The Bone Carver

by Monique Snyman

  “Yes,” she answers.

  Orion pushes off the locker. “Well, it’s more difficult to use influence on other magical beings, but other Fae and certain lower-level demons can be controlled by Intra-Canters almost as easily as humans.”

  “Demons?” Rachel chimes in. Her eyes widen. “Do demons exist?”

  “So, the Fae doing all of this is an Intra-Canter?” Mercia asks, ignoring Rachel.

  “Without a doubt,” Orion says. “My brother could learn a thing or two from this guy, to be honest.”

  “Rachel’s right about it being Golvath the Lonely then?”

  “My sources agree on the possibility, yes,” Orion answers.

  “Last question: Where’s he hiding?” Mercia asks as they continue through the hallway.

  “That’s why I’m here, actually, to figure it out. What are you two doing here?”

  “The dude’s holding Rachel’s mom hostage, so we’re looking for clues or something.”

  “I seem to have missed a lot.”

  As Mercia explains what’d happened during his absence, Rachel tries coming to grips with the whole “demons exist” bombshell he’d dropped. She takes up the rear, holding the lacrosse stick firmly by her side, unsure how these creatures have managed to make this world their home. How do you not realize your neighbor is a demon?

  What else is real? Is the Loch Ness Monster real? Are there aliens doing probes on people? Do dragons exist?

  You’re asking yourself the wrong questions. Focus on answering the one Golvath asked, the one that’ll get your mom back: Who are you?

  The answer still eludes her.

  “Apparently Golvath’s been at it for millennia,” Orion says, breaking through Rachel’s thoughts. “Every known realm has a story where Golvath’s tried his luck in finding a bride, and from what I’ve heard, he always fails. Unfortunately, his plans have become more elaborate as time has passed, and he’s become more vicious in his attempts.”

  “How exactly has he evolved?” Rachel asks.

  “Well, from the information I gathered, it seems Golvath used to only target the object of his affection. When that didn’t work, he adapted his tactics. He started using influence on the girl’s family members and friends in order to isolate her. That said, I don’t know why or when he graduated to targeting entire villages.”

  “Ugh,” Mercia grunts. “Golvath’s behavior sounds similar to what elemental witches sometimes go through after a burn-out. It’s like an addiction to power or something, and can be very destructive.”

  “Addiction is rare for Fae, in general, but it’s not a bad theory,” Orion says

  Rachel puts together the puzzle pieces and slowly his mannerisms—how, since school had started, Cameron was always around her, present in some way or another—clicks into place. The evidence of Cameron being the perpetrator was a long shot, yes, but something about him just seemed wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on why she felt that way, though.

  He’s as slimy as an eel. And eels are usually dangerous.

  Everything about this guy suddenly makes sense. The epiphany, however, doesn’t explain how they have to deal with him, but sorting out one problem is better in the long run.

  Orion looks over his shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet, Clarré.”

  “Mhmmm,” she answers.

  “If you’re worried, I can confirm that demons aren’t exactly the way Hollywood portrays them. They’re much worse.”

  “I’ve compartmentalized that piece of information already,” Rachel mumbles.

  Orion turns around and walks backwards. “What is it then?”

  “Something else,” she says. “Something human.”

  “Vague much?” Mercia asks.

  Rachel veers left, heading down the hallway that leads past the administration office.

  “Where are you going? I thought—Oh, what the hell.” Mercia harrumphs, earning a chuckle from Orion. “I don’t understand the way her head works sometimes. It’s like she hones in on something and nothing else matters.”

  “She can hear you,” Rachel says. She opens the office door.

  “Good,” Mercia says. “Your hearing makes up for your serious lack of communication skills.”

  Ignoring Mercia’s criticism, Rachel heads into Principal Hodgins’ office, where metal cabinets line the wall behind his cluttered desk.

  “Doesn’t it bother you not knowing what Rachel’s up to? What she’s thinking? I’ve always found her mind fascinating, because I can’t figure out her processes,” Mercia says.

  “Not really,” Orion says. “I find it intriguing to watch her solve puzzles.”

  Rachel moves past the metal cabinets, searching the labels that mark each drawer until she gets to M. She tugs at the drawer once, twice, but it remains firmly sealed. As she turns around to search for a key in the principal’s desk, she comes face-to-face with Orion, who gestures for her to move aside.

  She takes a step back, allowing him access to the drawer.

  Orion bites into his thumb until he draws blood then presses the wound to the lock. An audible click follows, and he reaches to the drawer to pull it open.

  “Or you could’ve just asked me to open the drawer instead of mutilating yourself,” Mercia says from the other side of the desk. “Just my opinion, though.”

  “You need to use your magic sparingly, Little Witch. If Golvath gets into my head, and you don’t stop me, this town won’t survive the onslaught,” Orion says.

  “Right. Okay. Tell me, how do you suppose I stop a Fae Prince, huh?”

  “Get creative.”

  Meanwhile, Rachel moves her fingers across the files in the drawer, searching until she comes to one labeled: MAYER, C. “Ah-ha.” She pulls the thin folder out of the cabinet, places it on the principal’s desk, and opens it to find next-to-nothing inside. There are no transcripts, no previous address. Apart from a few recent entries regarding not so stellar grades and his current address, there’s nothing to indicate who Cameron is or who he was before the start of the schoolyear. There is, however, a folded up note with RACHEL written in blocky red letters.

  Rachel opens the note and reads the words carefully before she slams the piece of paper back onto the table. “I knew it. I freaking knew it was him.”

  “What?” She picks up the note and reads the message Golvath left her. “Oh.”

  More puzzle pieces fall into place.

  She found Cameron attractive, alluring, even considered him her type. The carefully crafted persona spoke directly to her, and that bad boy façade he paraded around had made her take notice. If Cameron, or rather Golvath, had pursued her for a while longer, if he’d been just a little more patient, she would’ve been head over heels in no time. The disgusting part is, he knew as much from the get-go, and had ended it before she could reject him just so that he could play the victim.

  “Are these the ravings of a lunatic?” Orion asks, holding up the note.

  “Some may call it that,” Mercia says. “I call it toxic masculinity.”

  Orion raises an eyebrow. “Even I could figure that part out, but what’s up with him calling Rachel a Stacy? Who’s Chad? And I don’t understand the term ‘femoid’.”

  “Golvath is the Fae equivalent of an incel,” Rachel explains.

  Orion’s mouth forms into an ‘O’ as he glances at the note. He looks up again, his eyes seeming to sparkle with realization as he slaps the note with his other hand. “Well, that explains a lot about why Golvath never succeeds in finding a bride. He doesn’t actually want to.”

  “That’s not quite what incels are,” Mercia sighs.

  “No, I know what a human incel is, but this is a Fae we’re talking about,” Orion says. He places the note on the desk. “We don’t react the same way humans do. For example, we struggle to come to grips with the concept of death, because we generally live incredibly long lives. And where humans make a big thing about sexuality, nudity, and monogamy versus polygamy, Fae find those res
trictions comical.”

  “Your point being?”

  “My point, Little Witch, is that Golvath is a deranged Fae, who’s learned to reject his pursuits before they can reject him. He considers that he’s the wronged party in these events, which leads to unnecessary revenge. Though, I’m aware it’s not necessarily incel behavior for humans, it makes perfect sense for a Fae with some underlining psychological issues,” Orion explains.

  “So, how do we rectify the problem?” Mercia perches on the metal arm of a chair positioned in front of the desk.

  Orion purses his lips and glimpses at Rachel. “Do you have a plan, Clarré?”

  “My plan begins and ends with killing him,” she says in a deadpan voice.

  Mercia’s eyes widen. “It’s a bit of an extreme approach, don’t you think? I’m all for condemning people for their actions, but you have to keep in mind we’re dealing with a mentally unstable individual.”

  “Fine.” Rachel turns her attention to Orion. “How do Fae deal with their mentally unstable kin?”

  “It depends on the individual, the family, and whether there have been crimes perpetuated by the person in question. The criminally insane are usually sent to Leif Penitentiary, whereas the more manageable cases are handled by private institutions. Golvath, however, is more likely to be publically executed if he ever returns to the Fae Realm, because he does kill living, breathing beings in the most heinous ways imaginable,” Orion answers.

  Rachel chances a glance at Mercia. “There’s your answer.”

  “That’s all good and well, but how do you propose we actually kill the guy?” Mercia asks. “Orion’s already said he’s not strong enough to go head-to-head with Golvath. My powers are limited, too. And, I hate to say this, but you’re only human, Rach.”

  Rachel opens her mouth to respond, but before she can utter a word, a door slams shut somewhere inside of the building. She shuts her mouth and grabs the lacrosse stick while her heart rate increases.

  Mercia looks over her shoulder, stares into the larger part of the administration’s office. She turns her attention back to Rachel and Orion, concern weighing down the corners of her lips.

  Without a word, Orion gracefully moves around the desk, silently stepping over the mess on the floor.

  There’s an audible crack as something breaks outside the office. A different set of heavy footfalls move with purpose, growing louder as they near. Next, trainers squeak against the tiles, followed by clothes shifting. A cough sounds farther away. Clamor as something heavy is pushed.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are,” an unfamiliar voice calls.

  Orion presses his finger against his lips, gesturing for them to remain silent, before he slips into the administration office. He returns a few beats later and motions for them to close in.

  She squares her jaw as she quietly walks around the desk.

  “I’m going to glisser you into the parking lot, one at a time.” Orion’s whisper is barely a breath. “Clarré, do you have your keys?”

  Rachel nods.

  “Oh, Rache-e-e-l.” The voice drags her name out. Another door slams shut, something is thrown violently across a space. Laughter echoes.

  Orion opens his arms for her and she steps into his embrace, readying herself for the mind-blowing and world-tilting that accompanies this way of transportation.

  When nothing happens, she says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Orion releases her and takes a step back. His frown is prominent as he looks at his raised arms as if they don’t belong to him.

  “You okay there?” Mercia asks.

  “I can’t glisser,” Orion says. He turns his hands so he can stare at his scarred palms. Faint flames runs up his arms, his magic seems to sputter as it struggles to ignite.

  Mercia snaps her fingers and the witch flame dances on her thumbnail. “My magic appears unaff—” Her flame is smothered. “Crap.”

  “How?” The worry in his voice turns to confusion as he regards Mercia.

  She shakes her head, staring in dumbfounded silence where the fire had been.

  When neither of them spring into action, Rachel whispers, “Find a weapon.”

  Mercia blinks. “Are you telling me I have to do things the old fashioned way, the human way?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that sucks,” Mercia grumbles.

  She searches the principal’s office for something to defend herself with. Orion looks like someone plucked off his ethereal wings.

  “You can’t hide forever,” a female voice calls out, amusement thick in her tone.

  With a heavy sigh, Rachel heads back to the principal’s desk and opens the drawers in search of the legendary Big Black Box, which is purportedly full of confiscated items Principal Hodgins has collected from students over the years. Finding nothing of the sort, she quickly turns her attention to the cabinet beneath the window and slides one of the doors open. Behind a stack of paper and some miscellaneous stationary, Rachel finds an open bottle of whiskey and two glasses. In a wrapped copier paper box beside it await all types of confiscated goodies, including cigarettes, vapes, an unholy amount of lighters, knives, a few ancient cell phones and Gameboys, a scratched up hipflask, and plastic toys. She pockets a can of mace she finds beneath an expired packet of Marlboros and picks out a brass knuckle duster.

  Rachel holds out the knuckle duster and hisses, “Mercia.”

  Mercia picks it up with her fingers and sneers at the offensive object. “I have so many questions right now.”

  “Just put it on and hope you don’t have to use it,” Rachel mumbles. She turns back to face the door. Orion, still staring at his ever-fading flames, is in a world of his own. “Orion,” Rachel says a little louder to catch his attention. As he looks up, she hands him the lacrosse stick. “Imagine it’s a sword, Faerie Boy.” Rachel brushes past him, pulls the pepper spray out of her back pocket, and holds it steadily in her hand.

  “Try not to spray us if you use it.” Orion’s warm breath touches the back of her neck.

  “I can’t make any promises.”

  He flashes her a grin as he steps ahead and peers around the door. He looks left then right, before returning to his original position.

  “Where’s the nearest exit?” he asks.

  “Main door?” Mercia says, sounding unsure.

  “Nuh huh, I’ve seen that movie and it didn’t end well,” Rachel says. “Let’s maybe first try a window before we do anything stupid and get ourselves killed.”

  “You don’t honestly think it’ll be that easy, do you?”

  Rachel shrugs. “Won’t hurt to try,” she says, walking over to the nearest window, which overlooks the courtyard. She strains to open it. When it doesn’t budge, she makes her way back to the others.

  “Well, you called it,” she whispers. “We could try the old schoolhouse’s exit?”

  “You want to go past the boiler room?” Mercia hisses.

  “Would you rather face a horde of homicidal townies?” Rachel snaps back in a low voice. “These are people we know, and although they’re innocent in all of this, at the end of the day we may have to hurt them to save ourselves.”

  Mercia considers this before she answers with a curt, albeit reluctant nod.

  “Gotcha,” the first unfamiliar voice shouts. A deafening crash resounds through the school, putting everyone on edge. “Damn it.”

  “One of you will have to take the lead, while I guard our rear. We move fast and quietly,” Orion says. He leans back to check the hallway again. “The hallway is clear, so we’ve got to go now.”

  Rachel gestures to Mercia.

  “Oh, hell no. This is your idea,” she whispers.

  Without another word, Rachel makes her way to the head of their party, glances out the door to find the hallway empty, and darts forward as quietly as she can. She navigates the path, careful not to step on the various objects littering the floor. The rancid smell grows stronger as they near the cafeteria.


  “Where, oh where, can Rachel Cleary be?” the female sings, her voice farther away now. “Class is in session, young lady.”

  Rachel slows her approach upon reaching the intersecting hallway.

  Glancing around the corner, she comes face-to-face with none other than Holland Keith.

  Holland reaches out and grabs Rachel by her sleeve.

  “I found her. I found her!”

  Twenty-One

  Body of Work

  As Holland’s excruciatingly high-pitched voice bounces off the walls, Rachel presses down on the mace spray’s trigger, directing a steady stream of irritant at Ridge Crest High’s queen bee.

  Exultation turns to shrieks of agony as she falls to her knees. Holland paws at her eyes, rubbing the mace into her cheeks and temples. Her oily blonde hair tangles as she shakes her head.

  The hunt begins.

  Footsteps chase toward them, other voices join the ruckus.

  Orion pushes Mercia in one direction, grabs Rachel by her arm, and says in a low tone, “Run.”

  Mercia spins on them. “I have an idea, but I need time,” she says. “Lead them away from me. Keep them occupied.”

  There’s no time to argue. Mercia sets off toward the old schoolhouse, leaving Rachel and Orion to rethink their escape plan. The others are closing in, though, running to Holland’s aid as she continues to howl.

  “The cafeteria,” Rachel urges, breathless as adrenaline and fear course through her veins.

  Orion gestures for her to take the lead, glancing over his shoulder.

  Rachel rushes toward the godawful smell permeating from the lunchroom. Thick and unforgiving, the rotting stench lingers in the air, sticking to anything it touches. Still, she’d rather face the smell than whatever the townies have been tasked to do with her.

  “Bar the doors,” she instructs as they enter the cafeteria.

  Orion pushes the broken lacrosse stick he’d been carrying through the handlebars.

  “I need something else,” he says.

  She looks around. Empty food trays lie upside-down on the floor, their contents scattered across the surfaces of ripped up tables and upended chairs. Here and there, splotches of unidentifiable goop stick to the walls, like there had been a food fight nobody bothered to clean up. Trashcans are overturned, whatever litter they once carried strewn about and adding to the chaos, and the smell blankets the entire lunchroom.