“Let me out!” I yell, banging furiously on the door. “Arthur, if this is your way of asserting your dominance because I’m late, you’re going about it the wrong way!”
“I’m afraid Arthur’s unavailable to play with you at the moment,” a malicious voice says from behind me.
Ever so slowly, I turn around to find Irene scowling at me. She may be half my size, but even from across the small room her kohl-rimmed eyes make me feel like I’m a two-year-old on the brink of being reprimanded.
“Tell me how you did it,” she says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply.
“The Sangraal, Morgan!” Irene snaps, her mask of coolness sliding off her sharp features in the blink of an eye. “It’s supposed to help those who use it heal, but no matter who drinks from it, nothing’s happening.”
“Try turning it on and off again,” I say. Then, realizing they probably don’t get technology-related jokes much in this underside of the world, I add, “Perhaps if you…”
Irene leans forward, hanging on my every word, and I stop. All these years I’ve wanted to get something from her—a hug, a word of kindness—but never has she deigned lift a finger for me, except to try to have me executed. And though I’ve figured out she’s not my mother by blood, the sting is still there, like a festering wound inside my chest.
But now, for the first time in my life, she actually needs something from me—other than my head on a platter, that is.
I recline against the door and cross my arms over my chest. It’s payback time.
“Perhaps if you answered my questions first, I’d be willing to share my knowledge,” I say nonchalantly.
Irene looks like she’s about to argue, then seems to change her mind. “What do you want to know?” she asks carefully.
“My parents,” I say, and my voice shakes slightly at their mention. “I want you to tell me what you know of them.”
Irene’s lips thin out, but she nods. “Very well, you have my word, I’ll tell you all that I know. Now spill it, how does the Sangraal work?”
“I’m not quite sure myself,” I say. “Puck gave it to me and it started filling up on its own when I was holding it.”
“That hasn’t happened with any of us!” Irene exclaims, pacing in front of me so that her long, flounced skirt swishes about her like a bell. “What did you do to it? Were you using your powers? Did you do some kind of incantation? Trace runes on it? What?!”
“I still had the seal on me then,” I say slowly, sifting through my memories. “It disappeared only after I drank from it. So it can’t have been my, uh, abilities.”
Irene halts in front of me, close enough that she could hit me if she wanted to, but far enough that she’s not forced to crank her head up to look at me.
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“I told you, nothing! I was hurt, so…” I pause, recalling Puck biting my hand the first time I ever found the cup, and how, the second time, my hand kept bleeding after Dean cut me to free Carman. I close my fingers over the palm of my hand where the scar remains. “Perhaps it’s the blood.”
“What?”
“I was bleeding when I was holding the cup,” I say softly.
“Blood, huh?”
A dangerous gleam lights up Irene’s eyes, and she pushes past me to knock on the door. A second later the guard outside unlocks it.
“Wait!” I say, gripping her small arm. “You promised to answer my questions too.”
Sneering, Irene turns partly around. “I believe you wanted to know about your mother?” she says.
I nod, my throat constricting at her icy tone.
“Who was she?” Irene repeats, more loudly. “A tramp, that’s what she was. A succubus who ensnared your father, used him for a while, then tossed him away when she grew tired.”
My hand falls away from her, and, a look of cruel satisfaction on her face, Irene struts away.
She’s lying, I tell myself, breathing hard, she has to be. But then how else could my mother have abandoned my father to his death?
My vision clouds ever as every molecule of oxygen seems to have been sucked right out of my lungs. I barely notice the door slamming open again.
“Morgan?”
I blink furiously as Percy helps me down onto a chair.
“Need some bug juice[56]?” Percy asks kneeling in front of me.
I shake my head, unable to speak around the bowling ball that seems to have lodged itself down my throat.
“Need to go see the doc?” he asks. “Ya don’t look too good.”
I sniffle loudly, shaking my head again. I really don’t need anything, except for an answer….
“W-what’s a suck-you-bus?” I ask, gasping between the words.
“A Fey who likes to use men for her pleasure,” Percy says, looking confused. “She’ll suck ‘em dry, leavin’ behind mummy-like corpses. They say Lilith was the first of them, maybe even the only one.”
I repress a shudder at the name of Adam’s first wife, she who left the Garden of Eden to cavort with the angel of death himself.
“You’re saying my mother could be Lilith?” I whisper, shuddering.
“Is that what Lady Irene said?” Percy asks, raking his hand through his hair, looking tired. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put much faith in what she says on the subject. Somethin’ ‘bout hell and furies and women scorned[57]. She and Gorlois were engaged to be married, ya see. Then off he went with some other woman, a Fey one at that, and got her with child. Well, ya can only imagine how that must’ve gone down with her.”
Slowly, air seems to seep back into my deflated lungs. “She’s jealous,” I say, clinging to that small shred of hope that my mother isn’t some monster after all.
“Righto,” Percy says, holding his hand out to me. “Now come on, let’s get goin’. Artie’s lookin’ for ya.”
I gratefully grab his calloused fingers and let him lead me up the stairs to the last floor. We’ve just rounded the fourth landing, however, when a nervous giggle breaks out behind us.
“What’s this, a fan club?” Percy asks, puffing up at the sight of a small group of squires and knights lying in wait by the staircase.
I automatically cringe away as a girl approaches us, egged on by the others.
“We, uh, we were wondering,” the girl starts, staring down at her well-polished boots, “if you were planning on getting a seat at KORT?”
“I think she might be talkin’ to ya,” Percy says, with a wink at me.
I shake my head—obviously the girl and her friends are here to make fun of me. Unfortunately for me, Percy seems to think I’m just being shy and pulls me forward to face the girl.
“I, uh,” I start, “don’t think that’s very likely. I’m not a knight yet and, uh, I don’t even make a very good squire.”
“Considering your background, I wouldn’t be surprised if you made it up the ranks really fast,” the girl says, finally looking up at me with fervent eyes. “After all, you’ve been here for only a few months and you’re already the President’s own personal squire.”
“I don’t think that last one should be counted in my favor,” I say automatically, and I hear Percy snort behind me.
“Your father was the head of the Board, and had crazy amounts of wealth too,” the girl continues eagerly. “He’s still got many supporters around.”
The warmth I’d felt at the initial mention of my father dissipates when I realize where this conversation’s going.
“My father’s dead,” I say coldly. “I doubt he could be of help to any of these so-called supporters, monetary or otherwise.”
“But surely the Gorlois heir would be needing our help at some point or other?” the girl asks. “We could make this a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Look, I don’t have access to my father’s money,” I say, growing angry. “And I don’t see why I should even be talking about it with someone I don’t even know. Now please stop bothering me.”
“My name’s Abigail Wechsler,” the pushy girl says, placing a thick, rectangular business card into my hand before I get a chance to leave, “of the Wechsler Bank. Keep us in mind when you finally decide to play with the big boys.”
She bows slightly to Percy, then heads back into the stacks with her friends, leaving me fuming behind.
“I guess some people will always be willing to sell their soul to the devil for a bit of money,” I say sardonically, crumpling the card up and tossing it into the nearest trash can.
But Percy fishes the card back out, flattens it out, then slips it into my pocket.
“That girl ain’t wrong, ya know,” he says. “As she put it, it’s all a game. Now it may be a foul and dishonest one, but it’s a game nonetheless. And the Weschlers would be a formidable ally, if ya discount the interest you’d owe them for any help they give. Like she said, if ya play your cards right, you could end up at the head of our Order.” He grins at me. “You’d end up orderin’ Artie around.”
Now there’s an idea worth considering. I smile back at Percy and we finally head up to the fifth floor.
But as I follow him across the bridge towards a sectioned off area of the library, the distinct rumble of arguing rises ahead of us. We glance at each other then hurry along to find a large pack of KORT knights surrounding Bri, her own brother scowling beside her.
“Uh oh,” Percy says. “She’s done for now. Hadrian can be even more uptight ‘bout rules than Artie, if ya might believe it.”
Worried, I push my way to the front of the crowd, but as I near the tables, the din of voices cuts off abruptly.
I look about, confused, as one of the figures detaches itself from the tables. I repress a grimace as Agravain, Hector’s right-hand man, limps over to me, his prosthetic leg clicking with every step.
“And here she is,” he says, “the one who’s always at the center of any commotion. We were just talking about you.”
“Aww, that’s sweet of you,” I say with a tight smile. “Were you waiting for my autograph?”
I bite down on my lip, immediately regretting my words.
Agravain grabs my shirt into his fist and pulls me roughly towards him. “I suggest you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of,” he rasps. “We don’t need your kind here, unless”—his other hand moves to his belt, over the handle of a dagger—“you’re willing to give your ogham to me. I’d be more than happy to keep you around then, changeling.”
Goosebumps cover my arms as I stare into Agravain’s icy blue eyes. Finally, after a long, tension-filled minute, he looks away.
“You better come up with a solution fast, Arthur,” Agravain says, gripping my shirt so hard I’m afraid it’s going to tear. “And that means real action, not spending your days up here playing scholar. I won’t let the school fall to another attack because of your poor choices, like this one.”
He shoves me away savagely before taking off.
“Well that was very un-knightly of him,” Keva says, hurrying to my side as the sound of Agravain’s uneven footsteps disappears down one of the library’s steep staircases.
Without a look in my direction, Arthur returns to the set of books laid out before him, and I feel myself seethe with anger. How could he let someone threaten me like that without even lifting a finger to defend me?
“As we were saying before we were interrupted, we’ve tested this circle formation before,” Arthur says, pointing at a diagram. “But the shield it creates isn’t strong enough to prevent any Fey beyond our basic elementals to pass through.”
Gauvain pulls another book over. “This squire here says the orientation of the points of the main pentagram affects its efficiency,” he says. “But Sir Freyvidh says he’s already tried reorienting them without much success.”
“Where was it located?” Bri asks, and I feel my mouth unhinge itself in surprise as I realize she’s the squire Gauvain, the smartest guy in school, is taking advice from.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Keva whispers to me at my look of dismay. “Didn’t know Bri was such a whiz at wards, especially when she’s been failing celestial math all year long.”
“About four or five miles northeast of here, oriented north-south,” I hear Gauvain answer.
“How about combining it with the actual elements you’re trying to draw power from?” Bri suggests.
“What do you mean?” Arthur asks.
Bri pulls a thin book out of her pocket and opens it before them. “Here,” she says. “If you look at these figures closely, you’ll notice that they’re referring to the original name of the elements, not simply their genera.”
Arthur and Gauvain lean over her to take a closer look at the page she’s showing them.
“It’s true,” Gauvain says, surprise and admiration tingeing his voice. “How fascinating!”
“And if you turn to page twenty-seven,” Bri continues, flipping through the booklet, “you’ll see that some of the circles are also aligned with celestial objects to give them more potency, not with the cardinal points as you’ve discovered. Which got me thinking. I’ve been at the forts you’re rebuilding around the farmsteads, and I thought there was something odd about their locations.”
Bri unrolls a large scroll of yellowed paper and I recognize the school’s pentacle at its center, markings denoting the hamlets and other structures peppered around it.
“You don’t mean…,” Gauvain starts, as he follows her finger over the map.
“Fort Megrez is the first of not just four defensive locations,” Bri says, “but seven.”
“Like the Ursa Major constellation,” Arthur says, “hence the name. It’s so obvious, and yet we all missed it. Except for you. Very well done!”
Bri flushes pink with pleasure. “And if you look further,” she continues, handing Gauvain her book, “you’ll see that our school’s wards might have involved not only a spell for protection—”
“But also one of preservation,” Gauvain finishes, waving the open book in Arthur’s face. “A circle within a circle, Arthur. Which possibly means at least a double pentagram as well. That’s why we’ve been having such a hard time!”
“But preservation of what?” Arthur asks.
Gauvain shakes his head. “I would need more time to study these charts then check my results against other sources before I could venture a guess.”
“I think it’s a preservation of time,” Bri says.
“How’d you figure that out?” Percy asks in the sudden silence that follows. “I’ve spent most of my life ‘ere, yet I’ve aged like everyone else. Heck, Lance and Arthur were down ‘ere most of the time with me too, but they’ve both managed to become as hairy as a pair of fluffy bunnies.”
“I doubt Sir Lance is that hairy,” I say, thinking back on my few close encounters with the knight. “Dunno about Arthur though.”
Percy chokes back a laugh and I blink, realizing I’ve spoken out loud, and Arthur’s scowling at me.
“It could be linked to something else,” Bri says. “I was rather leaning towards Lake High itself.”
“You mean it can target what it affects?” Gauvain asks.
Bri nods. “I think it was meant to keep the school from getting worn down. Just like the repelling ward only affected the Fey. But the book also describes circles that heal and others that can alter space, and a dozen other types I couldn’t quite get, so I could be wrong.”
I cock my head at Bri. Her tone betrays a confidence in her assertions that I find hard to reconcile with the playful, wide-eyed girl I met upon my arrival here. Then again, I’m the first to know war makes everyone grow up faster.
“We should test this out,” Arthur says. “I’ll talk with Lady Ysolt and Sir Freyvidh tonight about—”
“There ain’t no time for no more hesitatin’,” Percy says. “If Agravain hears about this an’ ya haven’t done a concrete thing yet, he’ll find a way to get ya outta the picture.”
“We can’t incorporate these d
esigns into our school’s wards if we don’t know all the variables,” Arthur retorts. “It’s too risky. I won’t bet the lives of everyone here on an unproven theory.”
“What about the forts?” Gauvain asks. “It’s not like they were functional before, so if the wards don’t work there, no harm will be done.”
Arthur pauses. “I suppose we could try out with the forts,” he says cautiously.
Gauvain whoops happily and Gareth slaps Bri hard on the back, sending her sprawling onto the carpeted floor. “Well done, girl, well done!” he exclaims, helping her up with an apologetic smile. “Who are you again?”
“Bri Vaughan, sir,” Bri says, massaging her backside.
“Vaughan?” Gauvain turns to Hadrian who’s remained impassive throughout this show of his sister’s knowledge. “Any relation to you?”
Hadrian nods slightly, looking pensive. “She’s my sister.”
“I had no idea your family was so smart!” Gareth says, his grin sparkling white against the dark of his skin as Gauvain puts his arm around Bri’s frail shoulders and steers her away, talking quietly into her ear.
“Well, ya’ve done it,” Percy says, smacking Arthur’s shoulder. “Ya found what ya were lookin’ for. I, for one, am ‘appy I get to leave this place and get back to trainin’!”
Gareth booms out a joyous laugh as he and Percy hurtle back downstairs, garnering the librarian’s wrathful scowl from across the atrium. Slowly, the others trickle out of the library as well, leaving Arthur to stare at his research on his own.
As Keva and I make to follow the others across the bridge, however, Arthur holds me back.
“Help me clean up,” he says.
I look down at the books, maps and charts covering every inch of the table in titanic piles, and groan. It’s going to take me at least until Matins to clear and re-shelve the books, and that’s not even counting all those blueprints and maps.
“What do you know about that girl, Bri?” Arthur asks.
My hand freezes on top of a massive book titled A History Of Fey Architectural Designs Throughout The Times. “What do you mean?” I ask.
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