The Faerie Guardian

by Rachel Morgan

  Scarlett giggled and leaned closer to Nate. He tried to keep his eyes glued to the table, but she lifted her hand and touched his chin, urging him to look at her. And he wanted to. He wanted to look at her so badly. His eyes roved over her face and drank in every feature. The curve of her lips, the tinge of pink in her cheeks, the gentle brown of her eyes.

  She was . . . captivating. How come he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was when he first looked at her? If she was the one who would help him control his power, then he would do anything Zell asked. He would do anything Scarlett asked. He never wanted to be parted from her. He . . .

  He blinked and shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? What about Violet? How could he be having these kinds of thoughts about another girl?

  “So what do you say, Nathaniel?” asked Zell. “Or should I call you Nate?”

  “No,” Nate blurted out immediately. That was what his family called him. His friends. And these people were neither. But . . . they were offering him a place where he would fit in. And a stunningly beautiful girl to teach him how to use the strange power he had never known lurked inside him.

  His head buzzed. He couldn’t process all of this. He couldn’t think with the two of them staring at him, crowding him. Abruptly, he stood up. “I just . . . need some time to think about all of this.”

  “Certainly,” said Zell, standing slowly. “I will send Scarlett to you in two days. And, of course, it goes without saying that you will not speak to anyone of this.”

  “Yes,” said Nate, managing to look the faerie in the eye. “I understand.”

  Zell nodded, looking pleased with himself. “And now, a parting gift before you leave.” Nate felt Scarlett’s hand on his back, and he jerked away. Zell chuckled. “I see it would be best if you were asleep to receive it.” He raised his hand, and darkness enveloped Nate.

  RYN

  Ryn kicked open the door between his kitchen and sitting room and carried Violet through. Gently, he set her down on a couch. “Mom!” he shouted. He took a step back and looked down at the unconscious, dripping wet girl he’d spent half his life hating. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone in as bad a state as this. A gash on her forehead dripped blood down her face, and he’d felt a warm wetness on the back of her head too. There was a wound on her arm, and another on her shoulder, but these were nothing compared to the injury across her abdomen: A mess of torn fabric, ripped flesh and way too much blood. His stomach turned at the sight.

  “Mom!” he shouted again, going to the foot of the stairs. His mother had tons of experience healing her guardian team mates. If anyone could keep Violet from dying, it would be her. He ran up the stairs two at a time and checked every room. Empty. Dammit, why did she have to be out now?

  He ran back downstairs and knelt beside Violet. He pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was so faint that for a moment he thought it had stopped altogether. “Dammit, V! I finally get to the point where I can ask you for help, and then you go and get yourself half-killed? Are you trying to piss me off?”

  She didn’t respond, of course. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on either side of her face. He hesitated. If he screwed this up, he might never see Calla again. But why the hell would he screw up? He’d received the second highest marks in the class when they’d done healing magic in third year. Of course he could do this. He closed his eyes and imagined himself letting go, waiting for the slightly unnerving feeling of magic trickling out of him.

  He opened his eyes when it began, so he could watch the skin on her forehead as it began to knit together. It took several minutes before the wound was completely sealed up; it left a patch of pink above her right eye. Next he tilted her head to the side, pushed her matted hair out of the way, and placed his hand at the base of her neck. He couldn’t see the wound through her hair, but he was probably close enough. He gave it a few minutes, then removed his hand, now sticky with her blood.

  He sat back on his haunches and made himself look down at her stomach. He should have healed that part of her first, but just the sight of the mangled mess made him want to be sick. His hands hovered over her as he tried to figure out the best place to put them. He needed contact with the skin around the wound, and since her dress was ruined anyway . . . He sighed as he gripped the material just above her knees. This certainly wasn’t the way he’d imagined his first time ripping a girl’s clothes off. He tore the dress straight up the middle, then frowned at the sight of her underwear. White with little pink hearts? Now that was certainly unexpected. Not that he’d ever imagined Violet’s underwear before.

  He was struck suddenly by the fact that she was a girl. Not just a rival or a once-upon-a-time friend or an infuriating classmate who always got everything right. She was a girl. Beautiful even covered in blood, and a whole lot more grown up than the last time he’d seen her half-naked.

  “What the flip?” He shook his head. She was still the reason he had no brother, and if he didn’t get on with healing her, he might never find his sister. He carefully put his hands on either side of her narrow waist and sent more magic into her. Nothing seemed to happen. He closed his eyes and continued, willing himself to relax. Letting go of his power wasn’t something that had ever come easily to him—not that he’d admit that to anyone. He could do it, of course, but it always made him feel a little uncomfortable.

  His breathing slowed as he concentrated on releasing magic. How much would be enough? More than he had, probably, so he just kept going. He wondered what Violet would think when she woke up here. Hopefully she’d hang around long enough to hear him out. He just needed to be nice to her. Nice. Yeah, that was going to be hard. Maybe just civil. Civil should do it.

  His head drooped as an overwhelming tiredness wrapped around him. It was like he’d stayed awake for days and days without sleeping. Like he’d sprinted from one end of Creepy Hollow forest to the other—multiple times. His hands slipped away from Violet’s body, and he slumped against the couch and passed out.

  *

  Some time later, he heard a noise in the kitchen and lifted his head. The moment his mother stepped through the doorway and saw him, she clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. “Oh, dear Seelie Queen! What happened?”

  Ryn struggled to his feet, pressing a hand against the sudden ache in his chest. “I’m fine. Nothing happened to me. I found Vi in the forest. Someone must have attacked her.”

  His mother rushed to Violet’s side and examined her. An ugly scar twisted across her stomach, but that would disappear as she regained strength. Whatever was happening beneath the scar was more important. “And you healed her?” Zinnia looked up at her son. “That must have taken a lot out of you. Especially since . . .”

  He knew what she was going to say. Especially since you don’t even like her. “Yeah. Whatever.” Ryn shrugged and looked down at his hands. Dried blood stuck to his palms. “Maybe you can clean her up? She probably wouldn’t appreciate a sponge bath from me.”

  Zinnia returned her gaze to the girl on her couch. “I doubt she’d appreciate having her dress torn off by you either, but that clearly didn’t stop you.”

  Ryn rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Perhaps she’ll get over her torn dress when she figures out I did it to save her life. Maybe she’ll thank me; it’s not as though she even likes dresses. I can’t imagine why she was wearing one.” He dropped his hand as a thought occurred to him. Maybe she’d been out with that human who got her suspended. The one she’d been at Poisyn with.

  “Well, the reason doesn’t matter now.” Zinnia covered Violet’s body with the torn pieces of her dress. “Can you carry her upstairs please? Then do what you can about cleaning the blood off this couch so you can make it up as a bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” grumbled Ryn. He lifted Violet off the couch and headed for the stairs. How long would he have to wait until she woke up? Every moment that passed was another moment Calla was missing. Another moment terrible things could be happening to her
.

  He left Violet beside the pool in his mother’s bathing room, then dug around in a cupboard for some spare pillows and blankets. He felt weak and tired, even a little shaky. Perhaps he shouldn’t have given Violet quite so much of his power. It was worth it, though, if she could tell him where Calla was.

  *

  Two full days later and Ryn was ready to shake Violet out of her seemingly never-ending sleep. Seriously? She was a freaking faerie! It was not supposed to take this long for her to get better. Meanwhile, the Department of Missing Fae was being useless, of course, which meant they’d got nowhere in their investigation. Apparently they had too many people to look for these days.

  He sat in a chair across the room from Violet, paging through one of his mother’s books. No matter how many of the words he memorized, he couldn’t distract himself from reality. He dropped the book onto the floor and pulled his amber out of his pocket. Perhaps he’d somehow missed a message from his father.

  The amber was blank.

  He shoved it back into his pocket, tilted his chair backward, and reached for the mirror and stylus on the table. He sat with the stylus poised above the glass as he searched his memory for the latest social networking spell. He scribbled the remembered words down and watched the gleaming letters as they faded. The glass clouded over, and messages with little symbols next to them swam up to the surface. Ryn leaned back in his chair, hoping to be distracted by the inane details of his friends’ lives.

  Aria had apparently kicked Honey’s ass in the Fish Bowl, and Jasmine thought she had seen a hair hopping around her garden that morning. Ryn snorted at the misspelling, then leaned closer and squinted at the symbol next to Dale’s name. What used to be an arm with a bulging muscle was now a rude hand gesture. “Idiot,” Ryn muttered. He placed the mirror on the floor beside the book and yawned.

  Across the room, Violet groaned and rubbed her eyes.

  Finally!

  Ryn shot over to the couch and knelt beside it. Okay, be nice, be nice. She blinked and looked around, then jerked away the moment her eyes fell on him. Well, he couldn’t really blame her for that. He might have had the same reaction in her place.

  “What—what are you doing here?” she asked.

  What was he doing here? “I live here,” he said. Her eyebrows puckered together, so he kept quiet until she figured it out.

  Okay, so should he ask his big favor now, or lead into it with some small talk? Maybe small talk was good to start with. Something like . . . “Would now be a good time to say ‘I told you so’?” Dammit, not something like that.

  He expected her to lash out in anger, but instead she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Depends. Did you ever tell me that my halfling boyfriend would betray me to an evil faerie?”

  Momentarily distracted, his elbows slipped off the couch. “That guy’s a halfling? Wait, you have a boyfriend?”

  “Like that’s really the most important piece of news right now.”

  Probably not, but for some reason he couldn’t let it go. “I’d say it certainly merits some attention.” He placed his elbows on the edge of the couch once more. “Who would have thought you’d be able to find someone interested in keeping your company?” Way to go, Oryn. He gave himself a mental kick. What happened to being nice?

  She turned her head toward him, fixing him with her vibrant purple gaze. “Why didn’t you just leave me there to die, Ryn? We’d both be having a far more pleasant time right now if you had.”

  Her words pierced something deep inside him. She didn’t honestly think he’d do something like that, did she? His dislike of her didn’t extend quite that far. “If you were dead, Pixie Sticks, there’d be no one for me to torment.” And yet, his dislike extended far enough that he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything nice to her.

  “Do you mean to tell me that I’m the only one you bestow your delightful insults upon? I’m touched.” She pushed herself up and ran a hand through her hair, then looped the purple and black strands behind her ears. The silver arrow shapes in her earlobes stood out against her pale skin, sparking a sudden anger within Ryn. Why the hell did she insist on wearing those damn earrings? All he could ever think of when he saw them was Reed.

  Reed had taught both Ryn and Violet how to shoot a bow and arrow. He hadn’t been much older than the two of them, but he’d been practicing since he was old enough to hold the small bow his father had crafted for him. It had also been Reed who’d chosen the earrings when he and Ryn had gone searching for Violet’s birthday present with their mother.

  “Love the dress you had on,” Ryn said to Violet, his voice just about dripping sarcasm. “It showed off your pixie-stick legs to full advantage. And I see you’ve also taken to wearing a certain fashion item in your ears.” His fingertips brushed her earlobe, and she swatted his hand away immediately.

  “I don’t wear them to annoy you, you know. It’s an added bonus, of course, but the real reason I wear them is because they remind me of Reed.”

  He stared at her, anger leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “And when you wear them, do you think of me too? Or have you forgotten that they were a gift from both of us?”

  Her gaze slipped away.

  “Violet, you’re awake.” Ryn looked up and saw his mother at the foot of the stairs, dressed and ready for another assignment. All she ever did was work.

  Violet got to her feet. “Zin—Mrs Larkenwood.” She swayed slightly. “Thank you for taking care of me, and for the clothes.”

  “Vi, are you sure you should be standing up?” Zinnia hurried across the room. “You were very badly hurt. You may need more rest.”

  “Oh, I think I’m fine. I should be getting home now. I just want you to know how grateful I am. You must have used a lot of healing magic.”

  Zinnia’s eyes flicked to her son’s for a moment, and he shook his head ever so slightly. If Violet wanted to think it was his mother who’d healed her, that was fine with him. All he wanted to know was Calla’s whereabouts, and flipping flip, why hadn’t he asked her yet? He clenched his fists.

  “Can I speak to you?” his mother asked.

  He blinked, realizing he’d missed part of the conversation. He sighed in frustration. “If you must.”

  By the time he returned to the sitting room, Violet had found her boots and put them on. “So. Mom’s team is off to Italy for a few days.” He flopped into a chair, hoping to hide the tension he felt in every fiber of his being. “The glamorous life of a guardian.”

  “Italy?” She began to remove the bedding from the couch. “Don’t they have their own Guild?”

  That’s exactly what he’d said. “Apparently the Italians need my mother’s expertise.”

  She folded up the blankets, then turned back to him. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his when she said, “Well, thanks for saving my life.”

  Ah, hell, she couldn’t leave yet. He jumped up and followed her to the wall where she was obviously planning to let herself out. “Do you remember when we didn’t hate each other?” he asked. He had to stall her while he worked up the courage to ask for help.

  She crossed her arms. “My memory doesn’t extend that far back.”

  “Really? Your memory’s that bad?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. “Doesn’t seem like you; you’re so good at holding a grudge.”

  “Multiple grudges, if we’re going to get technical.” He could see her fingers tightening around her arms, and it gave him a twisted kind of pleasure to know he was aggravating her.

  “Have I really done that many awful things to you, Pixie Sticks?”

  “You stuck a sign on my back that said ‘Call me Shorty’ on our very first day of training.”

  “You have to admit, that one was rather amusing.”

  “In third year you told everyone I had some kind of contagious disease.”

  “Well, you did have a suspicious mark on your—”

  “And in fourth year I was appare
ntly having an affair with a five-hundred-year-old mentor.”

  “Should I have picked a younger one for you to—”

  “You threw away my mother’s tokehari!” she shouted.

  Flip, why did she have to bring that one up? When it came to Violet, there weren’t many things he regretted saying or doing—his intent was usually to hurt her—but throwing away her tokehari . . . Well, even he knew as soon as he’d done it that he’d gone too far.

  Stall, stall, stall. “Oh? My memory’s a little fuzzy on that one. You’ll have to remind me of the details.”

  “Gold chain. Gold key. You chucked it down the singing well that leads Underground.”

  And it was probably in the possession of some Undergrounder now. “A key? Oh dear, have you been locked out of somewhere ever since?”

  “No, Ryn, but that’s not the point, dammit! It was never meant to open anything, it was meant to be a reminder of my mother.” He couldn’t be sure, but she looked close to tears. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “Well, a key that doesn’t open anything sounds like a useless key, and even if you still had it, I doubt you’d be able to remember your mother. You were only three years old when she—”

  “STOP!” Her arms were straight at her sides now, her hands shaking. “I don’t care how much of a jerk you decided to become, you have never had the right to do or say any of these things.”

  Ryn pushed away from the wall. “I didn’t decide to become a jerk, okay. Things happened, and—”

  “Things happened? Things? He was my friend too, Ryn. But I didn’t see his death as a reason to alienate every person who ever cared for me.”

  She didn’t have a clue. She didn’t have a damn clue what it had been like for him. What is was still like. “Well, everyone has different methods of coping.”

  “This is a coping method? Clearly it’s not working for you.”

  “He was my brother!” Ryn yelled. “How the hell did you expect me to cope with that?”