“Not usually,” he answers. I can always count on him to tell me the truth, especially if it hurts. “But there have been cases before, where it’s taken people a few months to finally show any ability for EM at all. Your…”
“Go on,” I say when he doesn’t finish his sentence. “You were going to say that there are cases when people were never able to do it, huh?”
Arthur lets a small smile slip. “Actually, I was going to say that it took this one guy over a year to be able to control his first Fey, and he ended up as KORT president. Turned out to be the best knight we’d seen in ages. Maybe you’re just like him.”
“Really?” I ask, daring to hope once again. Vengeance shall still be mine! Unless…I squint at him in distrust. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“Not at all,” Arthur says, uncharacteristically nice to me. “You just need to work harder.”
I stop just inches from him. “Who are you? What have you done to my brother?”
Arthur flicks my forehead with his finger. “Don’t be a goose. I just mean you have to stop being so lazy. Now come on. It’s late, and I’m beat.” He extinguishes the torch. “Same time tomorrow!” he says, leaving me in near-total darkness and my forehead stinging.
Chapter 17
Bri was right after all. Over the rest of the week, the snide remarks and attempts on my life or honor subside. But it wouldn’t have mattered, as I’m living in a constant semi-euphoria. Arthur’s kept to his word and is still teaching me in the dusty storage room by the kitchens, despite the late hour and my lack of progress.
Right now, though, I want to smack his smug face with his stupid ring.
“How can you be so calm?” I ask him. I’m so frustrated with myself, I don’t know how he can spend another second with me. Unless it’s for the pleasure of seeing me fail.
“Would getting angry or annoyed get me any better results?” he retorts.
I snort. He’s got a point. But it doesn’t explain why he’s still bothering wasting his time with me. He picks up a broken chair and smashes it on the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask, scandalized. “We’re already practicing against the rules. Why are you turning into a vandal as well?”
Arthur pulls off one of the chair’s legs and slaps the wooden bar in his hand. “I’ve decided to try another approach.”
“Which is?” I ask, taking an involuntary step backward.
An evil glint appears in his eyes. “I will attack you, and you’ll have to fend off my blows.”
“That’s hardly fair,” I say, taking another step back. “I’ve only got my bare hands.”
“Who told you to use your bare hands?”
“You don’t mean—”
“I do.” Arthur readies his makeshift cudgel.
I raise my hands before me. “Wait, wait, wait. You do realize that I still can’t do anything with this ring of yours, right?”
“Which is why I thought making you feel something more strongly could help you establish that link faster.”
More like make me pee my pants. But maybe Arthur’s right, and frankly, at this point, I’m desperate enough to try anything for a chance to get my ring to work.
“OK, I’m ready.”
The words have barely left my mouth when he lunges forward, bringing the wooden staff down. I move out of the way a split second before it thwacks down onto an old school desk, splinters of wood flying about.
“You’re not joking around, are you?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“If it’s real, you’ll act accordingly,” Arthur says.
He twists toward me with a cross hit. This time I don’t move fast enough, and the wooden leg catches me on the shoulder. I gasp and nearly collapse under the blow. Saint George’s balls, this guy doesn’t want to train me, he wants to kill me, slowly and painfully!
“Stop running away, and come at me with all you’ve got,” he says, his voice low and steady.
I was wrong. Arthur’s not being nice to me; he’s a psychopath!
Without giving me time to recover, he comes at me again. I back away from him, but get caught between two tables. I topple over a couple of old rotting baskets, then throw myself away from the incoming strike. I hit the stone floor hard and roll away from Arthur’s next blow, only to find myself stuck in a corner of the room, unable to escape my demented brother.
I see the wooden leg swing toward me. I close my eyes and hold my hands before me. Please!
I feel an answering tug in my ring finger. There’s a whooshing sound, then the clattering of wood on stone. I open my eyes to find Arthur grinning down at me.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You did it,” he says, offering to help me up.
“Haaaa!” I exclaim, pointing at him in victory. I grab his hand and flinch; my whole body’s contused, my shoulder hurts like I’ve been quartered, and my head’s so foggy I wonder if I might faint. But all of that’s eclipsed by those three little words.
“What did I do?” I ask, blinking to try to clear my vision.
Arthur lets go of me with a hearty sigh. “You should really learn to stop closing your eyes. It’s not going to help you in a fight.”
The world slowly comes back into focus, an odd tingling sensation coursing from my hand and up my arm.
“Close your eyes,” Arthur says.
“You just told me I had to keep them open.”
“Just do it. It’ll be easier for you to visualize.”
Because I’m still stunned, I do as I’m told. Wrong move. I vacillate like a cabin boy on his first sea trip. I feel Arthur’s strong hands grab me by the shoulders as I teeter, and he helps me settle back down.
“You OK?” he asks, his voice barely making it above the buzz in my ears.
I nod. “I-I think so.”
“Maybe we’ve been training too hard,” Arthur says, his voice soothing. “But, while you’re at it, think back on what you were feeling when you let out the elemental.”
“Hurt,” I say, unconsciously shifting my shoulder. My mouth is cottony, making it hard to form the words. “Scared.” I recall the moment I was on the ground, trapped, knowing that Arthur’s next blow wouldn’t miss. “I just wanted to make you disappear.”
“Good,” Arthur says. “Remember that feeling next time we practice. And as a reward for your success, I’ll give you a days’ rest.”
For some inexplicable reason, the idea of not training with him tomorrow leaves me disappointed.
“And when you have this one under control, you can practice with others,” Arthur says. “Just don’t use Dagaz.”
“Why not?” I ask, feeling myself slip into dreamland.
“Especially not when wearing metal,” I hear him say as if from very far away. “It would be suicidal.”
When I open my eyes again, Arthur’s gone. I look about the room. If I thought it was messy before, it’s nothing compared to what we’ve done to it during this practice session. Every single piece of furniture has been turned to shreds. And before me lies the chair leg Arthur had used as a weapon, neatly sliced in two.
My chest swells with pride—my work, and mine alone!
◆◆◆
I can barely get my tired mind to shut up long enough to fall asleep. But it doesn’t stop me from springing out of bed the next morning, still pumped full of adrenaline, a foolish grin slapped on my face.
“If you’re that energetic,” Keva tells me, applying her mascara, “tell your little furry friend there that next time he tries to sneak in on me while I’m changing, I’ll have him neutered.”
“No problem,” I say, unable to get my cheeks to function properly again. Puck jumps into my arms, and I pet him hello.
“What is wrong with you?” Keva asks, arching her eyebrow at me in her mirror. She swivels around to face me. “You dreamed of a boy, didn’t you?”
Still smiling, I shake my head, but Keva’s already gone into la-la land.
“Can’t be anyone from here,” s
he says, “nobody’s that stupid.”
My smile falters. Keva slams her hand on her desk. “It’s that Deacon guy, isn’t it?” she asks, her eyes fiery with excitement. “I knew it! I told Bri there was something going on between the two of you, what with the way he looks at you…” She smiles impishly. “Like he wants to eat you.”
I stare at her before bursting out laughing. “You mean Dean?” I ask, shaking so much Puck hops out of my arms. “Please, that’s ridiculous. He’s like a father to me, or a much older brother, that’s all.”
“Whatevs,” Keva says. “I saw what I saw. You can be in denial if you want.”
I wish I could tell her the truth, but I know that’s impossible. Not only would I get Arthur and myself in trouble, but I might lose my ring, and there’s no way I’d want to risk it. But despite that, for the first time in my life, I feel I truly belong somewhere, that I’m not a failure, and it feels really good.
“Where were you after practice yesterday?” Keva asks, applying lipstick. “We waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“I had more work to do,” I say, looking away. Keva is rather apt at knowing when I lie.
“Right.”
The church bells ring, calling us to Mass, in time to prevent me from having to expand on the subject, and I rush outside.
“What happened to her?” I hear Bri ask my roommate as I skip on our way to church.
“Probably got a concussion at practice last night,” Keva replies. “Would explain a lot.”
Bri giggles. “She’s gotten beaten up before. It’s never affected her this way though.”
“Well, why don’t you ask her?” Keva retorts with a huff. “She’s the one who’s been coming back to the dorms super late every night.”
I slow down to let my friends catch up and to avoid the odd glances from the rest of the school. The cool quiet of the church greets us as we head over to the pages’ area. I glance over to the KORT benches but, apart from Jennifer, no one’s arrived yet, not even my ever-punctual brother.
“What’s going on?” I whisper in Keva’s ear.
Noticing where I’m looking, she gives me her usual shrug. “If you’re not going to answer my questions, I don’t see why I should answer yours.” She shakes her finger before I can protest. “No, no. That’s the basis of relationships: give and take. Unless one happens to be a masochist, which is definitely not my case.”
Father Tristan clears his throat, and we all turn our attention to his lithe figure, erect before the simple stone altar.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” he intones, his clear voice resonating around the domed ceiling.
“Amen,” I say.
“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you,” Father Tristan continues, his hands and eyes raised to the ceiling as if he can see the Holy Spirit itself descending.
“And with you also,” I drone.
The priest’s clear eyes deign to lower themselves to our sinful forms. I do so wish he’d hurry, however blasphemous that might be. I just don’t have it in me to be kneeling or sitting down for a whole hour, not today.
Besides, what is KORT doing? I’ve been here nearly a month, and I’ve never seen them miss a single Mass. They are the epitome of the good students, always following the rules and setting the right example. Except, perhaps, for the cousins and Percy.
“And so it is that summer is drawing to an end,” Father Tristan says. “All Saints’ Day—or, as many of you like to call it, Samhain—will soon be upon us. And if you are not ready, mentally and physically, the demons lurking in the shadows will pounce, eager for your demise. And they will show no mercy.”
The doors open up, and in walk the eleven KORT members, Arthur at their head. They each kneel before the altar, cross themselves, then take up their habitual seats.
I throw surreptitious looks in their direction for the rest of the liturgy. They all look drawn, tense. Is it that my secret training sessions have been discovered?
I scrutinize Arthur more openly, but apart from a slight twitch in his jaw, he seems perfectly fine.
Once the service over, we stream out to get to the dining hall as quickly as possible. I scan the group of seniors ahead of us, searching for Arthur’s broad back, but he and the rest of KORT have already disappeared.
It’s not until we’re at breakfast that Keva finds out what’s going on.
“Apparently she didn’t come back yesterday,” she says, drenching her oatmeal in honey. “So something must have happened during her round.”
“Who didn’t come back?” I ask.
“Her squire is also missing,” Keva continues, without bothering to look at me.
“Whose squire?” I ask.
“If you wanted to know, you should’ve been paying attention,” she snaps.
“It’s K,” Bri says. “Knights go on rounds at the surface at least once a week to make sure everything’s OK. Last night was her turn, but she hasn’t come back.”
“But I thought the Board was in charge of all surface affairs?” I ask.
Jack nods, his mouth stuffed. “Idz gof idz gloch dar schall.”
“Bless you,” Keva says.
“The area around Lake Winnebago’s also under our supervision,” Bri explains. “The Board’s already stretched thin, so the lake is under KORT’s jurisdiction too, even at the surface.”
“Which would explain why Arthur and the others went on the island,” I muse.
“They went where?” Keva asks, ears perked up.
“Never mind,” I say and realize belatedly I’ve just made my second mistake of the day with her.
Glowering, Keva says, “Well that’s all I heard. If you’ll excuse me.” She pushes her chair back and walks away imperiously.
“So what kind of trouble could she have gotten into?” I ask.
I remember the empty houses, the clurichaun’s fear before he disappeared. Goose bumps rise along my arms.
“Who knows?” Jack says. “Could be anything. Fey, or even laypeople. Or it could be something stupid, like this one time, Gareth was found sleeping on duty. Only got caught because he didn’t wake in time to go to church.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Bri says. “K’s always been a stickler for the rules, more so than Arthur. She would never have fallen asleep while on duty.”
“Maybe she was just delayed,” I say. “And that’s why her squire’s not back yet either.” I try hard not to think of this K suffering a fate like Owen’s, or worse.
“I guess we’ll find out later,” Bri says, looking like her thoughts have followed along parallel paths to mine.
We’re about to set our trays away, when the doors to the hall slam open and a girl stumbles in, her cheeks flushed from running.
“They’ve found Rei!” she yells, huffing loudly.
Everyone rushes out like the place is on fire. Bri, Jack, and I follow the crowd at an ever-increasing speed north through the school, past the church, and toward the large standing stone I’d once visited with Lady Vivian.
The stone is still there, towering over the growing throng of people, which is unusually quiet.
“What’s going on?” Bri asks as we near the large group clustered at the base of the rock.
“Looks like they found something,” I say, hopping up to get a better view, but all I can tell is that people are looking at something behind the warding stone.
“Let’s get closer,” Bri suggests.
To the annoyance of some onlookers, we push our way through. We’re about to reach the front when a couple of salamanders send sparks flying in the air like some kind of signal.
“Why are the doctors taking so long?” I hear someone exclaim.
“Someone’s hurt,” Jack says.
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious,” Bri says as she tries to peer from around a knight’s beefy arms. She draws in a sharp breath. “It’s Rei, K’s squire.”
�
��Excuse me,” I say, forcing my way past the knight, and freeze.
Lying in a patch of dead grass is a young girl, her long black hair fanned out about her face. Kneeling next to her is Arthur, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He motions for Percy to come near him and starts talking to him very low.
“She’s dead,” Bri murmurs next to me.
I stare at the dead girl. Every single muscle in my body tenses. I let out a soft moan as I take in the dark lines marring her otherwise serene face, almond eyes closed to the outside world.
Memories of my last few days in Switzerland, memories I’d finally managed to suppress, come back to me full force.
“She’s been poisoned,” a girl says.
“How?” another asks.
The questions and theories are thrown out in a familiar pattern. At last, a couple of male nurses arrive, carrying a stretcher. They carefully lay the lifeless girl on it, then march back to the school.
I watch them pass by, unable to tear my gaze from all those black veins. Will this nightmare never stop?
“It’s your fault!”
The people who’d started following the nurses back stop in their tracks and turn to face me.
“It’s your fault this happened to her,” says Jennifer, stalking toward me like a tigress toward its prey.
I feel myself grow cold. “No,” I say.
She keeps advancing on me, her ice-blue eyes fixed on mine. “Wasn’t this why you were kicked out of your previous school?”
My mouth goes dry. “No.”
A disdainful look flashes on her perfect features. “There’s no need to lie, Morgan. There’s someone here who can tell us the truth. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”
I look past her at Arthur, standing rigid as a Greek statue, his face as unreadable.
Jennifer looks over her shoulder at him. “I heard her classmate died in a similar way,” she says, “and she was the primary suspect. Am I wrong?”
I clench my hands together to prevent them from shaking.
Don’t listen to her, my guardian angel’s voice breathes. Don’t cry before them, and stand strong.
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