I chuck the bag at him and lengthen the T-shirt with a bit of magic. “Yeah, but in case you haven’t noticed, Ryn, I’ve changed a little since we were five years old.”
Ryn clears his throat. “Actually, it was far more recent than that, and yes, I did notice that you’ve—”
“Excuse me?” He had so better be making that up. “What exactly do you mean by ‘far more recent’?”
“Well, most would consider last week far more recent than twelve years ago.”
“Last week?” He is definitely making this up.
“Yeah.” I can see laughter in his eyes. “You fell out of a mountain and wound up in desperate need of healing. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that already.”
“But—I—” My face is on fire. “Your mom healed me.” Oh, please dear Seelie Queen, let that be true. If it turns out Ryn was the one who had to put his hands on my skin to heal me, I may actually pass out from embarrassment.
“You assumed my mother healed you. She would have, had she been around. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.”
Okay, here it comes. The passing out. Surely one person can’t handle this much embarrassment and remain standing?
“Relax, Pixie Sticks. You still had your underwear on. Very cute, by the way. I would have guessed boring and black, just like the rest of your clothes, so it was somewhat of a surprise to see little pink hearts.”
Oh. My. Freak.
Of all the people in the world to catch me in my underwear, why did it have to be Ryn? And, sadly, he’s right about the boring and black. I only created that pattern on my underwear because I was trying out the color spells Raven taught me that night.
“Would it help if I told you that you make quite an attractive half-naked unconscious person?”
“No!” I press my hands to my overheated face while Ryn continues to stare at me with an innocent expression. I decide to pretend it never happened. I walk over to the bed. “Move.” I push him to the other side so I can lift the covers. “You’re in trouble, by the way. Councilor Starkweather would like to see you next week.”
“Ooh, another one-on-one with the Silver Starky. What did I do this time?”
I raise my voice and try to mimic the head Council member. “We can’t have trainees and guardians conducting their own missions.” I consider adding an ‘I told you so’, but considering how unconcerned Ryn looks, it wouldn’t really have the desired effect.
“Not a problem,” he says. “I’ll get her to see things my way.” He watches as I smooth the bed covers over my legs. “That is so not your T-shirt.”
I look down at the There’s no place like 127.0.0.1 printed on the T-shirt I’m wearing. “Yeah, I have no idea what it means. My own shirt got ripped up during one of my assignments, so I just helped myself to this one. I figured the guy wouldn’t mind if he knew I’d just saved him from a nascryl.”
Ryn nods.
Things start to feel weird.
“Um, I wanted to ask you something,” I say as I wrap my arms around myself. I’m pretty sure the T-shirt isn’t see-through, but I feel awkward in it nonetheless. “How did you get away from Zell? You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No.” Ryn punches one of my extra pillows and lies on it. “These disc things fell out of his pocket, and he looked really worried about it. So . . . I took them.”
I sit up straight. “You took the discs? Did you use them?”
“Use them? I didn’t even know what they were. No, they seemed really valuable to him, so I threw them into that big pool beneath the cages. He was furious. Looked like he wanted to murder me. But I guess rescuing his precious discs was more important than finishing our fight.” Ryn looks thoughtful. “He did manage to embed some poisonous glass in my back as I ran out though, so he’s probably hoping I didn’t make it.”
I let out a breath. “You got lucky, Ryn. I honestly didn’t think you’d get out of there.”
“Normally I’d be offended by a comment like that, but, to be honest, I thought the same thing a few times.”
We sit in silence for a few moments before I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them. “Okay, spit it out. What are you really doing here?”
He lets out a long sigh and sits up. He bites his lip, then presses his hands together. “Uh . . . so, I’m a real jerk,” he says. “I know that. And it’s intentional, and I do have a reason for acting that way, but not when it comes to you. With you, I have no excuse. We were really good friends, and I never should have blamed you for what happened to Reed.” He looks down at his lap. “I always knew deep down that I was being irrational, but it’s like you said. I wanted to blame someone, because if there was no one to blame, if it was just a silly accident, then it all seemed so horribly pointless. So—” he takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye “—I’m really sorry.”
It’s a while before I find my voice. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
“You should be. I practiced that out loud at least ten times before I came over here.” He hesitates, probably waiting for a response, but I can’t think what to say. Part of me is still trying to figure out whether he’s being sincere or if this is some big joke I’m about to find myself the butt of. “What?” he asks. “You look like you don’t entirely believe me.”
I sigh. “I just . . . don’t get it. Two days ago you still hated me, and now this?” I narrow my eyes. “Do you need another favor? Is that what this is about?”
He shakes his head and his shoulders slump ever so slightly. “I guess I can’t blame you for jumping to that conclusion.” He stares up at my skylight for a while before looking back at me. “I’m just really grateful for what you did for Calla, even after everything I’ve said and done to you over the years. It kind of . . . made me look at you differently.”
For some reason, I feel a flush rising in my cheeks. “And then you came over here, pinched one of my poetry books, and proceeded to take great delight in proving me wrong.”
Light sparkles in his eyes. “Ah, yes. Well, I couldn’t resist that part.”
“Enjoy the feeling while it lasts.” I poke him with my toe from under the covers. “You won’t be proving me wrong again any time soon.”
He leans forward, his grin widening. “Challenge accepted.”
I whack him on the side of the head with the nearest pillow. “How about you leave now so I can sleep?”
“One last thing.” He sits back. “What do you think about, I don’t know, maybe being . . . sort of friends?” He raises an eyebrow and extends a hand toward me.
“Sort of friends?” I eye his outstretched hand for a moment, then reach forward and grasp it. “I guess we could try that.”
To be continued . . .
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I now know what an amazing feeling it is to have people eager and excited for the next story in my series. My very own series! To all the readers out there who have contributed to that feeling: a great big thank you! You make all the hard work worth it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Morgan was born in South Africa and spent a large portion of her childhood living in a fantasy land of her own making. These days, in between teaching mathematics to high school children, she writes fiction for young adults.
Connect with Rachel online:
Blog
Twitter
Facebook
The Creepy Hollow Series:
Guardian
Labyrinth
Traitor
Masquerade
Table of Contents
Masquerade
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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Masquerade (Creepy Hollow, #4) Page 8