey. Roman times were not much better, and by then, Carman’s influence was so great that even our own morals and standards of conduct started to degenerate.”

Baffled, I pause over my blank page. My version of history wasn’t quite the same—at least there was no Spanish lady involved with the downfall of the Roman Empire. I hesitate for a second longer, then decide to risk it all and raise my hand.

“Yes, Miss…”

“Pendragon,” I say. “Who’s Carman? I thought Rome had been sacked by Visigoths?”

Sir Lincoln blinks at me owlishly while the class lets out a collective gasp. Then the teacher clears his throat.

“Anyone wish to answer Miss Pendragon?” he asks.

Keva’s hand shoots up, and she immediately begins reciting, “An angel whose soul was so tainted by evil she should have gone to Hell. But the Archangel Michael missed her in his cleanup, so she got to continue her business here on Earth, bringing chaos and destruction everywhere.”

“Exactly,” Sir Lincoln says. “And—”

“She also brought the ten plagues along with her,” Keva interrupts him, on a roll. “But then she was defeated and sentenced to prison for life.”

“Very good,” the professor says. “And a piece of her lore can be found—”

“On the stele inside the library,” Keva says with a proud flick of her hair. “I can’t believe you didn’t even know that much,” she adds under her breath for my benefit.

“However we haven’t reached that part of history yet,” the teacher says, resuming his pacing. “Indeed, today we shall discuss the peak of her reign, before we humans rebelled: the Dark Ages.

“Now, everyone turn to page sixty-eight of your book. Mr. Smith, if you’d be so kind.”

While Jack stutters his way through the chapter, I draw closer to Keva.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “How did this woman even cause all of this? And what are the plagues you mentioned?”

Keva rolls her eyes, but she enjoys showing off more, and answers, “Look, the woman’s Fey, all right? That means she has insane powers. And I don’t mean just the elemental kind, which is pretty basic, but a lot more.”

“So…she could create fire and water and—”

“Not create, control,” Keva whispers harshly. “And many other things too! Haven’t you been paying attention? This world is crawling with demons that could reduce humans to ashes in the blink of an eye!”

“Then why haven’t they already?” I ask. “If, by your logic, they’re all evil and want nothing more than our death—”

“Well they’re not all like that,” Keva says with a slight grimace. “And besides, we’re here, aren’t we? To protect the innocent, yada yada yada…What’s the matter?”

“I feel sick,” I mumble, the blood draining from my face. I’ve reached my limit; I don’t think I can stay in this crazy place any longer.

“You better not throw up on me!” Keva says, stumbling out of her seat. “Sir! Morgan needs to go to the infirmary!”

The short man adds another entry to the growing list of dates on his blackboard. “Go right ahead,” he says without stopping.

With the help of Bri, who eagerly volunteers to help me, I get my books packed up and leave before I can lose the contents of my breakfast on anyone.

“Look,” Bri tells me once we’re in the empty hallway, “I know what you’re going through.” At my look of incredulity, she adds, “Well, I don’t really, but I can imagine it. Since you grew up away from all this”—she motions around us—“it’s only normal for you to be overwhelmed. And you’re old…well, older anywho, and so probably less adaptable. So I’m concluding you’re already halfway—make that three-quarters of the way—to the loony bin.”

I miss a step, and Bri has to hold on to me so I don’t plummet down the rest of the staircase; though getting a concussion right now sounds somewhat appealing.

“My point is,” Bri says, “that you should just accept this new reality as is. Look on the bright side. If this world is real—and I assure you it is—then you’re part of a few who know the truth. If it isn’t…” She shrugs. “Then at least you’re not the only one who’s crazy around here, and you can join the club.”

“In, two, three. Out, two, three,” Owen says, no longer mad at me now that he and Jack have rejoined us outside where I’m taking some fresh air—doctor’s orders. “You feeling better?”

“I think so,” I say, releasing my breath.

In the light of day, I can clearly see the apple tree’s massive trunk rising from the center of the courtyard, its heavy foliage
expanding over the school like a wide umbrella. The grounds around it are separated into alternating flower beds and vegetable patches.

He sets his foot next to me on the bench. “I just don’t get it,” he says. “The moment we took our test, we were told about Lake High and how this place works. How come your parents never did it? I mean, they’re Pendragons! Their families have been going here for generations!”

I shrug. “I don’t remember a test. Does everyone take it?”

Jack nods. “Though the ability to manipulate elementals is usually passed down to the children, it does happen that someone’s born without the talent. In which case, they’re not allowed to know about this world.”

Owen nods emphatically. “Which is why some think you—”

Bri kicks his foot from underneath him, and he falls down. “Just like some people are born with it in families that never had a knight for an ancestor,” she says.

“So did your parents go here?” I ask.

The twins and Jack nod. And so did my parents—or at least my mother…A thought strikes me, and I jump to my feet.

“What’s the matter?” Bri asks, suddenly concerned.

“If my mother went here,” I say, “then my father must have too!”

“That’s what I was saying,” Owen says with a pout. “All the Pendragons—”

“No, I mean my
real
father.”

Silence greets my words, and I start to fidget, uncomfortable with the sudden admission. Face as red as his hair, Gianakos approaches us. Close on his heels is the rest of the class.

“Was your father a layman too?” he asks, so quietly I have to lean forward to hear him.

“Elias’s mom ran off with a layman,” Owen whispers in my ear. “’S why he’s a little, you know, slow.”

“I don’t know,” I answer. I never knew him, I add silently with a pang.

“It’s unlikely.” Keva speaks up for the first time since Lore class. “Have you seen Lady Pendragon? She wouldn’t dare get caught with anyone who wasn’t of the Blood.”

Elias’s face falls. “I see. I thought, maybe…”

“But perhaps he’s right,” Daniel says, wrapping his arm around Elias’s neck. “Maybe that’s why she kept her own daughter locked away—because her shame was in her daughter’s own lack of talent and would show the rest of the world how she’d hooked up with the wrong kind of people.” He pats Elias’s head. “And you should avoid those people too, if you want to make up for your own mother’s errors.”

I know he means it as an insult, and in other times, I’d have been stung, but right now I’m too busy thinking about my father, the one I know nothing of, and wondering whether he ever was a knight here too.

“Man, I don’t think I have the patience to deal with stupid plants right now,” Owen says, kicking a stone into a small water basin as we make our way to our next class.

“You shouldn’t dismiss them because they’re not as flashy as EM,” Jack says.

“That’s not why,” Owen retorts. “They’re just…useless.”

“That’s not true!” Jack and I exclaim at the same time.

Grinning, we both look at each other until I look away in embarrassment.

“Well, whaddaya know,” Bri says, punching Jack’s shoulder playfully. “You’ve finally got someone you can nerd out over herbs with.”

For the first time that day, I’m actually excited—not only because I’m going to work on what I love best, but also because, nearly twenty years ago, my father may have been taking these exact same classes too. And maybe, just maybe, Bri is right, and things might not be so bad down here after all.

Botanics is held inside a long, simple greenhouse that opens onto the inner courtyard. Boxes of plants are set in rows along one side of the room, while a set of worktables adorn the other, over which potted plants hang. I can already smell the heady scent of lilacs, and the delicate fragrance of roses.

“Good morning, children,” a soft voice says. A girl pops up from behind a shrub of thyme, waving a tiny sickle in one hand. “You should put on an apron and some gloves for today’s lesson.” She moves toward the far end of the greenhouse.

Grabbing a set work clothes for each of us, Bri and I follow the rest of the class to the back.

“At least we get to wear skirts,” Bri mutters, pointing at her brother and Jack, who are desperately pulling on their pants to keep them from sticking to their legs in the intense humidity.

“Is she really our teacher?” I ask, eyeing the brown-haired girl with circumspection. She can’t be more than a year or two older than me.

“What, Professor Pelletier?” Owen asks. A devious gleam appears in his eyes. “Guess who really liked her last year?”

Bri answers him with the same look. “Hadrian,” they say together before bursting out laughing.

“Who’s—” I start.

“Their older brother,” Jack says.

“He never had a chance,” Bri says. “I mean, he’s so prissy, he hates getting even a speck of dust on his uniform.”

“And she rolls around in dirt all day long,” Owen adds with a knowing nod. “It was doomed—”

“From the start,” Bri says. She lets out a heavy sigh and leans on Owen’s shoulder. “Poor soul, condemned to forever watch his love from a distance.”

“Maybe she could teach him,” Owen says.

Bri shakes her head sadly. “He’d be running away every five minutes to change into a new set of clothes.”

The twins roar in laughter, and Jack shakes his head at them. “Their humor is often somewhat…dubious.”

“What’s going on over there?” Professor Pelletier calls out.

Bri and Owen straighten up, their faces scarlet.

“Nothing, Professor,” Owen says.

“Sorry, Professor,” Bri says.

I watch the teacher collect some pink, bell-shaped flowers in a small basket.

“The foxglove, or digitalis,” she says, “is easily recognizable because of its elongated bell shape. It comes in several colors, going over the whole spectrum of pinks, as well as gray and white. Who knows some of its uses?”

“They’re usually used to help regulate the heartbeat,” I say, after making sure no one else knows.

Professor Pelletier nods. “Correct. It’s particularly used in instances of atrial fibrillation. However, and this is what we’re going to focus on, they also happen to be a plant favored by the Fey.”

My initial excitement peters out. Here I was, thinking that I’d finally be able to show everyone that I was actually good at something.

“You need to gently pluck—
gently
, Mr. von Blumenthal! No need to squeeze them to a pulp.” The teacher walks down between the two rows, looking over at our work. “When you’re done with your pickings, you may grab one of the glass vials by the windows, fill it up with water, then place the flowers in it.”

“What are we going to do with them afterward?” a curly-haired girl asks.

“When you’ve placed the flowers inside, you’ll replace the vials by the windows and let them simmer for three hours,” Miss Pelletier answers. “Which will result in what, Miss Adams?”

The curly-haired girl looks about, uncomfortable. “Scented water?”

“Which we can then turn into essence of—”

The sound of breaking glass cuts the teacher short.

“Elias Gianakos!” Miss Pelletier yells, rushing over to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Shaking, the boy holds out his bloody hand before him. “S-Sorry, miss,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, you never do,” the teacher says. “Go see the nurse. Miss Henderson, come help me clean this mess.”

Without a word, a tall blonde girl grabs a broom and sets to sweeping up the broken shards.