“As you said before, we don't have that much experience. So the first person that came to my mind was you.”
Derek grins at me. “You were thinking about me?”
I cast my eyes skyward. “Sure, whatever floats your boat.”
“And if you can't fall asleep, I can always tell you a story.”
I peer at him. “You're kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“Fine, it can't hurt.” I scrape my chair back and head back upstairs. “You coming, or what?”
“Yeah.”
Derek follows me to my bedroom and I kick off my Sketchers and nudge them off to the side of my door with my toe. I've never had a boy in my room and thinking about it makes me immediately self-conscious.
“So, what do you want to hear a story about?” Derek asks as I lie down on my bed and cover myself with my blankets.
“I don't know, you pick.”
He ponders for a moment. “Ok, I've got one. Close your eyes.”
I do as he says, feeling a little foolish.
“Once there was a boy who lived in a perfect little house with his parents. He had everything he wanted and a great life. His parents loved him so much, they got him anything he asked for, even a puppy one year for his birthday named Diesel that grew with him as he got older. They were his world.
“But, when the boy was six, he began to see things he shouldn't, and being a trusting boy who believed his parents would understand, he told them about it.
“The boy went to his mother and told her about a time he saw a tiny person in his backyard. She said; “nonsense, things like that don't exist.” So the boy believed her and told himself that the tiny people weren't real.
“Again, he saw the tiny person and he said to himself that it wasn't real. But it heard him and said, “I am real! Can you not see me?” so he had to believe because it had talked to him.
“This time, the boy went to his father and told him about the tiny person. His father peered at him and said, “son, you have quite the imagination. Why don't you run along and play with your dog?” The boy didn't know that his parents talked that night about what to do with him and the next time he saw a tiny person, he told them, and they took him to a doctor.
“The doctor asked him a lot of questions and some of them he didn't know the answer to because he was only six, but he answered them as best as he could. The doctor said that he had problems, he and his parents talked behind closed doors a lot while the boy played with the toys left for him.
“After the questions came the tests. First there were little needles to draw blood and wires that were hooked up to his head. He was scared and didn't know what to do, but since his parents asked him to, he endured them with little fussing.
“When the doctor didn't get the answers he wanted and the boy didn't admit that the tiny people were just his imagination, they started more painful ways of changing his mind. The boy could have probably just said what they wanted him to, but it seemed wrong somehow, so he didn't. He had seen them and he was sure of it. Nothing could change that. Even with electricity coursing through his veins as the doctor tried to change his mind.
“His parents did things too, but the boy went along with them. That is until they almost drowned him in their own bath tub. He screamed for them to stop, but it was no use. With his head under water, they couldn't hear his pleas—”
“This is a horrible story,” I interrupt. “Derek, you're just going to give me nightmares again.” I sit up and look at him in the darkness where he kneels beside my bed.
“Wait, I'm not done.”
I sigh and lay back down reluctantly. “Go on.”
“The boy survived, though. Against all odds. He ran away from his parents and never looked back, even though he had to leave Diesel behind when he left. It broke his heart. But it's alright because now he has a good life, a happy one even. But he never forgot what his parents taught him. That you can't trust anyone, not even your family. He has scars from the shocks they put him through, right where the wires connected to his skin and they serve as a constant reminder of what he had before. What he would never have again.”
He stops and belatedly I realize that my eyes are wet with tears.
“That's awful. For his parents to put him through that and still be able to live with themselves.” I wipe at my eyes and hope he didn't see.
“I know.” I notice that he's absently fingering a spot on his chest.
“Wait. . .” my mind clicks. “The boy in the story is you, isn't he?”
Derek looks away from me and it's all the answer I need. “Let me see.”
His eyes flash back to mine, glowing in the darkness.
“The scars, let me see them.” He doesn't move so I reach over and hook my fingers under his shirt hem. He flinches a little but otherwise doesn't move. I lift up his shirt and even in the dimness I can see almost a half a dozen marks, silvery in comparison to the rest of his skin, dotting the expanse of his chest. One is even right over his heart. I gasp and draw away. “I'm sorry. So, so sorry.”
“Katie.”
“What can I do?”
He doesn't say anything, just looks at me. Moves so we're face to face and pulls me to him in a tight embrace. I don't move; just let him find comfort there.
“I can tell you a different story, if you want.” he murmurs in my ear before he lets me go. I nod and he starts talking. I fall asleep to the cadence of his voice to a black, dreamless sleep.
When I wake up later, the sun is shining and Derek is gone.
15. Chaos
There are moments in your life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again. Sometimes they are small changes, a small tremor that you barely feel in your feet, but more often than not they are the earthquakes that rock your whole world, crumbling down your house and leaving nothing behind but indecipherable rubble. Well let me tell you that in this instance that the latter is what happens to me.
Derek has disappeared from school for a whole week. No lessons. No contact whatsoever. And when we go over to Nyla's place to look for him, all of the curtains are drawn and no one answers the door after about ten minutes of frantic knocking.
“Maybe they're on vacation?” Maggie suggests as a last ditch way to make sense of the situation.
“I highly doubt that,” I say as we turn away from the desolate house. Without its occupants in it just looks dismal and quite frankly somewhat creepy. The flowers in the front garden are starting to droop and weeds are overtaking, climbing up the face of the house like parasites even with only a week with lack of attention. “But I am really starting to get worried, aren't you?”
“Katie, I've been worried. This isn't like them.”
“I guess we'll just have to see how it pans out.”
That weekend I take a walk to the park just to get out of the house and it is eerily silent. There are hardly any people, but that's not why it's eerie. Usually when I come to the park there are multiple Fey hiding in the trees, but today they're missing. No one is torturing unsuspecting humans, they're not feasting on the wild life. Nor are they lounging around in the boughs of the maples just to be there. I look around and even the birds are quieter than usual.
I leave feeling my skin prickle with goose bumps as a sense of foreboding overwhelms me.
The dreams are coming every night now. Relentless. I wake up lethargic every time, unable to fall back asleep. Derek was wrong. These are real. They're happening as I see them. And one night when the last thing I see in that tree is his face, I know exactly where they've been for the past, well, almost a month now. But instead of being mad, I'm just relieved that they aren't dead. From the gist of what I remember, the Zions were scared off and damage control began. From the fire, much of the tree was charred, but none of it caught a flame. I think it's because it was spelled. They are faeries after all.
When I relay this to Maggie, she lets out a sigh of relief, but anger flashes in her blue
eyes. “He could have at least told us where he was going.”
I agree with her but I stay silent. I haven't told her about the first night that I had the dream and I'm not sure why I haven't and now would be a good time to, but I can't seem to find the words.
“Hey, what's the matter? You look exhausted.”
“I am.” I say, stifling yet another yawn. Dark circles smudge the skin beneath my eyes and I can't seem to stay fully awake during second period English, one of the few classes I have with Maggie. We've somehow finagled our way with Mr. Callum to get seats next to each other. “Remember, crazy dreams lately? They kind of make it hard to sleep.”
“You can always go to the nurse, get a pass to go home early.”
“And leave you by yourself for the day? Never.”
“Come on, Katie. You're tired. I can survive the day without you.”
I stare at her in mock horror.
Maggie glares at me. “Go.”
I sag in defeat. “Fine.” I raise my hand to get Mr. Callum's attention and ask for a pass.
“I'll see you later,” I tell Maggie as I'm leaving.
When I get to the nurse's office there's already two kids in there taking up the only plastic chairs. One of them I recognize as Bobby Thorton who's in my biology class, he's got his head tilted back against the wall and a wad of bloody tissues pressed against his nose. The other is a girl I don't know and is obviously fighting some kind of stomach bug from the smell of vomit coming off of her. I give her a wide berth and lean against the opposite wall as I wait for Mrs. Werthery, a kind older woman with dyed red frizzy hair that always seems to be escaping from the bun she puts it in.
“Yes dear? Don't be shy, come on up here.” Mrs. Werthery pats the cot by her desk. “What's wrong with you?” She asks, none too kindly.
“I didn't get very much sleep last night and I'm not feeling well,” I tell her truthfully as I sit down on the edge of the cot.
“Ah. Is that right then? I suppose you want to go home, don't ya?”
I nod and try to look as sad and pathetic as I can.
“You know I'll have to call your mother to come pick you up.”
“Oh, no, there's no need. I don't want to pull her out of work.”
She peers at me. “You're the Moore girl, right?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Ah, Abigail. I've worked with your mom. I know how she takes her work. But do you really want to walk home and be there by yourself? I mean, not feeling well and all.”
“It's quite alright Mrs. Werthery. I'm accustomed to it.”
“Well listen to you, using words like ma'am and accustomed. Your mom taught you well. Alright, here I'll write you a pass. But you go straight home, you hear me?”
“Yes ma'am,” I repeat as she takes out a slip and begins writing.
“Here you are. Now get home and get some rest,” she rips it off and hands it to me.
“Thank you, I will ma'am.” I take it and get out of there before Ms. Smelly pukes on my shoes.
Once outside, I realize that I'm going to have to break my promise to Mrs. Werthery as my feet take me towards the apple orchard without me telling them to. Despite being tired I get there quickly and I check my surroundings and I start to climb the fence as soon as the coast is clear.
The tree is easy to find now that I know where it is. The leaves are beginning to fall from the other trees and the ground is slick with them.
The only problem with finding the tree is getting into the tree. Every other time I was with Derek and this time, since he's in it, it seems that I have to figure out my own way in. At least, I'm pretty sure he's in there. But how many gigantic apple trees can there be in this state?
When I reach the tree aforementioned, I circle its trunk trying to figure out how to get in. I still know where the door is, but just walking up to it and knocking seems too easy and will surely get me arrested and thrown back into the cells. Or worse, immediately killed by the Queen's Guard.
Why not try your Mark? I think. It might work as a sort of key. And even if it's a bust, at least I've tried something. Well, here goes nothing, I think as I walk up to the spot where I once saw the inside. The other times don't count because I was unconscious at one, and the other I couldn't see since I'd had my vision taken from me. Not something I wanted to experience again.
I extend my right arm with the spot on my wrist where the four leaf clover bearing wings is now visible. Most of the time it disappears to wherever magical faery Marks go on their own time but when I need it to, it pops up.
There's a knot on the tree that looks like a suitable enough place to try this. It even conveniently looks like a door knob. I press my wrist awkwardly to the bark and close my eyes, hope for the best. Please open, I will with my thoughts.
After almost a full minute, I dare to open my eyes and see if it worked.
Nothing. The tree hasn't changed an inch from when I'd originally closed my eyes. Dang. Come on, I need in! OPEN!
And just like that, an outline of the door glows to life, much when you have the light on and the rest of the world is dark, you see that light seep through the cracks like a beacon.
Yes!
I reach to push on it, it doesn't budge. I drop my arm, momentarily stumped. Hmm. A thought dawns on me then. No, it can't be.
Cautiously, I grab the knot of bark I'd tried before and pull.
The door gives way and opens.
Success. I could dance I'm so happy.
My elation is short lived, though. As soon as I can see inside, I know there is something horribly wrong. The dreams that I've had are definitely real because the proof lies before me.
Bodies, dead Fey, lie before me. A smell, like a strange mixture of rotting petals and charred flesh assaults my nose and I gag, covering my mouth as my eyes widen in horror. It's so overwhelming that I fight the urge to vomit, and when the door closes behind me and cuts off the fresh air supply, it only intensifies. Even though I try not to look too closely, a part of me can't help it and I end up staring at the frozen faces and mutilated bodies still in the position that they died in. I barely recognize the face of Breen, one of the Queen's Guard, as he lay among the savaged; his arm has been ripped off and rests a few feet from the rest of him, still clutching that strange black bladed knife that he had.
A scream builds in my chest and I shove my fist in my mouth before it has a chance to escape. Who knows if the attackers are still in here and screaming will only get me found and killed.
I step carefully around the fallen, hoping with all my heart that Derek isn't one of them. Because if he is I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself. Why hadn't we looked for him earlier than now? Why hadn't I? I had a hunch that this was where he was, and did I do anything? No. I'm being as useless as an umbrella on a sunny day.
During my musings I have wandered into the throne room. The doors are no longer there, burned beyond recognition so that the entrance is merely a gaping, empty hole. Inside, every single chair and bench has been knocked over. It all looks like one big tangled mess of wooden legs and seats, muddled together and intertwined. It will take hours or days to clean all of this up, I think as I pick my way through them to the stage-like area at the front. I end up tripping multiple times in my efforts and by the time I reach my destination my knees and hands are bloodied and the flesh torn.
There's an odd stain of a silvery substance pooling around the ornate chair when I step up there and my mind, in its foggy daze, struggles to comprehend what it is. It’s an irregular shape, and spots and splashes stretch past the original spot, much like a blood stain on the crime shows my mom watches.
Blood.
Blood can't be silver, can it?
Yes, yes it can, in a Faery.
Realization hits me and I double over in shock. No, I can't be right. This is just some strange liquid that spilled. It can't be blood. It especially can't be blood from who I think it is because if it is, then this is very bad. If it's from who
I think it is, the Zions have officially started open war on the Fey and that is extremely dire to those involved. And that would mean that I will most likely die. Oh, this was just great.
“Kate?” I know that voice.
I have never been so relieved to hear Derek's voice in my life. I turn around and see him by the double doors. Shock paints his face as he looks at me in confusion. “Kate, what are you doing here?”
“Derek.” My voice sounds as relieved as I feel and he sees that. We jog towards one another simultaneously, kicking chairs out of our way. As soon as he's in arms reach I throw my arms around him in a rib crushing hug. “I was so worried. Are you alright? I mean Maggie was worried too, but she's still in school and I had to come find you.”
“I'm fine,” he says and I finally release him. There's a small gash that's still bleeding on his brow and he's speckled with bruises and other cuts and abrasions, but otherwise he's in one piece. His brown eyes are serious and I'm almost afraid to ask what's on his mind.
“What happened?”
“The Zions ambushed us. They found one of our entrances. Kate, Chrysantha is dead. They've taken her body. You know what this means, don't you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to hear it, afraid of what this means, what will happen next.
“We're at war.”
~ End of Book One ~
Acknowledgements For all of those fabulous people who put up with me along the way, I couldn’t have done this without you. My friends and family, and those rare friends who are my family. Colleen and Alicia for being my cheerleaders and reading early on, even when I thought everything I wrote was crap (Which you then assured me, multiple times, it wasn’t.) Adam for letting me talk to you and figure out what perilous torture I was going to put my characters through next and asking “Why?” every once in a while. Mom & Dad: I love you. I wouldn’t be here without you and this lovely book definitely would not have happened. And everybody else for not running away from me and my absolutely crazy self and taking the time to read this novel I somehow managed to scrape together. Thanks a million. You all mean the world to me. Reading rocks!
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