My gaze slides down to the cross hanging over my door.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say to myself.
You could just continue with what you did last time, says my guardian angel, as if he’s been dying for me to ask that question.
“And then what? They won’t let me do any EM back at school, even if I did know how to handle elementals better than the rest of the class.”
But that’s because they don’t think you can do it.
“Or they don’t want me to,” I mumble into my pillow.
I know I don’t make any sense; they need as many knights as possible, and they’d never have sent me to Lake High if they didn’t expect me to pull my own weight at some point. My eyes drop even lower, and I notice a note has been slipped under my door.
I roll out of bed and snatch it up; it’s a message from Arthur.
Please come see me when you wake up. I’d like to have a word with you.
Arthur
“Don’t think so, you moronic-two-faced-sucker!” I say.
I crumple the piece of paper and toss it in the wastebasket, then reach for my backpack. Smiling, I pull out the Basic Dictionary of Runes, glad that, even in my stupor, I haven’t forgotten to bring this monster of a book with me. I’m still in my school uniform, but I don’t care to change out of it and head downstairs, the old glove in my jacket pocket.
“Good afternoon, mistress,” Ella says as I trot through her pristine kitchen.
I smile at her; Fey or not, the poor woman must not have an easy life, being in my mother’s employ. I grab a couple of apples from the basket by the window and head out into the backyard.
The weather in Wisconsin’s upper world is definitely not as peaceful as it is back in Lake High. The clouds rolling in from Lake Superior are the color of slate, promising rain by the foot.
“Better get to the shed before it starts pouring,” I tell myself, accelerating the pace.
It doesn’t take me nearly as much time to get through the broken window as last weekend, and I land in a respectable crouch without breaking anything. I take stock of the inside of the cabin. Nothing has changed since last I came here, which means nobody, not even a single spider, has gotten wind of my trespassing.
I sit on the spotless floor, close to the window, and take out my glove. Angling it to the gray light streaming through, I prod the ogham, its black surface silky smooth to the touch.
Wishing I knew how to differentiate gems, I riffle through the pages, looking for the rune that will match a black stone. Thankfully, there’s only one in the whole book related to elementals, an onyx.
“Hagalaz,” I whisper, reading the name off the page.
The stone seems to gleam, but the light disappears before I can ascertain whether it’s actually responding to its name or just a trick of the light.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch. “Hagalaz,” I say, louder.
The stone shimmers, and, for a split second, I can see a pale H form at its center, the horizontal bar droopy on one end.
“Saint George’s balls, I did it!” I exclaim, holding the glove to my heart.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited in my life, except perhaps the time I was allowed to hybridize my first iris.
I’m so eager to see what it can do that I nearly rip the glove to pieces when I put it on. I check the dictionary once more. The rune is a standard for ice. Does that mean I ought to practice outside? The pitter-patter announcing the beginning of rain makes the decision for me. I point my fist, stone first, to the empty wall opposite me.
“Hagalaz,” I say.
I wait for a second, squinting. Was there a slight condensation of the air?
“Hagalaz,” I say, louder.
The wall appears to pulsate with a dull yellow glow that intensifies until I see the outline of a door form. A few moments later, it opens, and in walks Arthur.
If I hadn’t already been seated, I would have fallen down.
“Wh-What are you doing here?” I ask, quickly hiding my hand behind my back.
Arthur looks pissed, rainwater dripping off him onto the dusty floor. “What are you doing here?” he shoots back.
“Having a little fun,” I say, not daring to look him in the eye.
In two steps he reaches me, kneels down, and grabs my hand.
“Ouch!” I try to pull away, but his grip’s too strong. “You don’t have to manhandle me!”
Arthur rips the glove off me, stares at the small ogham, and turns livid. “Were you practicing EM on your own?” he asks, his voice shaking.
“So what if I was?”
His fingers tighten around my wrist, and I wince.
“You’re hurting me,” I say.
“Do you even realize what could have happened?” Arthur yells, practically slapping me in the face with my glove. “Morgan, didn’t you see what happened to your classmate?”
With a pang of guilt, I again remember Owen facing the fiery bull.
“Do you realize how dangerous it is for you to train like this, unsupervised? Not to mention this is the surface world, where any layperson can see you! I thought someone like you would’ve known better!”
I raise my chin. “I was in here, away from prying eyes. Nobody would’ve seen anything.”
Arthur shakes me so hard my teeth rattle. “Not if you’d lost control,” he yells. “Damn it, Morgan, somebody could have gotten hurt! You could have been killed!”
“Well I wasn’t!” I retort. Not my best comeback, I admit, but I never expected this kind of outburst from Arthur, he who’s always so controlled. “And yes, for your information, I do remember what happened to Owen. That’s his name, in case you care to know. And that bull-salamander Fey didn’t try to hurt me. He just wanted to go to the forest when they called him, and I happened to be in the way!”
Arthur’s frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”
“The horn, Arthur. It heard the horn and tried to go to it. It wasn’t planning on hurting anyone.”
“What horn?”
A long pause settles between us, during which we stare at each other.
Finally, I ask, “You mean you didn’t hear it?”
“Nobody heard anything,” he says carefully.
I try to see whether he’s making fun of me, but he’s dead serious. Could I have heard wrong? Could I, in my shock and terror, have made it all up?
Arthur lets go of my arm and gets up. Rubbing my bruised wrist, I do the same.
“So what now?” I ask. “Are you going to punish me again?” I’m already feeling the loss of my one and only ogham, my dreams of telling everyone off gone up in smoke.
“No,” he says. “I’m going to give you a private lesson.”
◆◆◆
“Concentrate,” Arthur says, standing behind me. “You need to be able to feel the Fey through its iron casing when you call it out.”
I try to feel whatever connection Arthur’s talking about, imagining a link between my hand and the ogham. A prickly sensation, perhaps, or a thread attached from my finger to the gem.
“Hagalaz!” I say, pretending to want to push myself through my hand and the stone, and into the air in a shower of hail.
Nothing.
Disappointment, added to hours of practice without food, makes me sway on my feet.
Arthur sighs. “That’s enough for today.”
I lie down on the floor, my vision a blanket of fuzzy grays, and my ears ringing.
“Did you see anything?” I whisper, shivering with cold.
“No.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Maybe…maybe I just can’t do it.”
“Then you wouldn’t be able to go to Lake High,” he says.
I rub at the spot on my left shoulder where an old ache has started to act up again.
“Maybe my father wasn’t a knight after all,” I say. “Maybe he was a layman and I inherited his lack of talent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
&nbs
p; I close my eyes, trying not to show how disappointed I am. “You don’t know anything about him,” I say, hating how my voice quavers.
I feel something soft on my face and find Arthur dabbing my sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Better get going,” he says, “it’s nearly dinnertime.”
When we get to the house, Irene jumps on us, all talons out. “What were you two up to?” she asks, deep suspicion seeping out of her in cold waves.
Arthur shrugs. “Just teaching her a few moves,” he says. He makes for the staircase.
“What kind of moves?” Irene asks, sticking to him.
Ella slips a sandwich in my pocket before I follow them up. I hear a door close, then slam open.
“I asked you a question, buster!”
Irene’s standing before Arthur’s bedroom, her tiny hands resting in fists at her hips, over a wide metallic belt.
I remain on the landing, unsure what to do. The safest bet would be to head to my own bedroom, but I can’t resist knowing what Arthur’s going to say next. I’d always imagined him to be the golden child who couldn’t do anything wrong, so seeing Irene get angry at him is surprising…and a little satisfying.
“I was trying to teach her to fight,” Arthur says, popping back out of his room while buttoning up a shirt.
Irene’s face goes white, then turns as red as a boiled lobster. Her voice drops a threatening two octaves. “You did what?”
My mouth hangs open, my mind unable to comprehend the one thing that goes against every physics rule—Arthur’s lied? But why?
I make myself inconspicuous as Arthur pushes past her, then heads back down to the entry hall, Irene trotting after him.
“You heard me, Irene,” I hear Arthur say as I tiptoe to the entrance.
“You thoughtless fool!” Irene yells. “You know better than to train her, especially out in the open, where anyone can see!”
These are words I’ve already heard, but with a completely different feel.
“Nothing happened,” I say before Irene can hit him again. “And we were—”
“Was I speaking to you?” Irene snaps at me. She returns to Arthur. “And you, don’t think because your father’s away to deal with the hurricane that—”
“Am I or am I not the president of KORT?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant!” Irene snaps.
“It’s very relevant, Mother. It shows that people trust my judgment, not my money. Which is a lot more than I can say about you, especially after you hired that lawyer of yours.”
There’s a resounding slap, and I see the imprint of Irene’s hand darkening his cheek. I gasp.
A car honks outside. “I’ve got to go,” he says as if nothing’s happened.
“Lucky for you that the girl’s worthless,” Irene tells him as he heads out the door, “but don’t ever let me catch you doing that again.”
Arthur waves at us, slams the door shut, and then it hits me; that little twerp’s leaving me alone with our mother, who wants nothing more than to skin me alive!
“Where are you going?” I ask, following him outside before she can catch me.
Out on the gravel pathway that leads to the house’s front gates is a fancy sports car, Percy at the wheel.
Arthur gets in the passenger’s seat, while the latter waves at me with a big smile. Percy says something to Arthur, but Arthur just shakes his head, and the car leaves in a spray of gravel.
Oh no you’re not!
I dash back inside, looking frantically about. Irene’s nowhere to be seen, and I take my chances.
I grab her car keys and head outside. The car’s waiting at the side of the house, a sleek, small thing as black as her temperament. Inside, I find her purse and a map of the region marked with small crosses. Evidently, she is planning on going somewhere.
“Sucks for you,” I say, turning on the motor. “Guess you’ll have to get a taxi.”
It takes me a moment to adjust the seats, and then I move on to the next step, getting the car to move while hoping my little experience driving a boat on Lake Geneva will prove useful.
I shift the lever into the drive position, and the car moves forward. I press my foot down to stop, but hit the gas pedal instead and floor it. I nearly screech when the car bursts forward and comes two inches from taking down a creepy, modern-art statue. Panting, I finally manage to get the car to stop. I keep my hands on the wheel to keep them from shaking.
In the rearview mirror, I see Irene run out of the house, her skirt billowing after her. It’s clear she doesn’t approve of my little outing.
I don’t wait for her to make it all the way to the car, and instead hit the accelerator again. I manage to destroy only a couple of rosebushes lining the road before I get the hang of it. Then I’m past the gates and on the main road.
With a loud cry of exultation, I tear along the streets, toward the lake. Thankfully, the rain’s abated, and it doesn’t take me long to spot Percy’s vivid burnt-orange car swerve out of the traffic and get onto the freeway that leads to Oshkosh.
The only time I almost lose them is when I have to slam on my brakes to avoid running over an old lady crossing the street with her ugly dog. But the offensive canine and its mistress survive without a scratch, and I make my way onto the freeway without another hitch.
Arthur will soon find out he can’t just keep me out of the fun.
Just so long as I don’t get stopped by the cops…
Chapter 13
I nearly miss the exit, but manage to swerve through three lanes to make it without causing any accident. The sun is low on the horizon when I finally see Percy pull into a parking lot filled with trucks and motorbikes. I drive in after them, nearly toppling a whole row of those bikes like dominoes.
I park far away from everyone, fearful of causing some damage. Despite the lack of sign, I can clearly tell from the sounds spilling out that this is a bar.
I stay in the car for a while, contemplating what to do next. The boys are already inside. How they’re managing not to get kicked out is a mystery. Surely they can’t have come here to get drunk. Though this might be something up Percy’s alley, I can’t imagine Arthur breaking the law.
I decide to wait for a while longer. Perhaps they’ve come to pick someone up and are going to reappear soon.
Soon turns into minutes. When I see a group of three girls barely older than me exit, I decide to go in as well. I rummage through my mother’s purse and find her makeup kit. With an unsteady hand, I manage to slap some on and look passable. Just so long as they don’t ask me for my ID, I should be fine. As a precaution, I do leave my school jacket behind.
Doing my best to look tough, I stride up to the door, past a couple of burly men who eye me with caution and curiosity.
The inside of the bar is louder than I had expected. A lot of the conversations die down the minute I appear, but after a quick glance around, I find Arthur, Percy, and Lance seated at a booth around a really short man, intent on their conversation.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a man calls out. He’s wearing a black-and-white bandanna around his head, and his handlebar mustache is dusted with beer foam. “Didja get lost?”
“Nope,” I say with a tight smile as I make my way toward the bar.
“Can I offer you somethin’, miss?” a younger man asks, his tight muscles making his shirt bulge.
“Just some juice, for starters,” I say, throwing the bartender a dazzling smile. “Long night ahead.”
The man doesn’t return my smile, and hands me a glass of cranberry juice.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” the man continues.
I turn around to look at what Arthur and his friends are doing. “Just passing through,” I say without paying much attention.
The man inches closer until I can feel his breath on my arms. “Oh yeah? A travelin’ girl, huh? I like the roads myself. Where you been?”
The little man with them is gulping down a pint of beer like he’s been strand
ed on a desert island for too long. He doesn’t seem too happy with his present company, though, no matter how inebriated he may be. Percy’s talking to him, Arthur and Lance quietly brooding around them, but the man doesn’t answer and instead reaches for another tankard.
A new group of people arrives, crowding in the bar next to me and forcing me closer to my neighbor. The guy seems to like the change, for he places his arm around my shoulders.
“Blake, can’t you get that mutt of yours to stop barking all the time?” one of the men says, slouching against the bar. “It’s been nearly a whole week I can’t get my shut-eye.”
“Trust me, Todd,” another man responds, “if it weren’t for Maddie, I’d have shot the darned thing already. It got so scared from all that strange wailing wind the other night, he peed all over the bed, and the wife won’t believe it’s him now.”
The man behind me grunts as if sharing in his misery.
“Did ya hear about Hornby?” another cuts in. “Got his pants all in a twist over some joke some guys have done him.”
“What joke?”
“Haven’t ya heard?” the third man continues. “Said some kids took it in mind to play a trick on him and cut out some circles in his crops or some shit like that.”
“Well at least we still got crops, eh?” the man with the peeing dog mutters. “Not like those poor folks down in Iowa and Nebraska.”
All three of them take a long swig out of their beers.
“Just glad those locusts didn’t get further north,” the man named Mike finishes.
The guy next to me tightens his hold around my shoulders.
“You’re a real hot piece of a woman,” he says. I try not to frown at his breath reeking of alcohol. “Am sure glad you decided to stop by my neck of the woods, or we’d never have met. It’s not every day we see someone as…fine as you.”
On the other side of the bar, Arthur suddenly looks around, and his eyes meet mine across the crowd. Now that I’ve been spotted, I expect him to get up and march me back outside, but something the little man says makes him look away again. It’s obvious now that they’re trying to get the man drunk, but why I have no idea.
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