by Sophia Shade
“Do you know me?” I finally ask. “I mean, have you seen me before? Do you know who my father is?”
“I have no idea who your father is,” he says. “Flareburn is a rather common name.”
He nearly spits out the word common, the way I imagine a posh Londoner might spit the word Cockney.
“Do you mean common like lots of people have that name or common like low class?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
“One in the same,” Damon says.
“Great.” I sigh, but I have no time to despair over this. The forest clears ahead of us, and we exit into a large open field.
“There,” Damon says, pointing in the distance. “Callador. Your new home.”
“Home,” I whisper, the word falling from my lips. It tastes glorious, even though I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life.
The building he’s pointing at is massive. Even at such a distance away, I can tell it’s enormous. It reminds me of a Gothic cathedral. I once saw Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, with its tall spires, large pillars, and ornate decorations, but this is much bigger, and the stones are a dark, heavy gray. It nearly takes my breath away.
“Come on,” Damon says. “Still quite a trek to get there.”
“They don’t have cars in the Fae realm?” I huff, the exertion getting to me.
“No, but we don’t have much pollution, either. You think this clear sky happens by accident?”
I was thinking the beauty of the Fae realm was unnatural—magical. But now I wonder if my world could be this vibrant, this lush, if humans had taken better care of it. I keep my observations to myself since I don’t want to get into a debate over environmentalism with my new host.
We soon come to a cobblestone road, which leads us to Callador. It isn’t long before the massive cathedral looms over us. The closer we get, the more amazing it is. The cathedral seems to be cobbled together, yet it also appears to be the work of a master artisan. Stone, trees, ivy, and crystals all come together to form the walls, pillars, and windows. It is both designed and yet naturally formed at the same time.
We’re not alone, either. Men and women in light, flowing garments watch us from the windows as we approach. To my left, I see something small moving quickly. No, someone! It’s human shaped, like the dwarves from Snow White. Then to my right, in the ivy growing along the path, tiny creatures move about. Upon closer inspection, I realize they are minuscule lizards with wings. Like little dragons. They are so cute I want one as a pet. I reach out with one finger to touch one, entranced.
“Hey! Back off, big-o!” One of the dragons flies up and buzzes around my head like an angry bee, and it’s yelling at me as best it can. Its voice is barely loud enough for me to make out.
“Sorry.” I wince, feeling bad. “I’ve just never seen anything like you before.”
“And you never will again if you go around touching us uninvited!” she—I think—huffs at me before flying back to her friends.
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Hey! Leave the dragonettes alone and get over here,” Damon yells.
The gate ahead of us is heavy and dark, but as we near it, it opens automatically.
When we enter Callador, the world certainly feels changed. The room is wide, tall, and open, and it feels dark and light at the same time. There are no candles burning, but I have no problem seeing. In front of us, a stairwell stretches up to a grand second floor. Several men and women, again in the flowing robes, descend the steps toward us. They all have long hair. The men have theirs pinned or pulled back in simple arrangements, but the women have theirs elegantly curled and braided on top of their heads in ornate designs. I suddenly feel a little self-conscious about my jeans, boots, and shoulder-length layers.
“Imogen Flareburn,” Damon announces, as if by way of introduction.
One of the women steps forward. “Hold out your hand,” she says to me.
When I glance at Damon for guidance, he nods. I do so, but I can’t stop my hand from trembling.
One of the men passes her what looks like a large thorn. The woman takes it from him, stabbing it into my palm without a word. I flinch as a droplet of red wells up. She crushes the thorn with her fingers before rubbing it into the blood. The pulpy bits of plant matter turn to red and orange glitter in my hand. In a whoosh, it rises, sparking before turning to smoke and disappearing into the air.
“Whoa,” I can’t help but say.
“Pyralis Hall,” the woman says. She shouts it into the foyer, presumably so everyone nearby can hear. With a threatening glare in her eyes, she studies me. Finally, her lips twitch into a smile. “Welcome home, Imogen Flareburn.”
I gulp. I hadn’t realized “home” would feel so…so…
Intimidating.
Four
“Home?” I choke out. Home is with my mom, wherever she may be. Maybe I made a mistake coming here. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I thought this was a school?”
“It’s both.” It’s brusque and no-nonsense, which seems to fit her personality. “Now, which court are you? Seelie or Unseelie?”
“Um…what?” My confusion is genuine, since I have no idea what she is talking about. In the young adult books I like to read, it usually means good or bad, but I don’t want to make an idiot of myself if it doesn’t here.
“When were you born?” She sounds bored and a little put out, as if I’m taking up her valuable time.
“March 20th.”
A few people around me murmur to each other, but it’s too low for me to make out.
The woman turns to the person next to her, and they whisper back and forth for a moment. A man with a book makes his way to us, flipping through to show something to the woman.
“Right,” she says. “Well, for the year you were born, that would make you Seelie, but just barely.”
“I didn’t say what year I was born…”
“You’re eighteen, yes?” she asks, arching her eyebrow, and I nod. She gives a firm nod of her own. “We may be different than humans, but we can do math, too. You’re Seelie, and it’d be best if you don’t question your elders here.”
Duly noted…but I still had questions, so I’m hoping she didn’t mean that last part literally.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “What’s a Seelie?”
“It’s the court of spring and summer,” she says, which still doesn’t mean much to me, but I nod just to move on.
“Now follow me.” She turns, striding off. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Who’s waiting for me?”
The woman continues down the white marble stairs toward a large set of carved wooden doors, her hair and ethereal robes flowing with each stride. She ignores my question, so I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
I glance behind me as I head deeper into the school, realizing my escort through Dark Fae territory isn’t following. He might not be the nicest guy, but he’s the only person I know in this world, and already he’s leaving me on my own. It makes me feel small and alone.
“Keep up, Imogen,” the woman barks, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil.
She walks with purpose, her steps clipping against the marble floor as she approaches the double doors. Grabbing either handle, she pulls both doors open. Loud music, excited words, and cheers pour into the hall.
“Here you are,” she announces.
It seems I’ve walked in on some sort of party. There are streamers hanging from the ceiling, guys in togas, girls with painted faces, and plenty of food and drinks. Everyone is laughing, dancing, and playing party games. They all seem to know each other, which makes me hang back.
“Where is here?” I ask over the ruckus.
“Just a bit of a welcome party for the students,” she explains. A balloon floats past her face, which she bats away like a fly. “One of your classmates can show you to your room later.”
With that, she leaves, and I am totally alone in a sea of people. They really like t
o just pass people off around here.
According to books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen, the “first day of school” is a fun and exciting time. But I haven’t felt that way in years. Of course, I’ve had a lot more “first days” than most people, and mine were throughout the school years, not at the beginnings. Once I was old enough to realize we would continue moving every few months, I gave up on trying to make friends at my new schools. What was the point?
But maybe this is different. I allow myself that thought because this is the place we’ve be running from. Since I’m here now, I don’t have to run anymore.
I wander around awkwardly between the happy faces and cliques that have already formed. Some people make eye contact with me, but I quickly look away. What must they think about me? Most of these kids probably grew up together, or at least knew that others like them existed. What would I even say to a faerie or whatever else kind of Fae they may be?
My cheeks feel hot, my heart beats a million miles a minute, and my fingers tingle with heat. I think I’m having a panic attack.
I’d love to go to my room and just collect myself for a few minutes, but I have no idea where it even is. That woman said one of my classmates would help me. Oh gods, I’m going to have to talk to someone, anyone, if I want to find my room.
I make my way to the drink table and pour a glass of what looks like punch with shaky hands. I gulp it down like I’ve just walked across the desert. It’s sweet—almost oddly so—and my tongue tingles. When I look into my cup, I notice the liquid has turned from red punch color to a bright pink, like dragon fruit. It doesn’t taste like dragon fruit, though. And it doesn’t taste like punch, either. In fact, it doesn’t taste remotely like anything I’ve ever had in the human realm.
The human realm.
The words rock through my mind. How could there be anything but the human realm? And yet, here I am.
My chest starts to feel too tight, and I focus past the refreshments table toward a long wall that’s left wide open to the outside. I run over, grip the railing, and suck in the fresh air.
A whistle chirps, and a new round of cheering erupts. Leaning further over the rail, I see some sort of sporting event going on. It looks kind of like football mixed with martial arts. The opponents vault over each other, and block with fancy moves as the ball moves from one end of the field to another.
Sometimes, the ball seems to disappear completely before inexplicably appearing somewhere else. The players are shouting unfamiliar words, and every now and then, I catch a shimmering in the air. It reminds me of the way dust looks when floating in the light spilling through a window. Is that…magic?
One guy makes a touchdown or whatever this game calls it—at least, that’s what I surmise by the way everyone viewing applauds. When he raises a victorious face at the crowd and waves, I can’t help but laugh and clap myself. Until he looks right at me and grins.
Oh, gods. Did he just make eye contact with me?
I spin away quickly, trying to convince myself he didn’t notice. My face flushes, not from panic this time, but from embarrassment. But why am I so flustered, anyway? I guess it’s a natural reaction when a hot guy looks my way, no matter which realm I’m in.
Did I just say he was hot? Ugh, I’m such a dork.
But it’s not a lie. Everything about him had been perfect. His skin had a soft golden glow, his teeth were bright white, and he was in amazing physical shape. Probably from whatever sport I just saw him playing. And there was something warm about his honey-walnut eyes. Something that made me feel safe.
I press my hands to my cheeks, and shake my head to clear it. Pull yourself together, Imogen!
Really, this is so unlike me. I never cared about boys back home. Knew better than to let myself get caught up in something I knew couldn’t last.
I turn back to the party, feeling a little lighter. The excitement of everyone around me is having an effect on my mood. Or maybe it’s the punch, I think, realizing I’ve already finished my cup. I decide to make a plate, put something in my stomach in case, but nothing looks entirely familiar.
My stomach rumbles, as if telling me to get with the program, so I try something that looks like cheese and jam rolled in a tortilla. Score! It actually tastes like what it looks like this time, and I’m a little relieved at the familiarity of it. I eat another before moving to refill my drink. Another girl is ahead of me, but she smiles as she ladles more punch into my cup instead of her own. Everything about her looks friendly, from her soft brown curls to her emerald-green eyes.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“No problem.” She heads over to rejoin her friends, waggling fingers in my directions in a farewell.
Damn, I should have said more.
For the first time in a long time, I start to feel happy. Almost…optimistic. Everything about this place seems so normal, like how I imagined college back in my world would be. I squeeze my bag, the one with all those acceptance letters in it, to my chest.
Accepted.
Not only had I been accepted to this school, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. They wanted me here.
The Fae could abandon halflings in the human realm forever…but they don’t. They bring us into their world to teach us about our heritage, about who we are. They accept us. They accept me.
Maybe that’s what everyone means about this being “home.” A place where I can finally belong and be accepted for who I am.
A place I won’t be forced to leave in three months.
I’ll finally be somewhere long enough to put pictures on the wall and make friends.
I need to make friends.
I summon courage from deep inside me—something I’ve been suppressing for almost a decade. That ten-year-old girl who had stopped trying to fit in bubbles up inside. She’s nervous, but excited. Together, that little girl and I walk over to the brunette who had filled my cup and tap her on the shoulder.
“Hi, I’m Imogen, and I’m new here,” I say, surprised by the ease of my introduction. “I just found out about the Fae world a few hours ago.”
Her mouth drops open, her eyes widening, and my gaze shoot to the floor. I cringe, realizing I must sound like an idiot. Then, she laughs, a light tinkling sound. Is it mocking? I’m about to run away, sure I’ve just ruined any chance at a normal college life, when she rubs my arm in reassurance.
“Sorry for laughing,” she says, the smile still in her voice. “But you are just too adorable. You only found out you were Fae a few hours ago? That must be really hard on you. Did you get across the Shadow Veil okay?”
I feel like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders, and I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, yeah, it was hard on me. My mom, she was mad my dad abandoned us, so she kept everything from me. She was trying to protect me, I guess. What’s the Shadow Veil?”
“The space between the human realm and this one. Well—” She looks me up and down. “Looks like you got through just fine. It can be hard for humans to know what is best when dealing with a world they don’t understand.” She outstretches her hand. “I’m Ella Lovewood.”
“I’m Imogen Ro…Flareburn.” I give her hand a little shake before releasing it. “Have to get used to my new Fae name, too.”
“Oh, so you are an ashling,” she says. “Shame.”
“Why? Is that bad?”
Ella turns back to her friends, and touches one of them on the arm. She doesn’t say anything, but the other girls nod and head off. I wish I had friends so close we could have wordless ‘catch up with you later’ exchanges like that.
“No, being an ashling isn’t bad. It just means we will live in different houses and won’t have a lot of the same classes. I’m in the earth hall, Ohdows.”
“Earth hall?” I ask. “Ashling? Sorry, I don’t know what any of this means. Maybe you can tell me what Pyralis Hall is. That’s what that lady called out when I got here.”
“Oh
gosh, you are green, aren’t you? Even if your mom and dad didn’t teach you anything, I would think the school officials would do a better job of introducing new foundlings to the Fae world.”
“Yeah, that would be nice. Maybe they could give us a user manual or something.”
“Maybe we should write a guidebook together,” Ella says. I feel like I’ve known her forever, and it hasn’t even been a few minutes. “You writing from a new Fae point of view and me from an old hat one.”
I laugh, almost forgetting how scared and nervous I was a few minutes ago. Out of all the people here, I seemed to have tapped the shoulder of the sweetest, most helpful person in the Fae world. Maybe there is something to fate after all.
“Can we start with what being an ashling means?” I ask, half joking, but really wanting to know.
“Basically, Imogen, you’re a fire elemental,” Ella explains. “A halfling fire elemental, but a fire elemental just the same.”
A young man squeezes by and mumbles, “Not just the same,” but doesn’t even spare us a glance. I stare after him, but Ella takes my hand and draws my attention back to her.
“Ignore him. He’s nobody,” she says, pulling me away from the appetizer table. “As an ashling, your powers will manifest mainly through fire. That’s the important part.”
Something tells me there’s more she isn’t telling me…though I sense her reasoning is well-intentioned. Of course, my mom’s reasons for keeping me in the dark were well-intended, too, but I’d known my mom my whole life. I could let a new friend take a pass. For now.
“Fire element, huh?” I say. “That makes sense. The sun has seemed so hot lately. And sometimes, when I get stressed, my fingers get warm and tingly.”
“Yeah, that’s just your powers beginning to manifest. You’ll get a hold on them before you know it,” Ella says. “You might want to find some other ashlings to swap stories with, though, and get support. Finch Ashfire—he’s an ashling, too—but I don’t see him. There’s also Dannika Darkfire. Her room should be near yours, and you’ll have a lot of the same first-year classes.”