Moribund

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  “Train you…? In what?” She shoots me the dark Fae side-eye.

  In return, I give her my best raised eyebrow. “You know what.” I lift my soda can to my lips to mask my words. “My powers.”

  She leans back, folding her arms across her chest. It’s her power stance, and I feel the no even before she says it. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “What?” I struggle to keep my voice down. “Why not? What happened to all that ‘together’ stuff we talked about?”

  She levels that intense sapphire-blue gaze on me. “No dark Fae has ever trained a fair Fae. It’s against the rules.”

  “Rules schmules.” Is she kidding? Is this another challenge? Indignation bubbles up inside me, and I can’t help but respond to the gauntlet she’s thrown. “You think I can’t handle it, don’t you? Well, I handled you just fine back at the tracks.”

  She snorts and toys with a limp French fry. “You got lucky, princess.”

  I hear the concern beneath the edge in her voice, but I gesture to where Agravaine and Fiann are living it up with a bunch of popular girls and jocks. More than half the student body, and all of them reeking of that sicky indigo aura, of the Moribund.

  “We need an edge against them,” I say, and it’s true. “They’ve got popularity. But we’ve got power. Sleeper-princess power.” That gets to her. I can see she’s waffling, so I push. “I’ll do whatever you say, no questions asked. Just train me.”

  She pins me with that dark Fae side-eye. “Whatever I say?”

  Danger, danger! Dark Fae! I should so not agree to this. But I want to learn who I am, what I am. And the bonus of spending more time with Euphoria is a bright lure. I swallow it whole. “Whatever you say.”

  I am so going to regret this.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rouen

  What use is good

  In a world gone bad?

  Can one act of good

  Stand against all the hate and darkness?

  - Euphoria, “World Gone Bad”

  “Are you nuts?” Syl’s voice reaches that girly high pitch that lets me know she’s not bluffing anymore. She’s really scared. Worse. She doesn’t believe.

  She stands at the edge of Richmond’s tallest skyscraper, looking way, way down at the nighttime city streets. Twenty-nine stories below, the few cars zoom around like tiny ants on the wet black ribbon of asphalt cutting through the city center.

  The wind whips around us, turning Syl’s hair into a crimson halo around her head. Even afraid, she’s beautiful, and I can see the fierceness that lies beneath her fear.

  She’s got this, Roue. Trust in her. Belief will come.

  I hope so because I am breaking every rule in the dark Fae handbook, training her like this. No dark Fae has ever trained a fair Fae, never mind a sleeper-princess.

  But that was what I wanted, wasn’t it? That was my master plan way back when.

  And I meant it when I told her we’d find new Syl and new Rouen together.

  So I take a deep breath and meet her on the edge.

  Syl’s face is paler than normal as she studies the bank building across the vast, gut-wrenching gap of Main Street. It’s a smaller skyscraper, lower than the one we stand on. I see her working out the math in her head—how far it is, how much lower the other building; she factoring in the wind, how fast she’ll have to run to get up speed…

  “I…” Her hands shake, and she clears her throat.

  I want to comfort her, to wrap my arms around her and tell her she doesn’t have to do this. But I can’t. Becoming Fae is painful, terrifying, wonderful.

  She needs to experience all three to fully Awaken. And the best way I can help her is to be hard on her.

  So when she gives me the soulful, pleading eyes, I raise my chin and tuck my hood tighter around my face. My heart aches, but I stare at the empty buildings around us, trying to hollow myself out. Soft emotions won’t help either of us right now.

  She asked me to do this, to train her, and I said I would.

  I have to be strong for her. Tough love, Roue.

  She won’t Awaken to her full potential if I coddle her. Besides…I steal a glance at her. I suspect Syl’s more powerful than she realizes. Time to put my suspicions to the test.

  I jerk my chin at the building across the gap. “Quit stalling, princess.” My voice comes out gentler than I want. “Jump.”

  But Syl only hears the words—me ordering her to do the insanely impossible.

  “No. No way.” She steps back from the edge, her face a pasty white, her breath heaving in short gasps. I feel bad for bringing her up here, for springing Sleeper-Princess Level 50 on her when she just barely asked me to train.

  But Agravaine’s up to something. He’s infected all the popular kids at school. It won’t be long before he infects everyone, makes them his little Moribund minions.

  The Moribund in my hand stretches and tightens painfully. It calls to him.

  Luckily, the Grimmacle masks that call, but it won’t forever.

  We don’t have the luxury of time.

  The wind picks up, stealing my hood and whipping my raven-dark hair into my face. I leave it. Best if she can’t see the regret in my eyes.

  I make my voice hard—for her. “You asked to train, so here we are. Training Day One.”

  She gives me her patented Syl side-eye. “Are you crazy-bananapants?” She looks at the gap then at me. “This is Day One?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and deadpan, “Wait ‘til you see Day Two.”

  Disbelief pours off her in waves. “I can’t jump that! It must be a hundred feet.”

  “A hundred and fifty,” I correct her and watch her face go a sick shade of Gollum green. I keep my expression as deadpan as my voice, but inside I’m cursing the fact that I have to be her mentor in this.

  Seriously. Me, a mentor? I’m no Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  “I…” She bites her lip. “No. No way. Look, I don’t mind hard, but this…” She points at the deadly drop. “This is crazy. I’m only human, Euphoria.”

  “You’re really not,” I tell her.

  Nervous sweat slicks her face. She wipes it away, her hand trembling. “Can’t we just go to a park and, like, start with a climbing wall or some parallel bars?”

  I sigh heavily. Nope, not Obi-Wan. More like Kylo Ren—all dark and emo and seething just beneath the surface.

  It’s time for the tough love.

  I lean against the rooftop HVAC and examine my fingernails. I let her paint them black last night. Even now, I remember the feel of her hand on mine, her touch gentle, her skin silky-soft, and the heat between us burning, burning, burning…

  Focus, Rouen.

  I keep my voice casual. “Do you think Agravaine and Fiann are spending their time on kid stuff like that? No. They’re kicking ass and taking names.”

  Her face flushes, that Irish complexion awash in red.

  Yes, get angry. That’s it. Channel that anger.

  She walks to the edge again and looks down.

  I see the wheels turning in her mind. She remembers that night by the train tracks. She nearly outran me and the hounds of the Hunt. She was scared then just like she’s scared now. But that night, she didn’t have time to think.

  Here, she’s letting the fear get to her.

  I know she won’t for long. My girl’s no whiner. She just needs a little nudge.

  I pitch my voice low to calm her, but I keep my words all business. “Remember, breathe deep into your diaphragm. You’re still Awakening, but your body knows what to do. You just need to give it a little push.”

  “This is your idea of a little?”

  I heave an exaggerated sigh and pretend to let her off the hook. “Okay. We can go to your lame-o park. Come on, princess.” I turn, but throw the coup de grace over my shoulder. “And bring your whiny-baby training wheels with you.”

  “Whiny… Training wheels?” Her temper’s up now, her grey eyes sparking with fury.

  G
ood. Use it.

  Clenching and unclenching her fists, she takes a few steps back from the edge. And then a few steps more.

  Yes, trust yourself. Believe.

  You can do this. I know it.

  “Screw your training wheels.” She takes off at a run, her face set in grim determination, her eyes focused on the building a hundred and fifty feet away.

  Her boots pound the rooftop. Pound, pound, pound! At the edge, she pushes off, her face ashy with fear and the rush of adrenaline as her body catapults her across the space.

  She kind of panics a little midair and doesn’t know what to do with her limbs, arms and legs going every which way, her expression caught somewhere between freaking out and total exhilaration.

  And then she tucks her limbs in tight, soaring toward the building.

  “Wooohoooo!” Her wild cry echoes back to me, filled with triumph.

  She lands on the other side, stumbling and going to a knee. It’s graceless, but she made it.

  My breath comes out and my guts unclench. Effortlessly, I leap across after her.

  I try not to show off, but I was born a dark Fae, and I have years of experience at this. I land way easier than she does; I alight, my boots slamming down on the rooftop as I stick the landing.

  “Roue!” All adrenaline-flushed, she hurtles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and laughing. “I did it! I did it!”

  “You did!” And you called me by my name.

  I blush hard, her joy contagious. I hug her back, and the next thing I know, we are face to face, her breath coming in short little gasps against my lips.

  So warm, so soft.

  So…kissable.

  I thought I knew was burning was, but by all that is unholy, I am on fire for her. Our gazes meet, then we both freeze and jerk away fast. She stumbles, not yet used to her newfound strength or agility. I catch her by the arm and steady her. It only makes the heat between us go hotter, wilder.

  What in all the hells is happening? My heart is pounding so hard, and I ache for her.

  Stop it, Roue. I look awkwardly away, at the buildings, the skyline, the moon, anything. You almost kissed her. What were you thinking? My conscience scolds me like a schoolteacher.

  But my heart answers quietly, from a place deep inside. That she’s amazing and wonderful and smart and pretty. That I feel more myself when I am with her than when I’m with anyone else…

  That I wanted to. I wanted to kiss a sleeper-princess. But she’s not asleep anymore. Syl is Awakening for real, and this is proof. And once this is over, she’ll become part of the fair Fae, and I am a dark Fae, I…

  I will be her enemy.

  Syl gives a shy little laugh that makes the ache in my heart wedge open wider. She steps back and looks down, her face still red. “That was pretty intense—the jump, I mean.”

  Yes, it was. And it’s only just beginning.

  We have more nights ahead of us. I plan to make the most of them.

  I step to the edge, scanning the city line skyscape. All those buildings. My heart yearns to run across them—to run, with her—so I make a lesson of it. “Catch me if you can.”

  She looks surprised, and then I see the fire in those grey eyes as she warms to my challenge.

  I leap off the roof, and she leaps after, chasing me.

  The bell for study hall rings, and I slide from my seat with a wink at Syl.

  She looks a bit tired, but her eyes are bright. All our late-night training sessions are starting to wear her out, but she stubbornly tackles any challenge I throw at her.

  It’s been two weeks, and it’s only a matter of days before October comes to an end. We’re no closer to uncovering Agravaine and Fiann’s plan, and it’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together and figure out Minnie Maven and Susan Scurry are really Rouen Rivoche and Syl Skye.

  Syl’s training is coming along, but she still has a long way to go.

  She still hasn’t caught me, even though our chase has led us all over the rooftops of Richmond. She gets stronger and more confident with every step she takes.

  I know she doesn’t believe yet. She doesn’t see the changes in herself. How she shines. She has an inner glow now, that part of her that is Fae burning so brightly. And then there are the physical changes—her body stronger, fitter, her hair the lustrous red-gold of autumn leaves, her grey eyes glowing like sun on a stormy sea.

  She’s slowly coming into her own, Becoming fair Fae, testing out the summer in her blood, and everything about her draws me in, a moth to a blazing white flame.

  So emo, Roue. So very emo.

  I snort at myself for losing my train of thought. Kids are moving around us as we stare at each other, and I hear Danette whisper, “Lezzies” under her breath.

  I only shake my head. I’ve heard she’s kissed more girls than Brad Pitt. At least I wouldn’t have to be in “party mode” to do it.

  That is…if I ever did kiss a girl.

  I haven’t. I look at Syl. But I want to.

  Maybe when she catches me, I’ll get up the courage.

  Stop it, Roue. This isn’t about kissing her. It’s about survival. A blush scalds my cheeks. I shake off the teen-angst drama.

  Everything hinges on Syl’s Awakening and her learning to use her powers— stopping Agravaine, healing the hearthstone, saving my people.

  Yeah. Just about a dozen things more important than a kiss.

  And yet…I can’t shake the feeling that the kiss is, somehow, still vital. For both of us.

  Syl smiles at me, and her smile lights up my whole world.

  Focus up, Roue. I smile back and slip into the hall.

  It’s been two weeks, and nothing yet. Syl’s been running around the school with her press pass, and I’ve been using my personal Glamoury to come and go as I please—as much as the Grimmacle will allow us to be apart.

  We test it and push it. Being apart lets us feel the spell stretch like a rubber band between us, the tension increasing in our minds as the minutes tick by.

  We can always sense when it’s about to snap.

  An hour is about all we can be apart. And then the Grimmacle has to rest and recharge for two. One for every two. It gives us plenty of time to roam around the school, for her to tail Fiann and for me to check up on Agravaine.

  They’ve stolen Syl’s file—another attempt to track her down. It won’t work. Georgina’s claim that the Grimmacle hides the apartment holds true.

  Syl and I have been safe there. Safe, at least, from dark Fae-terference.

  It’s been…a little weird living with her.

  I tried sleeping on an air mattress on her bedroom floor. But since the night we nearly kissed, I’ve been crashing on her couch, my dark Fae blood keeping me awake and restless.

  And wanting her.

  I can’t risk being too close to her. With every passing day, my control frays like a knot pulled too tight. I need to blow off some steam, but my usual pastime of running across the rooftops has turned into a tense, angsty chase between me and her.

  She chases me, but I am the real pursuer.

  I’m afraid that one of these nights I’m going to let her catch me.

  I turn the corner, heading toward the band room. A pack of freshmen dodges me, shouting “Band geeks!” and “This one time at band camp!” into the band room, and I give them a withering stare.

  Even in my nerdy Minnie Maven identity, I make them back off a step.

  “Freaky chick,” one of them mutters as they scurry down the hall.

  That’s right, pal. Keep walking.

  I enter the room, and the band is there, getting out and tuning up their instruments. All of them have beautiful gear—shiny cellos and horns and drums—and I feel a little self-conscious about my battered violin. No one’s said anything yet, and they probably won’t. The band really are a bunch of geeks, super-shy and…nice.

  I haven’t spent much time around nice people before. I kind of like it.

 
I set my backpack down and pull out my violin.

  We’re supposed to play the big game on Thanksgiving weekend. We have half the halftime show, and the cheerleaders are already saying how we’re going to “lose” to them.

  Leave it to Fiann and her minions to make a competition out of it.

  Whatever. We’re going to beat the spankies off those cheerleaders…

  Once I figure out how.

  Truth is, the band is good separately, but together? We’re a hot mess.

  Nazira, the lead cellist, is flat, and Octavia is a speed demon on drums. Marcus can’t hear anything over the blatting of his tuba, and Chuck’s too busy fiddly-farting on his keytar to pay any attention to the rest of us.

  As we’re keying up to murderface a selection from Wicked, Miss Hawklin steps into the room. She’s all prim and arch, like the cat that not only ate the canary but burned down his house. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Mr Carmen fell down some stairs this morning and broke his leg. He’s going to be out for at least nine weeks.”

  “Nine weeks?” Nazira gasps. “But…but our halftime show is only four weeks away.”

  Miss Hawklin shrugs, but it’s clear she doesn’t give a hot damn. “Do your best?” She sidles out of the room.

  It takes two seconds for the band to self-destruct, everyone talking at once, Nazira arguing with Marcus, Chuck playing a funeral dirge while Octavia tells him to shut it, the rest of the band freaking out, losing their minds until the whole thing devolves into total chaos.

  “See? I told you they’re a mess.” Fiann flounces in as if on cue.

  Seriously, what is this? A Buffy episode? It’s like Joss Whedon is waiting in the wings, giving her stage cues. Or she’s causing it, Roue.

  I narrow my eyes at Little Miss Perfect.

  Her princess posse spreads out—Jazz, Danette, Maggie, and a half-dozen other girls wearing green-and-gold cheerleading uniforms. They all look down their plastic-surgery-perfect noses at us band geeks.

  Fiann primps. “You should just give us the other half of your spot in the halftime show.”