“But that’s not the most pressing issue right now,” Lance says. “The villagers are incensed about the towers not going up fast enough, and Agravain’s—”
“It is the most crucial thing!” someone exclaims ahead of us.
Arthur’s hand goes automatically for his sword, but he relaxes his posture again when a white figure steps through the threshold onto the landing.
“Rip,” Arthur says.
The albino man nods in greeting. “Do you know what the Sidhe call the Sangraal?” he asks. “Lapis Exillis, the name for the gift God gave Lucifer, before the latter decided to go its own way. It has the ability to restore any Fey to health.”
“We were already aware of that,” Lance says.
“But don’t you see?” the albino man insists. “Carman wanted it to restore her powers. How can there be anything more pressing than that? The only thing that may play in our favor until we figure out a way to get the Sangraal back, is that the cup can only be used by those of the right blood lineage.”
“How do you know all of this?” Arthur asks.
“I spent time with the Fey, remember,” Rip replies.
“Why didn’t you speak up beforehand?” Lance asks. “It would have helped when the Board was here.”
“And I wouldn’t have had Irene rip me a new one either,” I add, recalling how she nearly kidnapped me in the library, demanding I tell her how to make the Sangraal work.
“I thought the fewer people who knew its secrets, the better,” Rip says. “After a while, the Board would have gotten tired of it, and it would have become just another mystical, but useless, artifact locked up in their vaults. Besides, who would have believed a crazy man?”
Looking grim, Arthur and Lance climb up the remaining steps to the second landing, but as I make to follow them, Rip stops me.
“Dr. Cockleburr would like to see you,” he whispers. “Wants to see if you can do something for that Elias boy.”
“He’s alive?” I ask, my mouth gone dry.
“He’s still breathing,” the albino says, “which isn’t saying much. But Dr. Cockleburr has faith in your skills.”
I look down at my blackened hands. Even in the dim hallway light I can see that my arm has fully recovered from the Shade’s poison. I give a quick nod.
“I-I’ll give it a try,” I say, and Rip bounds down the stairs ahead of me.
We find the infirmary packed with injured people—a sight that’s become all too familiar lately. The lucky ones are moaning in pain or crying hysterically, others, however, have the stillness only found in corpses.
“What is she doing here?” someone snarls in my direction.
“Get the witch out of here!” a girl yells frantically, despite poor Henry’s attempts to calm her down. “She’s bad luck!”
“She’s going to make us all die,” someone else wails.
Dr. Cockleburr’s angry face pops in from the casualty room. “Quiet!” she snaps. “Or I won’t see any of you.” The doctor then waves for me to follow her down to the intensive care unit. “His pulse is faint and erratic, while his breathing’s labored,” Dr. Cockleburr tells me as she marches towards the end of the long ward. “At one point Marianne thought his heart had stopped altogether. Can you do anything?”
She stops before the furthest bed where Elias now lies, still and pale against the white bed sheets, except for the blackness of his veins.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t promise anything,” I say at last. “But I’ll do my best.”
“It’s all I can ask for,” Dr. Cockleburr says.
She yanks on the curtains that separate the bed from the rest of the room to give us a little privacy, before hurrying away, her heals clicking on the tile floor.
I creep up to Elias’s side, then sit down on the bed, brushing his red curls away from his cold forehead. A shallow breath escapes his dark lips, carrying the faint smell of rot, and the massive knot in my stomach tightens with fear.
Just think of those you’ve healed already, I tell myself, to calm down. Like Arthur, and Jennifer. No, don’t think of Jennifer. Think instead of the pregnant lady, and how she got to hold her baby afterwards.
I keep my hand on Elias’s forehead, then close my eyes and start to pray. I don’t know how long I remain hunched over the boy, but this time I recognize the tell-tale signs of my abilities at work—the prickling sensation coursing through my body, the strange warmth that follows along before it erupts from my hands.
And the headache that surges again, more virulent than before, like someone’s decided to take a chisel to my skull. I force the bile back down and make myself take deep breaths to avoid passing out.
A hand suddenly comes to rest on my back.
“I think it’s over,” Rip says.
I blink my eyes open, sweat pouring down my forehead. I’m afraid to look at Elias, afraid to have to admit defeat. Then I feel the boy shift under my hand as he takes a long, quivering breath.
I sag in relief, laughing deliriously. There’s another stabbing pain behind my eyes and I feel myself topple forward before Rip catches me.
“What the hell did you do to her?” a distant voice asks.
Arthur. My lips move but no sound comes. I want to tell him I managed to use my powers for something good again. I want him to be able to stand proud because of me, to be able to tell all the others that they were wrong and shouldn’t be afraid of me anymore.
But I’m so tired.
I barely register the pair of sturdy arms that lift me up. My head rolls to the side and comes to rest against a solid shoulder, the metal woven in the shirt deliciously cool against my feverish skin. I smile to myself then fall asleep.
“I will not allow more children to be sacrificed because of their parents’ cupidity!”
The harsh whisper wakes me with a start. I look about, disoriented. The window’s to my left now, instead of at my head. Did Keva rearrange the room while I wasn’t paying attention? And then I recognize the large, four-poster bed, and the weapon-covered wall beside it. I’m in Arthur’s bedroom.
I roll off the bed and land softly on the balls of my feet. Outside, I can dimly see the line of fires from the camps of knights standing guard around the school, like a long string of fallen stars against the black canvas of the fields.
“Thanks to you, the Fey are now unbeatable,” says a clear voice I immediately recognize as belonging to Agravain. “If we still had Excalibur, I bet you’d just hand that over to them as well, wouldn’t you?”
I silently crack the door open and find myself face to face with Agravain, the knight’s blue eyes intense despite his relaxed posture. Standing before him is Arthur, looking ready to pounce on him and punch his teeth out.
“This isn’t an unprecedented event,” Arthur retorts. “When our order was founded, we neither had Excalibur, nor the Sangraal, nor did anybody know how to use oghams for that matter. Yet that did not prevent us from winning battles.”
“Back then, knights were great warriors,” Agravain says, “not kids playing sword games.”
“What are you saying, Agravain?”
“I’m saying that it’s long past time you gave up your hold on KORT and the rest of the school,” Agravain says. “We need to run this place with an iron fist, to return our knights to their previous standards instead of churning out a bunch of sissies. That’s why we keep being decimated in every battle.”
Now I really want to punch his teeth out. Hasn’t he noticed how hard Arthur works to keep us all safe?
“Are you saying I should let the Board take over?” Arthur asks.
“They certainly have more experience than you do in matters of war,” Agravain answers.
Arthur barks out a laugh. “You fool,” he says. “If you leave Lake High to the Board, the balance we’ve maintained over the years will be completely wiped out. They don’t care about our original mission to keep the peace and protect the innocent.”
“The innocent don�
�t include any Fey, Arthur,” Agravain retorts. “I don’t see what’s so wrong about bringing all of Avalon down, even if it means no more Lake High.”
“Do you honestly believe the Board doesn’t want anything Fey to exist anymore?” Arthur asks. “All they care about is preserving their own power, using all means necessary, even if it’s Fey. So don’t delude yourself, Agravain. They just want to keep doing what they’ve always done, and they don’t mind using kids, as you call us, to do their dirty deeds while they stay inside the comfort of their own rooms.
“But I won’t let them use us as cannon fodder. I will make them give us troops to defend Lake High, no matter the cost, and I will find a way to make a truce with the Fey!”
I can almost hear Agravain grinding his teeth. “Not everyone at Camaaloth wants to keep the status quo, Arthur,” he spits at last. “Trust me. You better kiss your little world goodbye, because it will soon be gone, and so will your crazy fiancée and that pet demon of yours.”
Agravain turns sharply on his heels then marches away.
“Pack our bags,” Arthur says curtly as Agravain disappears around the corner, “we’re going to Camaaloth.”
I nod, hiding my face from him, for despite what’s been happening, I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement—I’m finally going to find out the whole truth about my father!
The plane starts its slow descent over Lake Geneva’s western point, having just passed the snow-covered French Alps. Somewhere on the other side of the lake is my old school, and I catch myself wondering what Sister Marie-Clémence would think if she knew I was back.
“Will you stop kicking my seat?” Arthur asks, turning around to glare at Percy.
“Why couldn’t Blanchefleur come along?” Percy asks with a pout.
“Because,” Arthur says, drawing in air loudly through his nose, “she doesn’t like planes.”
Percy leans forward and sticks his head in between Arthur’s and my seat. “But she’s supposed to be Morgan’s bodyguard,” he whispers. “Her not bein’ here means she’s shirkin’ her responsibilities, if ya ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” Arthur says. “Now sit back and stop bugging me.”
I lean against the cold window, watching the grey clouds thick with snow stream past us. If that one had a longer tail, it would look like a dragon. I flick my index finger down like a painter would on her canvas. To my surprise, I see the cloud follow my movement a split second later.
I straighten up in my seat, looking back. Yep, the cloud definitely looks like a dragon now. I stare at my finger. Did I really just do that? I point at another cloud and, biting on my lower lip in concentration, I retrace its outline, making it a little rounder on one end, then adding two pretty little ears.
I giggle. “Look, it’s a rabbit!” I tell Arthur, drawing his attention to my piece of art.
“That’s nice,” Arthur says distractedly before looking back behind him. “Percy! What did I say about my seat?”
“She’ll be waitin’ at the airport though, right?” I hear Percy ask as I go back to my cloud-sculpting.
Being part Fey does have its perks, it seems, especially when one’s bored. By the time the plane doubles back over the lake to head for the airport, the whole sky looks like a fluffy zoo, and I smile at my masterpiece proudly.
“Look mommy, the hippo’s going to go boom,” I hear a kid say a few seats up from me.
“That’s right,” I whisper happily to myself, “the hippo’s about to go—what?”
I jerk closer to the window to scan the clouds and grow still with worry as the hippo’s butt balloons to engulf the dragon’s head. Strong winds whip around the rabbit and the hedgehog next to it, merging them together in some deformed monster, bolts of lightning illuminating its growing belly from the inside.
My cute sculptures have turned into the terrifying picture of an evil scientific experiment gone wrong.
The plane takes a sudden dive and someone at the back screams.
A woman’s voice crackles overhead. “This is your captain. We’ve hit some unforeseen turbulence. Please remain securely seated until we land. Flight staff, prepare for landing, this is going to be a bumpy ride.”
“You don’t think it’s them, do you?” Percy asks, sticking his head in between our seats again.
Arthur throws me a quick look. “No,” he says, his brow deeply furrowed as I clutch at my armrests, horrified at what I’ve done.
Arthur grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “It’ll be alright,” he says calmly, “just let it be and breathe.”
“Maybe I can stop it,” I say.
“Don’t,” Arthur says. “You’ll only make things worse. Even fully-trained knights with years of experience have to be very careful when dealing with the weather. It’s one of the hardest things to control, and oftentimes all they can do is try to minimize the damage.”
My stomach seems to jump into my mouth as the plane takes another sharp dive.
“So there’s people who do this on a regular basis?” I ask through clenched teeth.
I’m probably crushing Arthur’s metacarpals by now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I know we’re in a plane an’ all,” Percy says, his face popping next to ours again, “but ain’t feelin’ too good without my toad stabber32.”
“You have your oghams on you,” Arthur retorts.
“Yeah, but what about the rest of our traps?” Percy asks. “In case ya haven’t noticed, our oghams aren’t exactly cooperatin’ these days.”
“I had noticed,” Arthur says, his patience fraying quickly now, “which is why I offered you to stay behind.”
“I wasn’t gonna stay behind when my future rib33’s headin’ over to H.Q.,” Percy retorts.
“I doubt Blanchefleur’s coming so you can flirt with her,” Arthur says.
“You don’t think this is a welcome present from my sweetheart then?” Percy asks, motioning towards the window.
By way of answer, Arthur pushes Percy’s face back. Sweat pools at my temples now as we lurch forward. Lightning flashes, illuminating the whole cabin in stark white, immediately followed by the thunder’s deafening boom.
Then the plane hits the ground, bouncing a few times before coming to a rolling stop.
There’s a second of silence as the passengers take in the fact that we’re still alive, then everyone bursts out clapping and I feel Arthur’s hand relax around mine.
“See?” he says, looking rather pale. “Everything’s fine.”
“I think I need a barf bag,” I say, promising myself never to play with the weather again.
To Percy’s greatest happiness, a disgruntled and highly jumpy Blanchefleur is waiting for us outside of baggage claim. I look about us nervously—the last time I was at this airport was with Dean, having just been accused of murder, and I expect to see the inspector waiting for me at every corner, just as he promised.
“G’day, sweetheart,” Percy tells the Fey warrior.
“We better get going,” Blanchefleur says, glaring at a businessman ogling her. “This storm’s not right.”
“Yeah,” Arthur says while I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair, “Morgan had a little fun earlier.”
Percy and Blanchefleur eye me—he in mock betrayal, and she appraisingly.
“Ya coul’ve gotten us killed,” Percy says, drawing a number of curious looks from other travelers.
“It seems your control has gotten better,” Blanchefleur says instead, and I stare at her in surprise. “Lugh will be pleased to hear it.”
“Will he be coming?” Arthur asks as we head outside towards a waiting limousine.
Blanchefleur nods, her lips pinched in disapproval. “When the time is right, you know how to contact him.”
Percy beats the driver to the punch and opens the door for us. “Milady,” he says, bowing towards Blanchefleur.
But she barely spares him a glance, and turns to me. “You still ought to be careful,” she says
. “The more activity you cause, the more traceable you become.”
Above the airport, the sky still looks pissed, attempting to skewer things left and right with its thunderbolts, and I hunch my shoulders, contrite.
“I will meet you at your headquarters,” Blanchefleur says.
And, ignoring a disappointed Percy, she strides off towards the footbridge that spans the wide, car-filled road, and leads to a patch of snow-covered trees.
The ride is spent in utter silence, or it would be if it weren’t for Percy talking our ears off about how miserable Blanchefleur must be for not being with him. Finally, as we head north, leaving Geneva behind, I look about us curiously.
“I thought Camaaloth was in the city,” I say.
Percy laughs. “Really? That’s sweet.”
“It would have been too dangerous,” Arthur says, “for lay people and for us.”
“Plus we don’t wanna blow our cover,” Percy adds. His face splits into a wide smile as our car finally slows down before a heavily-gated building. “She’s here!”
Percy opens the door and jumps out without giving the car a chance to stop, rolls onto the snow, then comes bounding up to stand before Blanchefleur. I would find the scene comical if it weren’t for Percy’s look of utter admiration.
“He really likes her, doesn’t he?” I ask.
Arthur shrugs. “It’s Percy. He’s never been known to follow the norm.”
A twinge of worry pinches my heart. “That’s not going to make things easy for him, is it?”
“It’s his life, he does what he wants with it,” Arthur replies.
“And you don’t mind that she’s one of those you’re trying to enslave?” I ask.
“It’s high time for us to put our childish prejudices away,” Arthur says, staring gloomily at Camaaloth.
From the outside, our Order’s headquarters look like any regular, peaceful country club—if by regular and peaceful you include gated access, guards at every door, and people dressed in strange clothes walking in and out of the place with dangerous don’t-bother-me-or-I’ll-sock-you airs.
Inside the massive entrance hall, any pretend air of cute Swiss vacation spot has been tossed away to make room for an intense-looking security check zone decked out with all the latest high-tech gadgets. Except, I soon realize, that these high-tech gadgets are actually Fey-powered.
Rise of the Fey Page 27