by AC Washer
“Okay,” I said, still speeding to class, determined to get this over with.
I stormed into the classroom, earlier than most everyone else, including O’Faolain.
And then I waited as people trickled in.
People, of course, was a rather loose term. I studied them with renewed interest. A curvy, long-limbed brunette sat down with a thump in the far left corner. Her willowy shadow stretched high enough that it nearly brushed the ceiling. From Mickey’s description, she had to be a druid. A trio of girls skipped in, their brightly-colored clothing and clinking bracelets leaving me to wonder how I’d never paid attention to them before. Pixies. It seemed like they were suckers for all things neon and shiny.
Two guys strolled in, taking the desks to my right. I studied them from the corner of my eye. They seemed normal, aside from their devastatingly good looks that were typical here, but their pointed ears gave them away. Elves, just like Maeve and Mickey.
If only their shadows had more details I could pick out—color, for instance. All I could get from their shadows was a general idea of the build of my race—a sort of toned slenderness with pointy ears.
I stared down at my thighs, grimacing at what a slimmer me would look like. Emaciated, probably.
I jerked my gaze up, remembering I was on a mission. No distraction allowed. I cleared my thoughts just in time for the hottiest hotness of all time to breeze through the doorway like some romance novel god, ready for his students to undress him with their eyes.
I ground my teeth as he beamed while walking toward his desk just as the bell rang.
The pixies were twittering and ogling him unabashedly, but everyone else didn’t seem to have a problem ignoring his charms. Either they didn’t find humans attractive or they knew what he was doing and found it annoying enough to drown out his amazingness.
I narrowed my eyes. This elf had manipulated me. He’d used my clueless human upbringing to his advantage so I’d make him my consort and give himself some messed-up ego boost.
“Ms. James, are you feeling well?”
Mr. O’Faolain examined my face as if my scowl must be symptomatic of some sort of illness and not directed at him.
Showtime. I replaced my scowl with the brightest smile. “Wonderful. I just have a question—it’s a little unrelated to math,” I said as I let my voice get breathy and batted my eyes.
He smiled, his lips framing perfect white teeth. “By all means, ask away,” he said.
My thoughts stumbled over each other as my gaze latched onto his mouth. They looked so deliciously soft. Such kissable lips—wait, kissable…consort baby maker! The guy was a creep.
I forced my voice to become firm—hard, even as my smile remained fixed in place.
“Is it against fae law to castrate authority figures who abuse their position of trust? You know—like math teachers who use magic to influence the heir’s whole consort-baby-making pick.” Dramatic pause. “Hypothetically speaking, of course. And after the heir—me—becomes queen and all that,” I said, batting my lashes up at him once more.
The school office felt quite homey. It really did. And not because I was used to offices; I generally tried to avoid them. But no-can-do when you threaten to castrate your teacher once you become queen of the fae.
I was enjoying my time on the padded, mint-green vinyl chair, replaying O’Faolain’s slack-jawed expression over and over again in my mind, when Maeve walked in, glaring at me. I smiled back.
The principal materialized a moment later. “Ah, Ms. Reid. So good to see you.” He was nodding to himself almost as if he could, by proxy, get Maeve to agree that it was nice to see him too. “Please, sit down.”
I had already selected the chair closest to the door so they’d only flank me on one side.
“So, what is this I hear about Kella threatening a teacher?” Maeve said, getting straight to the point.
“I didn’t threaten. I posed a hypothetical.”
Both adults looked at me, unimpressed, before turning back to each other.
“This isn’t so much about the threat as it is about a more serious matter.”
I heard Maeve take in a deep breath, readying herself for the worst. I folded my arms, skimming my tongue across my upper teeth to reassure myself that, yes, I had remembered to brush. There’d been a lot to think about this morning, so I might have skipped that step. Thankfully, habit won out.
“Kella seems to be under the impression that she’s to become queen.” He said the question carefully, neither validating nor invalidating. He paused, waiting for Maeve to respond.
She took a deep breath and faced me.
“Kella? Exactly what did you say? And to whom?” Her eyes commanded me to backtrack.
But there was no backtracking now. I smiled, not letting her see that my confidence in my plan had dipped just a bit. “That I’m such a powerful bad-a that O’Faolain better not try his mind-altering magicky stuff on me.”
Whatever she’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that. Maeve choked on her spit or something, but she quickly flicked on a serene smile. I’d never seen that smile on her before, but I suspected it meant that she secretly wanted to strangle me.
I shrugged it off. Fake Dad taught me that if you had a weakness, people would find and exploit it—like he did with me whenever he got the chance. The best protection was convincing people that your weakness was your strength.
For the fae, me being raised as human was a weakness. Me being magicless was a huge weakness. But if I kept my head down, hiding behind Mickey and Bridgette after finding out I was heir to the fae throne? Well, only someone weak would do that. No, much better to go on the offense. To remind them I’d be in power soon and not to cross me in the meantime.
If I sold that, it just might get me the advantage I’d need when it came time to get my magicless tushy out of here—as soon as it got ‘magicked.’ Because it was true, I hadn’t grown up fae. I didn’t belong in their world—I belonged in Caleb’s, bio sister or not. And especially if I was the reason he’d had a crappy family. I’d make it up to him as soon as I did this investiture thing and could heal him.
“Well, then,” was all that Maeve said before she faced the principal.
“The girl is bright and recently discovered her heritage.” She shook her head. “I tried to convince her to keep up appearances, but…” She let out an expansive sigh. “She does what she wishes.”
The principal nodded before leveling his gaze on me. “Kella, I trust you understand why we waited to tell you about your birthright and the fae.” His gaze was sharp, hawkish. I gulped before I glanced over at Maeve. She’d seared her lips into a tight line.
“Well, yeah. You guys didn’t want me freaking out since I didn’t grow up fae. That and I’d ‘just know’ soon enough, which, by the way, isn’t a good reason. I’d still need time to process stuff—and that’s on top of becoming super powerful and getting used to all of that.”
The principal’s brows continued to drift downward as I talked, and the more I talked, the more I realized that Maeve’s earlier explanation for not telling everything was probably not the whole picture.
Surprise, surprise. Another instance of them keeping information from me.
The principal shook his head, like he felt bad for me and my lack of information. “I am afraid that Ms. Reid did not wish to alarm you by raising all of her concerns. Kella…” His eyes bore into mine. “Have you heard of the rebels?”
“She might have mentioned them.”
“I mean fae who would rather stay trapped in their glamours than live under a queen again.”
“Why? Don’t their glamours dampen their magic?”
“If you had ever lived under a vengeful, spiteful queen, perhaps you would find their reasons self-evident.”
“Oh,” I said.
Maeve cleared her throat, her lips as tight as stretched rubber bands.
The principal shifted under her pointed gaze.
“What I am t
rying to convey is that the rebels do not wish to see a vengeful heir ascend the throne. For you to parade around making threats—well, it would not bode well for your life if they deem you an unstable influence in the monarchy.”
My throat went dry. “Got it. No threatening, even if deserved.”
He shook his head in agreement. “And another concern…with your ignorance of fae magic, you should not have been able to resist O’Faolain’s charm—which, while I do not condone his actions, he mentioned he implemented while seeking to diffuse the situation.”
I looked at Maeve in surprise, but her face was calm, betraying nothing.
“I do believe,” she said, “that strong emotion is a deterrent to a successful charm working, is it not?”
The principal nodded. “Yes, but surely she wasn’t so upset that—”
“I was,” I said.
The principal regarded me with something that looked like disappointment. “Yes, you are a rather emotional heir, aren’t you?”
I looked away from him, unsure of how to respond.
“Well,” he said, “it isn’t as if it is possible for magic to ‘leak’ from a changeling’s glamour, anyway. And seventeen years’ worth of pent-up magic does not suddenly break by blocking a charm, of all things.”
“Break?” I asked, curious even though I had no magic to break.
He smiled, shaking his head. “I forget, sometimes, how little newly returned changelings understand of our world. We waken a changeling’s magic in a controlled environment where we can slowly draw it out and siphon it off. Honestly, that is the best I can explain it.”
“But break?”
“Very rarely, a situation arises where a changeling’s magic breaks through the barriers before a proper awakening takes place. That situation would be existential. Life-or-death, in other words.”
I nodded sharply, annoyed. I knew what existential meant.
“And no, we are not about to awaken your magic, so please do not ask us to do so. And please do not get yourself into any life-or-death situations. In most situations, a sudden explosion of magic is not helpful in maintaining your status as a member of the living,” he said dryly, almost like he could read my mind—or at least what I would have thought if I’d actually had enough magic to explode.
“So, when are you guys planning on ‘awakening’ my magic?” I asked with forced disinterest. Just in case that council guy kept quiet, I wanted to know how much time I had before word got out about me being magicless.
He smiled. “That would be part of the preparations for the investiture. The unlocking of your innate magic will drain you enough to where the bestowal of the queen’s powers will be less overwhelming and less, um,” —here he paused, searching for the right word— “volatile.”
“Volatile.”
“Yes, volatile.” He smiled in an almost fatherly way. “Millennia of magic bestowed upon one being along with the wisdom of the past queens is best done while the subject is unconscious.” He paused. “From their magic being depleted from the awakening, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmured. So they planned on pumping me full of past queen wisdom and magic. That would sound nice if I was into the whole fundamentally-change-who-I-am thing. But I wasn’t.
My expression must’ve said as much, because he added, no doubt in an attempt to be comforting, “You can rest assured that your magical awakening will take place under closely monitored and appropriately staffed circumstances.” He nodded, emphasizing his own statement.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“It is a pity,” he said, his brows scrunching together, “that your glamour makes it impossible to do an accurate assessment of your magical capacity. I am incredibly curious.”
That bit of information surprised me.
“I thought there were ways to tell. I mean, like if a person has magic or not.”
“Well, of course you have magic,” the principal scoffed. “If you didn’t, you would hardly be fae, now would you? No, the question is how much magic have you got?”
“Yes, well,” said Maeve. “We’ll all find out soon enough.”
The principal eyed her. “We could always awaken her magic a few days before the investiture,” he said, his tone measured, as if he were setting down bait in front of a rattlesnake, aware he could get bitten instead.
But the bait he laid out wasn’t something Maeve was interested in. She narrowed her eyes. “The council does not see the point in doing so.”
“But aren’t you interested in what she could do by herself with her heritage?”
“I am not. Especially considering the current political environment. I would not wish to do anything to disrupt the balance.”
He nodded, but his face was pouty. “I suppose.”
“Isn’t it possible for a fae to not have magic?” I asked.
The principal looked up at me. “No. Fae are magic. It is a part of us the day we are born.”
“But let’s say I didn’t have magic. Could you tell then? Even with the glamour?”
“I think we’ve kept your principal long enough with your behavior. Perhaps you could ask your questions another time,” Maeve said, eyes flashing.
But the principal waved away Maeve’s response. “Oh, that’s alright, Councilor. I’m happy to answer her questions. After all, this must be a very confusing time for her.” He turned toward me and continued, “You not having access to your magic is not the same as being magicless. With changelings, we weave additional magic into your glamours that directs your own magic to shield you from danger.”
“So, why didn’t it protect me from O’Faolain?”
“The protective weaving reads intent and is fairly effective, overall. However, a charm meant to elicit feelings of love is something that the magical shield would interpret as being good even if it’s not. No magic working is foolproof.
“Now, a magical object such as one used to determine a fae’s magical ability has no innate intent. But your magic shield guards against intentless magic as a precaution since having no intent can be just as dangerous as having malicious intent. On the other hand, things like healing charms have an inherently good intent woven into them, so the protective magic allows them in.”
“Huh,” I said.
“But let’s explore your hypothetical. If a fae was to have so little magic that they would appear to lack magic completely—which would definitely not match your pedigree—then it would be fairly simple to detect. They would have more human characteristics, such as slower healing, tiring easily, and the like. Magical objects would generally not work either, unless they required such a minuscule amount of magic that the fae met the threshold simply by being fae.”
“Huh,” I said. “Would a portal be one of those things?”
Principal Hadwick opened his mouth to respond, but Maeve intervened.
“Yes, well, that was a lovely hypothetical conversation. Now if you’ll excuse us, Principal Hadwick, I think it would be best if I took Kella home for the remainder of the day.”
Principal Hadwick smiled. “Of course.”
I had to walk at double my normal pace as Maeve ushered me through the school doors and into the visitor parking lot. Apparently, I’d done enough “show no weakness” for the day.
When we got inside the car, she said, “Asking about magicless fae is not the most circumspect thing you could have done in there.” Her voice was biting.
“Well, I’m just trying to understand what to expect here.”
“That’s why you ask me,” Maeve said, slamming the car door shut.
I slammed my door closed even a harder. “This coming from the person who kept me in the dark for three weeks? You never even bothered to tell me about a rebellion that I’d be inheriting if I became queen.”
“When you become queen. And I didn’t want you concerned about something that will be inconsequential after the investiture.”
“How about I decide what’s consequential? Like me hav
ing no magic in a magical world—that seems consequential. Knowing what can and can’t happen to me is also pretty consequential.”
Maeve’s lips tightened as she looked out the rearview mirror, backing the car out of the parking spot.
“You do not understand the political climate, Kella. We—the council—do not yet wish to divulge that you have no magic and asking the questions you were asking could cause someone to wonder.”
“Why not tell everyone I have no magic? Maybe the idea of a weak queen will get the rebels to back off.”
Maeve’s laugh rang darkly. “Again, you don’t understand. After the investiture, you will not be weak. As for your current lack of magic, believe me, the rebels would be very upset about that.” She glanced at me and then back at the road. “So if you are interested in staying alive, I recommend you keep your lack of magic under wraps for as long as possible.”
Well then.
I glared at Maeve’s profile as she drove us home, questions roiling around my mind like bubbles in a hot tub.
Not that I would ask her any of them—it wasn’t as if she’d give me a full answer anyway. But Mickey—well, he’d sworn to be my encyclopedia for all things fae. I figured now was a good time to collect.
Chapter 14
Mickey wasn’t home. Maeve and I ate dinner quietly. I picked at my food, and when Maeve excused herself from the table after she was done eating, I sat staring at nothing, my thoughts a jumbled mess.
Questions swirled around my mind—ones I had no hope of answering until Mickey got home. I looked over the telephone, remembering Deena. It seemed like forever ago that she brought me here. I almost laughed just thinking about what she’d say if I told her about all of the crazy stuff that had happened since then. Deena would probably drag me straight to a mental institution. But hey, she’d probably let me stop by and visit Caleb on the way. As it stood right now, Deena was planning on taking me to visit Caleb next Monday since students had the day off.
My grin faded as I thought about my last dream with Caleb. I’d dreamt about him two times now—well, if you only counted the ones where he seemed real. Both times, he’d insisted that it wasn’t my dream. That he was real. Of course, that couldn’t be true. That kind of thing didn’t happen. It was like…magic.