Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  My heart is freaking out, trying to punch through my rib cage like Ronda Rousey, and the minute that passes is the longest in my entire life.

  Euphoria’s intense blue gaze is on mine, and the world goes away as I burn and burn and burn. She touches my hand. Her skin on mine is hot, feverish. She’s burning too. “I’d love to.” Her voice is sultry, like silk over steel. “Let me pick you up and bring you home.”

  I hesitate for, like, a fraction of a second. “Yes.” I’ll have to sneak out. Mom’ll be furious, but seriously? I just got up the courage to ask out the girl of my dreams. Yeah, I’ll so be sneaking out.

  I look up into Euphoria’s eyes. I’m lost. I’ll be there. I’ll so be there.

  Chapter Eight

  Rouen

  Sleeper-princess, only you see me

  Only you see the true me

  Can we break Winter’s hatred for Summer?

  Can we break the chain of blood and death?

  - “Chains of Blood,” Euphoria

  Syl’s the seventh and last sleeper-princess. I can feel it in my bones, in my blood. But most of all, I feel it in my heart—the truth of her. Not to mention she can see through Glamouries and she can read my aura.

  She’s the last sleeper-princess all right—sweet, innocent, pure. A beacon of white flame against the crushing darkness.

  I am that darkness. And I should not be anywhere near her.

  Famous last words, Roue. I couldn’t stay away from her if all of UnderHollow depended on it.

  Come to think of it, it probably does.

  But Agravaine’s plan is garbage. Infecting the previous six sleeper-princesses with Moribund, blowing their fuses and draining them of their life-forces, even their blood.

  All that, and the hearthstone is no more healed than when we began.

  Without it, my world is doomed.

  It might be emo, but I fight with myself anyway as I head down the hall, away from Syl, dodging students and trying not to look back over my shoulder. I’m taking her to Homecoming. And on the heels of that, The exact opposite of staying away from her. Plus, it’s a bad idea for her to be at the Homecoming concert, in the audience, under Agravaine’s scrutiny.

  But back there, looking into those stormy grey eyes, I was captivated. That spark that flares between her and me whenever we touch… It burns me too.

  I couldn’t deny her anything.

  Truth is, I’ve missed her. The way the long winter misses the summer.

  Okay, that was definitely emo.

  I go to my locker. Fiann tries to meet me halfway, but one look at my grim-dark glare, and she finds something else to occupy her attention. Good girl. I thumb open my locker. I never use the padlock. No one would dare put shaving cream all over my stuff.

  All over her camera and everything. I just don’t get it. Dark Fae and fair Fae might want to kill one another, but we never stoop to such petty bullying. And while I like a lot of things about humans, the mean-girling is not one of them. I’m glad Syl’s not like that.

  Syl…

  A pang of guilt seizes me. I didn’t realize keeping my distance would be so hard on her. Time passes differently for Faekind in UnderHollow. In the blink of my eye, a hundred years might pass in the mortal realm. I was trying to protect her. By hurting her? Good going, Roue.

  Gah! I grab my trig book. I’m so torn. Stay away from her or keep her close?

  It was only one day that we spent together. One day. Why do I feel so connected to her? And her to me?

  Because one second, one minute, one day can change your life.

  It changed mine.

  And that’s what decides me. Right here and now, standing in a high school hallway, I decide. I failed to protect the six sleeper-princesses.

  Now I vow to protect the seventh.

  As much as I don’t want to admit she is the seventh, her words come thundering back. “I can see your aura.” I slam my locker overly hard. Why did it have to be her? Because you always fall for the wrong girl, Roue. In my heart, from the very beginning, I’ve known who she is—what she is.

  The same way I know what I am. Her Huntress, her executioner.

  No. Not this time.

  This time, I’ll save her. This time, I’ll be smart. I won’t wait ‘til the end, and I won’t defy Agravaine directly. If I do, he’ll only use the Contract to order me to hurt Syl.

  I won’t give him the chance. Not this time.

  Besides, it’s time I tried out my plan. Forget Agravaine’s.

  I join the crush of students moving through the halls. Fiann pulls away from her group and trails after me. She’s already berating one of her girlfriends—Lennon, I think.

  By the unholy Hunt, does she ever give it a rest?

  And people say dark Fae are awful.

  At least we’re loyal to our friends and loved ones. That’s why I’ve been distancing myself from Syl this past month, staying close to Fiann. All to throw the Huntsman off Syl’s scent. Besides, Agravaine favors Fiann as the sleeper-princess. According to local legend, she’s the one who saved herself and Syl from the train crash.

  I remember the two of them clinging together, the wreckage all around them, their hands upraised. And then the burning sheet of white fire that scythed into my body, a brilliant agony stealing my consciousness.

  After spending two seconds with Fiann, I knew she’d never have the strength or will to pull that off. But Syl? Definitely. Syl, Syl, Syl. My heart beats it like a mantra, a brand on my soul.

  I will do anything to protect her. Even if it means throwing Fiann to the wolves. Oh, it’s callous and so dark Fae of me that Father would be proud, but after about three weeks of watching Fiann backstab the girls she calls friends, after her constant bullying and how she wants to use me to get to Syl…

  Well, let’s just say I’m a lot less sympathetic.

  Fiann could use a little mauling by wolves. And Agravaine won’t kill her—not once he finds out she’s a fake.

  Plus, dark Fae or not, I’d trade ten Fianns for one Syl. Any day.

  That’s why I’ve stayed away.

  I turn the corner and catch a flash of Agravaine’s white hair as he slips into the hall to cut class. Instantly, he spots me. He always does. He tips a wink at me, fangs glinting beneath his arrogant smirk. He’s surrounded by jocks and all the pretty, popular boys. They mill about him the same way the girls throng to me.

  Between the two of us, we rule the school. He’s always been obsessed with being royalty, and now he’s king of the school. Unlike him, I don’t want power or popularity. I just want to save my people.

  Agravaine uses the crowd of students to mask himself as he goes to a side door and shoves it open. All his bro-dudes pile out while he covers their escape with Glamoury. He’s up to something, all right.

  Infecting the guys with Moribund circuits while I infect the girls.

  I start after him, and he pins me with those shark-black eyes. “Enjoy class.” It’s a taunt, but it’s also a Command.

  Seriously?

  He gives me a jaunty wave before he slips out into the parking lot. Meanwhile, my limbs are busily disobeying me, carrying me to my trigonometry class, a dopey smile plastered on my face. I hate him.

  At least he can’t really make me enjoy class. Not even the Contract of Bone and Blood can control my feelings. That’s why he’s never tried to get me to date him. He knows his Command would fail and he’d crash and burn. Hard.

  I slump in my seat and ignore Fiann as she slides into the desk next to mine.

  Agravaine’s got something sinister up his sleeve. It has to do with all the Moribund microphones I’m tossing off the stage, all the high school boys he’s roped into his motorcycle-racing club, all the shimmering black circuitry I see the students unknowingly sporting in the school halls.

  He’s infecting the student body with the Moribund, but why?

  His plan involves ferreting out the last sleeper-princess, infecting her, taking her to UnderHollow t
o use her. He’s smart enough to realize that once we’re gone, the Moribund lairing in the bodies of mortals will die off. It’s Circuit Fae magic. It needs our presence to sustain it.

  So why infect them at all? What’s his master plan?

  Mr Barney limps over to the board with his cane, his glasses flashing in the fluorescents, and begins writing trig stuff. Fiann passes me a note. Grudgingly, I open it.

  Can’t wait for Homecoming! Too bad you can’t be my Homecoming king!

  I snap my pencil. Girl has no shame.

  “Miss Rivoche.” Mr Barney’s voice booms over the squeaky two-step his chalk is doing on the board. He doesn’t even stop writing. “Will you kindly stop distracting the class?”

  Someone’s got to. This class is the cure for insomnia. Swallowing my smart-ass answers, I stand up and fling the broken halves of my pencil at the trash can at the front of the room. They give plaintive little pangs as they hit the rim and fall inside. Two points. Or is it four? I admit, I don’t get the mortals’ preoccupation with sportsball.

  “Sure thing, Mr Barney.” I sit to the snickering of the class.

  He fixes me with an I’m warning you look, but I pull out another pencil and diligently get to work. Or at least, I fake it. The Command makes me.

  At least it means I can avoid answering Fiann’s note. Homecoming king? Oh, hells no. I glance at Fiann, all blonde-haired, green-eyed perfection. I don’t want to be lab partners with her, never mind fake high school “royalty.”

  She slides a piece of paper to the edge of her desk. It’d be great for our popularity!

  Maybe it was a mistake letting down my Glamoury.

  Fiann wasn’t one bit interested in me when I was just plain Rouen Rivoche, new sophomore at Richmond E. In fact, no one was interested in me. Only Syl.

  I sigh as I copy the trig assignment, the Contract binding me to stay in class. Damn Agravaine to the Harrowing darkness! I could have remained anonymous, but distancing myself from Syl was so much easier with a billion fans around me creating a buffer.

  I thought I was keeping Syl safe. But I can’t stay away, even though I can feel all of us eventually colliding: Agravaine, Fiann, Syl’s mom…

  Georgina… I shake my head. Seeing her again is a kick in the face, but there’s no way I’ll give her the satisfaction of knowing I’m rattled.

  I’m sure she feels the same about me. That iron poker left zero room for interpretation. I’m probably lucky she didn’t try to brain me with it. If she knew the danger her daughter would be in, in just two nights, she probably would have.

  Homecoming.

  Rumor is Fiann’s used her “pull” with me to get me to play. The truth is, Agravaine’s orchestrated the whole thing to flush out the sleeper-princess. He knows the seventh is here. And the sixth’s blood confirmed it. Blood calls to blood. Just the way something inside me calls to Syl.

  On Homecoming night, in front of the entire student body, I’ll play and use my gramarye. The one girl who’s immune, who doesn’t fall under my Euphoria power—she’ll be revealed as the sleeper-princess.

  I blow out a heavy breath. It’s going to be intense. But there’s no keeping Syl from Homecoming, with or without me.

  It’ll take every trick up my sleeve, but I vow to protect my girl from Agravaine. My girl? A second pencil creaks as I squeeze it. When did she become my girl?

  My heart gives a painful tug. The idea of Syl in danger is awful in a way that’s completely foreign to me. I shouldn’t care. She’s fair Fae, princess of the Summer Court—at least, she will be when she Awakens. I am dark Fae of the Winter Court, a sluagh even, the worst of the worst.

  I shouldn’t care. But I do. And I don’t know why.

  All I know is, I’m going to enjoy at least one dance with her at Homecoming before it all goes to hell and Harrowing.

  Chapter Nine

  Syl

  And by her fascination

  With the darkness

  Will the sleeper-princess

  Be revealed

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  I pace my room, fully dressed to the nines and chomping at the bit. Only an hour before Homecoming, before I see Euphoria. Before I dance with her. In public. In full view of everyone—students, teachers, Fiann. My stomach does a lazy barrel roll, but I steel myself.

  I’m ready for this. Ready to dance with another girl in front of God and everyone.

  I glance in my full-length mirror. A cute black A-line skirt and an emerald-sequined bodice make up my semi-formal mock two-piece, and I keep it real by pairing it with sheer black stockings and my black Docs. My red hair is still unruly, but I’ve managed to tame it up into a twist with pretty little tendrils falling around my cheeks. I keep my makeup minimal and classy, just some shadow, liner, and lip gloss. I can’t hide the freckles on my cheeks and shoulders, but whatever. The gem-tone of the bodice suits my coloring.

  Spinning in the mirror, I deem myself ready and way too adorable for mortal man.

  But what about mortal woman?

  If Euphoria can even be called that. Wait, what? I shake those thoughts away even though they nag me. Your Fae-sight, Syl. Her aura… There’s something off about her.

  Ugh. Now is not the time for me to be putting stock in Glamma’s old fairytales. I loved Glamma to the moon and back, but I never did believe all her tales of faeries and bogies. So what? I see people’s auras. There are about a dozen psychics in town who can do that. And so what if Euphoria has some kind of woojy-woo? That’s what makes tonight awesome. We can be odd together.

  But I’m in a holding pattern until Mom leaves.

  Through my closed door, I hear her getting ready for work. She’s got a late shift over at Richmond Public High. Their Homecoming was last night, and apparently, the kids trashed the auditorium the way rock stars trash hotel rooms. I’m kind of thanking my lucky stars for that. It’s good for Mom to make a little more money. And it’s good for me.

  For my sneaking-out purposes.

  “Syl, I’m leaving!” she calls tentatively.

  These past few weeks have put a bit of strain on our relationship, so she’s being cautious now. I regret that. I really do. I love my mom, but a month? For riding a motorcycle?

  It’s kind of overkill.

  Still… “Bento’s in the fridge!” I call back. I made one special for her. Okay, so some of it was fueled by my guilt for sneaking out, but mostly I want her to eat. Her shift is ‘til one a.m. Where else is she going to find decent food at that hour?

  “Thanks. Lock up behind me, okay?” A soft knock at my door.

  Oh, crap. I grab my bathrobe and toss it over my dress as I scramble for the door before she opens it. I crack it open just a bit. “Hi, Mom.” My heart is hammering so loud I feel it in my temples. If she sees me dressed up, she’ll know in a heartbeat—but I don’t want her to think I hate her or anything. “I…uh…I’ll lock up.” I give her what I hope is a convincing mopey face.

  She looks for a sec at my makeup but doesn’t say anything. She probably decides I’m so bored I’ve taken to giving myself makeovers in desperation. She reaches through the cracked-open door and touches my cheek. “Love you, bug.”

  Normally I cringe a little at the pet name, but tonight there’s something sad and plaintive in her eyes, and this feels absurdly like one of those times where, if I don’t say it, I’ll regret not saying it. “Love you too, Mom.”

  And that’s it. She takes her hand away, and I close the door. A moment later, I hear the door to the apartment open and then click closed. Heart still pounding, I wait, counting out sixty long, agonizing seconds. Then I cross the room, gown swishing, to lock up all the deadbolts.

  I won’t be going out the door anyway. Hence, the short A-line.

  I head back to my room to wait by my window. Okay, so I preen a little more in the mirror, smoothing down my gown. It’s cute, but it’s way more elegant than anything I’ve ever worn. I got it cheap—I’m kind of an eBay shark—and I know it’s less
fancy than the other girls’ dresses will be, but it’s got emerald rhinestones on it and it glitters prettily, so score. It’s cool in my book. And I think Euphoria will like it too.

  What if she doesn’t?

  A jolt of fear goes through me, but I shake it off. I know what I saw. The fire in Euphoria’s eyes that matches mine. My knees want to buckle even thinking about it. And speaking of knees… My right leg throbs all the way to my knee tonight. It’s been acting up something fierce. I rub it to work out the kinks, imagining I can feel the iron spike wedged there.

  Ugh, gross.

  Sighing, I twist a stray red curl around my finger. She’ll like it. I check my brown eyeliner and the dusting of gold shadow on my lids. The combination brings out the grey of my eyes, like a storm at sea. I leave my cheeks alone. Foundation makes me look like a scary clown, and there’s nothing I can do to cover up all my freckles anyway.

  If you got ‘em, flaunt ‘em, Glamma used to always say.

  And I so mean to flaunt—my freckles, my dress, Euphoria…

  I check my clock. 7:05pm. She’s late.

  She’s not coming. Oh my God, she STOOD ME U—

  The purr and roar of a motorcycle cuts through my doubt. The relief that pours into me makes me sit down on my bed, hard. You got it bad, Syl.

  I do.

  Peering down into the alley outside my window, I feel my heart give a leap as Euphoria pulls up. She’s all sleek and cool in her black leather pants and jacket, a black lace and mesh long-sleeve shirt, the metal on her New Rock boots glinting. She puts down the kickstand. With held breath, I wait for her to look up.

  The seconds spiral away, and then she does.

  Her gaze meets mine, holds mine, and the fire ignites between us, a raging bonfire rushing heat through my whole body. My stomach clenches, and my knees turn to Jell-O. It seems surreal that, in a few moments, I’ll head down the fire escape—in a ball gown, yikes!—and have my arms wrapped around her.

  Me. Syl Skye, geeky school-paper photographer and nerd extraordinaire. It’s seriously impossible to believe.