Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  “Um.” She bites her lip and fumbles a schedule out of her own backpack. A blush scalds her cheeks. I feel my body responding, sending a flush across my own skin. Normally, my Glamoury would shift to cover it, but of course she sees right through that too.

  It’s only a matter of time before she sees through it to the real me—pointed ears, bronze skin, luminous blue eyes ringed in gold, and the fangs. She’ll probably think you’re a vampire, Roue. No one sees fangs and thinks: Faerie!

  I catch her staring, and she looks back at her schedule.

  Finally, she caves. “I’m in Bio too.”

  “Well.” I look around at the empty office. “It looks like you’re off the hook, so…shall we?”

  Her pretty face breaks into a smile so bright it could power a thousand hearthstones. She’s not the sleeper-princess, Roue. Whatever. Doesn’t mean I can’t flirt with her a little.

  There’s no rule in the Winter Court that says I can’t flirt with mortals. Only fair Fae.

  She gestures. “It’s this way.”

  I follow her out the door and into the empty hall.

  She’s lithe, with a dancer’s build, and she moves with an easy grace. I bet she can really run, and in that moment, I’m glad she’s not the sleeper-princess. I’d hate to have to chase her down, to see that smile turn into fear.

  Stop it, Roue. This is just the kind of thinking that made me let that sleeper-princess go. Will I even recognize her when I see her? No one has white-flame hair, Rouen.

  This girl’s hair is red—like real, actual flame.

  The sixth princess’s hair was blonde. The one before that was brunette. The one before that had black hair like mine. And in the end, they all turned as white as the hottest part of the sun. When they Awakened.

  Yup. It’s a power signature, all right.

  Meaning: hair color will be zero help.

  I reach out with my Huntress senses and take a deeper sniff, dowsing for magic. Nope, nothing. No vanilla, no musk. She smells clean, like shampoo and a light sweat, heady, intoxicating… I’m leaning in, and she’s blushing hotter.

  I straighten.

  “What’s your real name?” Her shy question takes me off guard.

  “My…”

  “You’re not going by Euphoria here.” She turns the corner and we head down a hall lined with lockers. “I mean, not if you want to stay incognito.” She still looks dubious about that.

  “It’s Rouen Rivoche. Roue,” I correct myself.

  “Roue.” She tries it out, and I like the sound of it on her lips.

  I catch myself sneaking peeks at her as we walk. Among my people, beauty is nothing. Every single dark Fae in UnderHollow is achingly beautiful, but she is something more. There’s a spark of life in her as bright as…

  A white flame.

  Please don’t let her be the sleeper-princess.

  I shake off the mercy that’s trying to take root inside me. I clench my right hand and feel only the pull on numb flesh, the sinister thrum of dark circuitry.

  This, Rouen, this is what mercy buys you.

  I realize I haven’t asked her name. Good, the callous part of me, the Huntress part, whispers.

  “Come on.” The redhead tugs my sleeve, and her innocent way of touching me strikes me to the core. I’m a Circuit Fae, one of the outcast sluagh, dead to my own people. No one touches me.

  Yet here is this teenage girl dragging me down a high school hall. Me, the Huntress, dark Fae princess of the Winter Court turned Circuit Fae sluagh. It’s scary how easily, how casually she touches me.

  It’s scary how easily I respond.

  When she takes her hand away, I feel its loss. A sense of longing kindles in my heart, and I do my best to stamp it out. She opens the door to a classroom.

  Twenty-five pairs of eyes come to rest on us.

  No one freaks out, though, so I assume she’s unique in seeing through my Glamoury.

  The instructor, a tall lady dressed all in black, gives us a withering stare. She smells weirdly like cinnamon and nutmeg, but nothing like what I’m looking for. She smacks her lips. “So nice of you to join us, Miss Skye.”

  Syl toes the floor. “Yeah. About that…”

  I cock my cockiest grin, leaning against the door. “We got lost.”

  Giggles ripple through the classroom.

  Miss Mack—I see her name written on the board—gestures sweepingly, like she’s casting a magic spell from Harry Potter. “Take those seats in the back. We’ve already picked lab partners. You two can be paired up.”

  I shrug like I don’t care, but inwardly I’m jazzed to spend a little more time with the cute redhead. “What’s your first name?” I whisper as we thread our way to the back, everyone still staring.

  “She’s Syl Skye,” Miss Mack says. “I can hear you, you know.”

  Of course she can.

  “Teacher hearing.” Syl pitches her voice beneath the open laughter now.

  Miss Mack throws the gauntlet. “And you are?”

  I turn to face her. “Rouen.” I look around, willing my Glamoury to hold. “Rouen Rivoche.”

  No one looks twice. Score! No, wait… A blonde girl in the back of the room is staring at me. She’s surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls. Popular girls. I can tell by their designer shoes and Prada backpacks, their perfectly made-up faces. Not sure why clothes and makeup makes them popular, but whatever. These are mortal rules, not mine.

  And yeah, this girl definitely sees through layer one of my Glamoury.

  What, is everyone around here one of the Wakeful?

  Then it dawns on me. She was the second girl at the tracks that night. Blonde hair, green eyes. She looks like the fairytale heroine the papers made her out to be. Real-Life Supergirl!

  But is she one of the Wakeful, or is she the last sleeper-princess? There’s a big difference, kind of like the difference between being Force Sensitive and being a full-blown Jedi knight. And I can’t tell just by looking. I’ll need to see a demonstration of her real power—her white flame power.

  But she just sits there, staring at me, a calculating look on her face.

  Imagining that blonde hair like white flame is easy enough, but her eyes…

  They’re much too cold to ever burn like the embers I saw that night at the tracks.

  That night… How the two girls held each other, hands upraised. They were so close, and the white flame was so bright, blaring, blotting out their faces… Even now, I can’t tell which one summoned it.

  I can’t tell which of them is my white-flame princess.

  My…what? You’re losing it, Roue.

  I sigh. I’ll have to tell Agravaine.

  We have two. Two girls who could possibly be the last sleeper-princess. Syl Skye and Fiann Fee. Neither one registers as Awakened to me. Weirdly, impossibly, despite all the power she pushed that night at the tracks, the last sleeper-princess seems to have gone dormant again.

  I’ll have to lure them both in to find out which one’s the real deal.

  As soon as the bell to end second period rings, I’m gone. It’s a Fae trick. One minute you see me, the next you’re distracted by that glint of sun or dust mote or random noise, and I’m gone. Poof! Just like that.

  I feel a slight pang of guilt for ditching Syl—she’s really very nice—but if I have to sit through one more boring lecture, I’m going to lose my mind.

  Besides, I don’t want to have to answer a bunch of uncomfortable questions in front of half a dozen students. I trust Syl to keep my secret, but that other girl—Fiann? Miss Oh So Popular?

  I don’t trust her as far as I could donkey-toss her. Which, actually…is pretty far, but whatever. Agravaine’s here. I kept getting whiffs of his asphalt and burning rubber smell the whole time Miss Mack was discussing the finer points of frog guts and wielding a scalpel with deadly efficiency.

  It’s one of the drawbacks of Huntress senses—I practically have smell-o-vision.

  I slip down the halls, threadin
g my way through the throngs of students pouring out of classrooms on either side. The library. I look over my shoulder, but no one else seems able to penetrate my Glamoury. They just see a nerdy, dark-haired girl going into the library.

  Perfect.

  I open the door.

  It looks empty at first, but I know all of Agravaine’s tricks.

  In the blink of an eye, he steps snickleways and is standing in front of me. I lounge against the librarian’s desk, displaying my lack of give-a-damn.

  “Well?” He hates having to ask. I can tell by the testiness of his tone.

  “There are two potentials. The ones we saw that night.”

  He snorts. “You still can’t tell which one is the true princess, even up close?”

  “It’s not that easy.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “She’s not Awakened. At least, not anymore.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” He paces. “The power we saw… It nearly…” He touches his left shoulder. It nearly melted all his Moribund circuits, and that, my friend, would have really ruined his day. “She’d have to be Awakened to be pushing that much power.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s not.”

  “She’s hiding. Somehow…” His bottom lip curls, turning his beauty into a mulish mess. “We have to draw her out, make her use her power, put her in fear for her life.” He fixes me with his shark-black stare. “You. You have to draw her out.”

  I hate the very idea of it. Syl’s kind, generous, funny… I don’t want to hurt her. It goes against every natural instinct in my body. It’s probably jerky of me to hope that Fiann’s the sleeper-princess, but yeah, I do.

  Agravaine sees the rebellion in my posture. “Rouen…” The warning tone in his voice tells me I can’t defy him directly.

  Crap, crap, crap… I’m literally biting my fingernails, and then… Lightbulb! I can’t defy him, but I can stall him. I put on my most bored expression. “Fine, fine.” I wave a hand. “I’ll play their Homecoming and draw her out.” Whew, sometimes it pays to eavesdrop on seniors. “It’s in a month, and they’ll all be there, the whole student body.” I meet his gaze, willing him to swallow the bait, shark that he is. “The sleeper-princess is immune to my gramarye. My powers won’t affect her, so it’ll be easy to pick her out of the crowd. She’ll be the only one not entranced.”

  I wait, my heart rabbiting against my rib cage. Good shark, nice shark.

  He smiles at the bait and swallows it. “Good. That’ll give me…time.”

  Time? I give him my patented what the hell are you taking about look, but he ignores it. Something sinister moves behind that smile. He’s planning something.

  Worry rises in me, worry for Syl. “What if she doesn’t show?”

  “You’re a princess of the dark Fae. She’s a princess of the fair Fae. Blood calls to blood, Rouen, the way summer calls to winter. She’ll come.”

  Chapter Five

  Syl

  The sleeper-princess

  Able to read auras

  And see through Glamoury

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  “You lucky bee-yotch.” Fiann’s voice rings down the crowded hall, over the hundreds of other voices, the slamming of lockers, and the hoots and hollers of the student body relieved that their first day is finally over. “Syl!”

  Darn it. I’d managed to avoid Fiann since second period. Since Euphoria vanished. I thought we’d hit it off, but then again… Maybe she doesn’t like me. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl’s faked friendship only to start ignoring me.

  Euphoria’s nothing like Fiann. At least, I hope she’s not.

  Fiann’s making her way against the tide of kids toward me, her princess posse right behind her. “Out of the way, losers,” she says, and people move away from her in droves.

  She could’ve just yelled, I’m gonna puke! It’d have the same effect. Ugh. Why do people just roll over and play dead at her command?

  She can tease and taunt me all day long. I’ll never be one of her little minions.

  Speaking of minions… I spot Lennon in the crowd, long black hair shiny, all kawaii-adorable even in the school uniform. She pulls off her cat-ear headphones and gives an apologetic shrug. I’m sorry too. She and Fiann used to be my BFFs. But now…

  Now, Fiann gets right into my personal space. “I can’t believe Euphoria’s your lab partner.”

  “Keep your voice down or—” And then I notice that Danette, Maggie, Jazz, even Lennon are giving Fiann a super-nervous side-eye. It’s like they didn’t recognize Euphoria, and whoa, that is wizard-level weird.

  “Or what?” Fiann leans in so her nose is almost touching mine.

  “Nothing.” I back up. I’m not going to let her bully me, but we’re still on school grounds. Getting expelled on day one is not on my agenda.

  I won’t fight her. I’ll just use her princess posse against her. “Who says that’s Euphoria? It doesn’t even look like her.”

  It’s a wild stab, but it strikes the target. The primpy princesses are all fidgeting, glancing at Fiann, their auras shifting wildly from the reds and oranges of fear to the greenish-yellows of nervousness.

  I pour on the melodrama. “What are you, a crazy stalker or something? Just because she looks like Euphoria, you’re stalking her—stalking a girl?” I hammer that last word home.

  Fiann’s one of those girls who’s always touching other girl’s butts and then shouting, No homo! Like it even matters. Some girls like girls. Who cares?

  Fiann does. Image is everything to her. Normally once she’s on me, she’s a dog with a bone, but she lets this one go. It’s got too much gay on it, maybe. She sniffs. “Hmph. Maybe it isn’t her. There’s no way a cool girl like Euphoria would hang out with a poser like you.”

  The princess posse, clearly relieved that their fearless leader is no longer talking crazypants, laughs and throws shade at me.

  “Seriously!”

  “Good one, Fiann!”

  “Yeah, Euphoria hanging out with her. Hi-larious.”

  Only Lennon stays quiet, twisting her hands in her uniform skirt, looking down at her cute Pusheen Mary Janes.

  I walk away, their jeers ringing in my head. Maybe I’m the one that’s crazy. I haven’t seen Euphoria—I can’t bring myself to call her by her real name—since second period. The day’s almost done, and nothing. Not a whisper, not a glimpse.

  It’s like she vanished. Or like she doesn’t actually go here, the suspicious part of me whispers.

  Oh my God, stop. She said it was a publicity stunt, something her manager put her up to. I mean, why would anyone go to high school if they didn’t have to? I glance back at Fiann and her gaggle. Especially Richmond E. I reach my locker and drag my books out of it into my backpack. I stuff my Elephant Thai polo down deeper so no one can see it. Work, then home, then homework.

  Oh, the glamorous life of me!

  I shoulder my pack and head out the door with the thousand other students. We pile out onto the lawn. The bike rack is thronged, so I stand back to wait. Through the gap in all the other kids, I spy my bike.

  And the nail sticking out of my front tire.

  Ugh. I push my way through—“Excuse me, sorry!”—and check the damage to my poor bike. I swear, I feel Fiann’s eyes on me a second before her shrill voice breaks the air.

  “Too bad, Syl! Nails happen.” She’s leaning against the shiny-new silver Porsche her daddy bought for her, smirking like she’s Jennifer freaking Lawrence or something.

  I want to put my fist through her car window. Just barely, I resist. My face is scalding hot, and I know it shows. Being Irish and pale, I wear any kind of blush like a brand.

  Laughing, she flounces off to the driver’s side, the rest of her princess posse climbing into Dani’s F1 Cruiser. They’re probably heading over to Nanci Raygun’s.

  A pang of homesickness hits me in the heart. I’m left standing there while everyone else grabs their bikes and takes off.

  The buses are pulling out, and all
the commuter kids are leaving in their shiny cars. I could run for the bus, but it won’t drop me anywhere near home or work, which is where I really need to be.

  I grab the nail and yank it out. The tire deflates as I do.

  “Heyla.”

  I jerk my head up. Euphoria!

  She’s dressed all in Gothy black—leather pants and tank top, leather jacket, boots with shiny chrome accents. Even cooler, she’s sitting on a sleek black Harley with violet lightning painted on the gas tank and fenders. Something about the lightning strikes me weird—the train, that night…was there a lightning storm?—but I yank my thoughts back to my real-life flat tire.

  Besides, how did she ride up on me like that? Was I that focused on plotting Fiann’s demise?

  Now I notice all the kids that are left crowding around her and another guy—a guy in a black leather jacket with white anime hair, on an even bigger motorcycle. I want to kick myself for being whiny-pants.

  Sorry, Glamma. I draw myself up. “My bike has a flat.” I feel like a giant dork, but whatever. I’m nerdy. So what? I own it.

  The corner of Euphoria’s mouth lifts in a smile-smirk, and I want to kick myself for thinking how soft her lips look. She gestures, so super-cool I’m sure my heart’s going to explode. “You want a ride?”

  I keep my voice even. “Is this a trick question?”

  Her serious face breaks into a smile for real. My stomach does a lazy barrel roll. Smiling looks good on her. “Well, come on.”

  My mom will probably kill me. But then again…if I’m late and I lose my job, she’ll totally kill me. I’d rather be probably dead than totally dead. Besides, something about that wicked grin Euphoria is giving me makes my insides flip-flop like nervous butterflies on a roller coaster.

  So this is what hormones are for. Who knew?

  I guess the Harley explains all the leather she’s wearing. And gloves. Seriously? Who wears gloves in Richmond in the fall? It’s eighty degrees today. Stop standing here like a dork, Syl.

  I leave my bike and hitch my pack up. She hands me her helmet.

  I look around, but she doesn’t have a spare. “What about you?”

  “Ah, my head’s pretty hard.”