The Changeling (44 page)

Oh god, I’ve got to tell them…

“Cassandra won’t be a problem,” I said quietly. “But Dresha and Chalen may be…”

They each stared at me.

“What happened at the farmhouse?” Candace asked.

Billy stared at her and then slowly turned his eyes to me. “Normally, I’d tell you not to say a thing, but I have to admit…”

I interrupted him. “Cassandra showed up, caught me and Mitch…threatened to kill everyone in the room…” I paused.

“And?”

I felt my lower lip begin to tremble. “She won’t be hurting anyone…not ever again.”

Billy turned white, so did Candace.

“I thought you said that if you ever…” Candace began.

I lifted my hand and her voice trailed off. “I left no trace…” I said, my words sounding cracked and uneven before they surrendered to silence. Each nodded. There were no cheers, no fist bumps, no celebrating—instead, Doug whispered, “Good,” in the quiet room.

I turned and stared out the turret windows. In the black night, punctuated by the occasional yard lamp and front porch light, I allowed my eyes to wander down Spring Street. I pulled a deep breath into my unwilling lungs. “I never want to talk about it again. Nobody outside this room knows…can ever know, or they will kill me.”

***

Pure exhaustion became a temporary ally. It allowed me to pass out when I got home from Candace’s house, effectively shutting down everything going on in my mind. It kept me completely unconscious until Grandma and Grandpa woke the next morning. We went back to the hospital where Mom and Dad had spent the night, as had Sherman. Sherman never left Mitch’s side, in fact. No one seemed to notice that Sherman didn’t sleep—they were too consumed with Mitch’s quick recovery. His muscles had atrophied from lying on his back for more than six months, but that wasn’t much of an obstacle for Sherman. Thanks to him, Mitch’s bedsores healed in one day and he was strong enough to take a few steps in three. After a week of observation, we brought Mitch home from the hospital.

Back at the cottage, Mitch spent the first few days reading or sleeping in his room, but by the end of the first week he was outside tagging along with me in the garden, helping with the daily chores. Two weeks later, when he wasn’t making up tests for school, he was water skiing behind the Capri with Candace, Doug, Ronnie, and me. At the end of summer, not only had Mitch made a full recovery, he was actually looking buff, a little too buff for a ten-year-old. Sherman had gone a little overboard.

Much to my relief, Mitch’s recovery occurred on every level. I had harbored the fear that the experience might have scarred him like my father, but the opposite was true. Mitch was even more gregarious than before. He had made up with Scotty over their New Year’s Eve fight. So just like last summer, Scotty and all of Mitch’s other friends who were at the cottage whenever their parents would allow it. For four weeks there were always people at the cottage. Candace and Ronnie had become fixtures as well, joining Sara and me nearly every day. Even Doug made several trips a week from Fayetteville.

Without Fae interference, my relationship with Doug was less awkward than it had been. He was still enamored with me, and annoyed by the fact that I was hopelessly fixated on Gavin, but we managed to spend time together without too much weirdness.

Although Rachel’s death still hit me in the chest from time to time, as it did all of us, we drew an odd strength from it. At the first sign of melancholy from anyone in our quartet, the rest of us were quick to step in. I found speaking honestly about my emotions as difficult as ever, but they wouldn’t settle for anything less. We all had roles, as well. Ronnie was the comedian who made us all laugh when we needed it. Candace was the thinker who consistently challenged us to see things in a different light. Doug was the strong one who, when all else failed, tapped into his seemingly endless reservoir of emotional strength. They had done what seemed impossible a year ago: they’d drawn the real Maggie out of hiding and given me a role, as well. I found a use for my obstinacy—I’d turned it into dogged determination. I knew our plight with the Unseelie was only beginning, so I did my best to keep us focused but relaxed.

With just a week left before the fall semester, I took Mitch, Scotty, Doug, Candace and Ronnie out on the boat. It was the Unseelie cycle, so I piloted us away from the islands and cruised south to put plenty of distance between any potential trouble and us. Billy and Sara followed covertly not far away. We cruised south to an area known as Big Clifty. For an hour, I relaxed and enjoyed the warm August afternoon and the sounds of laughter as I tried my best to fling Mitch off the inflatable raft.

We curved around a narrow cove, heading north, when I felt the first Fae close in from the south. I hadn’t noticed that the sky had darkened until gray clouds floated in from the west blocking the sun. Mitch was begging me to go faster, jostling with Scotty for a better grip, but I killed the throttle and swung the boat hard to the left.

“Maggie, come on!” Mitch protested, waving me forward.

“What’s wrong?” Candace asked, as I stared beyond my brother.

Before I could answer her, two Fae approached from the east followed by two from the west. I didn’t recognize any of them. Billy took a position in the trees on the east side of the narrow cove and Sara, in the form of a blue jay, flanked us on the west. The visitors on the west split and descended down the hill, but kept a distance from Sara. When she lashed out with the first assault, breath wheezed out of my lungs.

“Doug, get them in the boat, please!”

The smile melted from his face. An instant later he spun and pulled the inflatable raft to the boat. Mitch and Scotty protested, but it didn’t matter. Doug yanked Mitch into the seat, and Ronnie pulled Scotty in beside him. With a death grip on the side of the boat, Candace scanned the tree line just forty feet away, her knuckles white. A plume of leaves and dust appeared near the top of the hill some seven hundred yards away as Sara blew one of the visitors into the trees with tremendous force—everyone turned toward the crashing sound of snapping branches rumbling from down the western slope.

“Sis, what do you think that is?” Mitch asked, standing in the seat.

The first thunderclap rumbled past us.

“It’s a storm…let’s get back home before it gets here,” I replied.

“Yes, go now,”
Billy silently commanded me.

“No problem,” I whispered only loud enough for them to hear it.

Like some kind of warning shot, Billy directed lighting into the trees between the Fae to the east and himself. They didn’t move, but drew slightly closer, in fact. I slammed the throttle and the boat planed out a few seconds later. Billy and Sara flanked us up the cove—the visitors stayed close, but didn’t draw any closer. In the water a mile ahead, in a narrow passage in the lake, two more Fae waited. My heart began to beat harder as I tried to figure out what to do. Billy and Sara didn’t react—they hadn’t sensed them yet. To get back to the Weald, we had to cross the passage.

With the low black clouds crossing directly over us, I made up my mind. Regardless of the consequences, to protect Mitch and my friends, I’d do whatever the situation required. But as we got closer, the Fae in the pass shot away in different directions. One went west, the other east. Moments later I recognized Sherman and Victoria streaking toward us. They closed the distance on the Fae trying to escape to the east. It transformed into Naeshura and dove into the mountain at the last moment. Sherman and Victoria veered south and headed directly toward us. The remaining visitors must have been young for Fae, as they scattered the moment Sherman and Victoria drew within a quarter mile of the boat, what I guessed to be the range of the least powerful Fae.

For the moment the danger appeared to be over, so I sat back in my seat and cast a furtive smile to Candace. She turned and smiled to Doug and Ronnie, signaling the all clear. My discomfort didn’t leave, though. After five weeks, why had the Unseelie shown up at Big Clifty? More pressing, why had Sara blown one of them into the trees? The first drops of rain fell as we motored past the outer island, toward the dock. I shivered, not from the rain, but what I felt there. More than fifty Unseelie lined the island, watching us pass from the cover of the trees. They’d never done so before.

My hands were shaking when we passed the inner island, also lined with Unseelie, and entered the cove. With my senses expanded, I felt the Seelie guards. There were more than a hundred in the Weald, frozen in place. Billy’s words gently registered in my head, urging me forward, reminding me to stay calm. Catching my breath felt impossible—keeping calm with two Fae armies facing each other in my back yard, that wasn’t going to happen either. So I focused on nothing except safely getting us docked. Ronnie and Doug tied up the Capri—the Fae hadn’t moved. I scribbled,
should we leave?
in my head. Billy whispered, “No.” In the cottage, Doug took Mitch and Scotty downstairs to play pool. Ronnie, Candace and I sat in the kitchen with Mom, the two of them making small talk with her while intently staring at me as I focused on the Fae.

Billy stole a place in the cathedral ceiling. “
Everything is fine. Try to relax,”
he silently tried to reassure me.

In my head, I wrote,
What happened? Is there trouble with the Unseelie on the island? Why are there so many?

“When the rogues showed up in force, they got too close to the Weald. Victoria noticed and alerted Ozara. Ozara contacted Zarkus. The Unseelie on the island were sent here by the Unseelie Elders to aid us in case the Aetherfae arrived.”

I looked up at the ceiling, unable to control my facial expression. That explanation was the last thing I expected.

“The Aetherfae did not come, and the seven rogues were, most likely, just scouts—probably a test to see how quickly the clans would react. They were young and weak, and the plan, well, it was too foolhardy to be anything except a test.”

The storm reached the Weald. The low dark clouds drifted across the mountains, and it rained gently. No lightning, no strong winds—it was a typical summer shower, peaceful, mesmerizing. It was still raining an hour later. Safely tucked in his bedroom, Mitch and Scotty played video games. Candace, Doug, Ronnie and I sprawled out on the sofas in the basement outside Mitch’s door, watching something random on television. With my Air barrier up for just a second, I promised to fill them in on what happened when we left the Weald, but assured them that we were safe for now. Each looked nervous and frazzled—I hated it.
This is never going to end for them. Never.

Sara came downstairs, but I hadn’t heard her come in. She sat next to me, entwining her fingers in mine with one hand, clutching a throw pillow to her chest in the other. She began playing her part as a teen, and the rest played their parts by allowing her to do so. During pauses, Sara silently confirmed what Billy had said, and told me that the Council had agreed to provide round-the-clock protection for everyone I cared about. The news was a double-edged sword: though I wanted them safe, I hated that they needed permanent protection.

We continued watching the movie on TV. The program stopped, and the anchor for one of the big news outlets interrupted to break the story about an earthquake in Alaska. Footage of the earthquake played as she reported that the quake had devastated Anchorage, even though the city was miles from the epicenter. The scenes were tragic, but Sara’s reaction captured my attention more. She studied the images and silently commented to Billy,
“It has happened again.”

What has happened again?

He responded,
“Clever diversion.”

What was a clever diversion? What aren’t they telling me?

I stared at Sara. She squeezed my hand and smiled as though nothing was wrong. I didn’t smile back. She studied my face until the movie came back on.

THIRTY-ONE

AUTUMN COMES

The end of summer was bittersweet. I looked forward to starting my senior year, but after a few weeks of a relatively normal life, the rogue standoff excluded, August signaled the close to my last carefree summer. I truly hadn’t felt like an average teenager for more than a year, but I relished getting the chance to act like one nonetheless. Even if the Fae conflict happened to end before then, the next summer meant getting ready for college. The lazy days of having nothing better to do than float around on the lake were quickly drawing to a close. If the Fae conflict didn’t end, well, my gut told me that nothing about the next summer would seem normal.

Everyone would be over again by noon. We planned to stay close to the cottage, maybe even drive somewhere. Until they showed up, I made my way to the studio to spend a little time with Mom and Dad. They had made a full recovery after Mitch woke up. Mom had spent the last several weeks teaching Dad to work with clay in the studio. They were there when I pushed the door open. Bent over and with a serious look on his face, Dad concentrated on turning a lump of clay into what looked like a small animal. Mom stood beside him patiently providing tips and encouragement. Poor Dad. He wasn’t particularly talented, but he kept trying. It was probably a good thing we inherited Aunt May’s fortune—he was destroying clay by the pound.

“Nice rabbit, Dad,” I said, trying to be supportive.

He glanced up, frowning, “Rabbit? It’s a coffee cup.”