“Good luck,” Lucy’s mom told her. “It’s only a partial day?”
Lucy grabbed her bag from by her feet. “Yeah, kind of? Bit weird of a schedule. One exam this morning, two exams after lunch. We had our Gym health test and physical exam on the last day of school. Pretty sure I killed it. But we’re pretty free so long as we don’t make noise for anyone else having an exam.”
“I work starting at noon, so I can give you a ride if you end up coming home.”
“I think people are going to get together for what we’re calling a study session, depending on when we finish the first exam.”
“What you’re calling a study session?”
Lucy shrugged.
“Be good. Don’t get so distracted by your ‘studying’ that you miss the exam itself.”
“Right.” Lucy went to open her car door, then stopped. “Any word on Booker?”
Her mom paused a moment too long.
“I take it you got word on Booker.”
“He’s coming.”
“But?”
“But just for Christmas eve, possibly after dinner-”
Lucy sagged back into her seat, ragdoll-limp. “Why!?”
“Because there’s a party being held with a lot of the poli-sci students at the University and he thinks it’s crucial to go and shake hands and make his face known.”
“Fuck that. Who’s throwing this party? Can I curse them?”
“-and then he’s leaving to try to get to Alyssa’s family for dinner on Christmas day.”
“What the fuck? Isn’t that like, four hours of driving? So he’s leaving at two?”
“Noon.”
Lucy widened her eyes.
“I know.”
“That sucks. Is he coming back? Is-”
“It’s a long way.”
“That sounds so miserable! What the fuck? It’s three different three to four hour drives in the middle of peak holiday! What’s he doing?”
“It’s wonderful he’s coming by-”
“You agree with this?”
“No,” her mom said, too quickly.
“You don’t agree with this. Why cover for him, say it’s wonderful, then?”
“This is the compromise that Booker and Alyssa came to. I think it will be a valuable learning experience to try juggling this and we’ll see how he adjusts in future years.”
“You think he’s being a dumbass, huh?”
“It’s not my place to say one way or the other. I will support him, I will try my best to make the time he’s here magical and make him feel like he’s missing out by not sticking around. And I guess I’ll hope he does something different in future years.”
“Can it be my place to say one way or the other? Can I call him and call him a buttmunch?”
“Let’s try to keep him connected to home with honey, not vinegar.”
“I believe in weaponized vinegar, metaphorically.”
“I have errands to run today that I won’t be able to run after work, so go, have your exam. If you come by the house between exams, I’ll drive you back over. If not, good luck on those too.”
“This sucks.”
“Good luck on your exams. Focus on those.”
“I might go hang with Verona for lunch, if it’s awkward to meet with Mia or Wallace. Would be cool to hang out with her anyway.”
“Make sure she eats. I worry.”
Lucy nodded.
She got out of the car, squinting against the snowfall, and shut the door, planting her hand against the window as a farewell. Her mom reached over to touch it, before pulling away. The bendy road that led up to the front of the school had been plowed, but it was already a few inches deep again. Lucy trudged over.
Mia was at the door. She adopted a jokey tone, “Saying goodbye to your mom? What a loser.”
“Shush.”
“Like you love her. What self respecting teenager loves their parents? You’re supposed to minimize your time in their company.”
Lucy gave Mia an eye roll as she opened the door, pushing it to leave room for Mia to come through behind her.
“You didn’t have to bring your bag,” Mia said.
“I’ve got other stuff in it.”
“Aha. Do you have the business workbook?”
“Yeah. Wait, are you literally going from hinting I shouldn’t have brought my bag to asking for something you’d have if-”
“Can I see it?”
Lucy gave Mia another eye roll, pulled her bag around to her front, and opened it, handing over the business booklet.
They walked down the hall to one of the places the exam info was up. Some students were already around. Enough people had trekked in snow that it had formed streaky puddles that covered half the floor, reflecting the light coming in through windows and through the glass parts of the doors at the end of the hall.
“Two separate rooms,” Lucy said. “I’m in the regular classroom, you’re in the class next door.”
Mia looked up from the book. “Huh. Okay.”
“Find what you’re looking for?”
“Yeah. I was psyching myself out. Thanks.”
Lucy took the book back and put it away.
“You confident?” Mia asked, as they went upstairs.
“There’s been so much crap happening, it kind of distracted me from school. I was really honest with my mom about it, telling her my grades might not be so hot. She was pretty cool about it.”
“This is about Verona dropping out?”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Not how I’d phrase it. Nah. Other stuff I don’t want to get into.”
“Hmm. The only other big thing you’re into was the arcade, and Bracken’s cult creepazoids.”
Lucy shook her head. “Me saying I don’t want to get into it is not me inviting you to try to riddle it out. Neither of those things, exactly. Arcade fell apart a while back anyway. People killed the metaphorical golden goose.”
“Huhhhhh,” Mia drew out end of the sound. “I guess they did, huh?”
“Another project in the works, we’ll see how it goes, but it’s looking good to start. Just have to be more careful this time.”
Mia seized her arm and shoulder with such suddenness and force that it startled her. Lucy backed away a full step, hand going up casually to fend off an attack.
“I want in.”
Lucy relaxed. “Like I said, I think people are being way more careful after the arcade was ruined. I can ask, but I’m pretty sure people are going to say no.”
“What if I’m really annoying about asking?”
“Then I’m less likely to bring you in.”
“What if I’m really useful? Like, feedback. I heard from- from someone, who I won’t name, that they were apparently drunk and really high, and they ended up down the road from their house, with a really bad vibe. And creepy people.”
“Uhhh… I need way more details than that. Like, where? Downtown?”
“Is this new thing downtown?”
“Mia.”
“Close-ish? Where the houses stop and downtown starts.”
Drunk, lives around there. That’s George.
“He was- they were drunk, didn’t want to get in trouble, so they got it in their heads that they wanted to walk around the block until their parents turned the lights out for bed. Right?”
“Sure. Except isn’t it really dangerous to be drunk and out in the cold?”
“Yeah, maybe, but that’s not important to the story or my feedback. They walked around for a bit, and stumbled on, well, that. Blood in the snow, bad vibes, three creepy people.”
“Creepy how?”
They’d reached the hallway, and Sharon and Hailey came over.
Mia shrugged. “He- they- he or she said they were creepy, that’s all. And they all got up, came over, and told him to go back the way he came. Retrace his footprints in the snow.”
“So he did, and he eventually looped around because, you know, he had to go home, and he reached the same spot, and there were no footprints and there was no blood. All covered up, except it wasn’t snowing.”
“Weird,” Lucy said.
“You said that like you know more than you’re letting on. George was- I was telling him the story, and he thought it might be an ARG.”
“An ARG?”
“Yeah, like, there was that one weird video online, and if you paused at the right moments, you could see numbers and letters, and there was a phone number, and the phone number would lead you to more videos, more things, and it all eventually led to coordinates.”
“For movie merchandise,” Sharon said. “So dumb. It wasn’t even a good movie.”
“The ARG was cooler than the movie, but it’s such a great hype building tool.”
“So you think that they had people in makeup or whatever hanging around, ready to fill in the snow, all to promote something?” Lucy asked.
“I’m right, right? This is preliminary, setting the tone, building an urban legend?”
Lucy shrugged. “That’d be pretty cool if it was true.”
“You know something!” Mia accused, jostling Lucy.
“What’s this about? What does she know?” Sharon asked.
“That there might be another Arcade.”
“Oh my god what?”
“Mia!” Lucy protested.
“Sorry sorry sorry sorry.”
Lucy went partially limp, leaning against the window, while Hailey and Sharon harassed her for more information, Mia standing back a step, making a pleading gesture.
Wallace was off talking to the guys. The divide between genders was in effect, girls to the left of the doors, boys to the right.
He gestured, and Lucy wished she had Verona’s sense for figuring out hand gestures. He mouthed the words, barely audible probably even to himself-
“You want help?”
She shook her head, shrugging.
Melissa showed up, Bracken alongside her.
“If you bring in lots of people, we can make this so much bigger, this time around!” Mia urged.
“If we bring in lots of people, then isn’t the same thing going to happen that we saw with the arcade?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, are you talking about the new project?” Melissa asked.
Mia wheeled around, looking at her. Then wheeled around, looking at Lucy.
“Or not? Did I just screw up?” Melissa asked.
“No, we’re talking about that project,” Mia said, staring at Lucy. “You brought her in?”
“Wow, share how you really feel, you bitch,” Melissa retorted.
“I did not mean it like that.”
“Lowly crippled Melissa, she’s not worthy, she doesn’t matter…” Melissa started, head lolling back, cane tapping against the ground. She made a single exaggerated limping step. “Why her?”
“That is not what I meant, okay? No. You’re cool, you’re lovely, I’m glad you’re around-”
“Keep going.” Melissa crossed her arms.
“You were a diehard member of the team. We miss you.”
“Bullcrap.”
“You cared. We have half the team we used to, the girls don’t care. It’s painful. If they had half the passion and drive you did, I’d be so happy. I’m not so happy now. I miss you.”
“You seemed pretty happy getting an award in the competition without me there. While you were ghosting me.”
“Can we not get into this? I meant what I said. It was a busy, crazy time. It was awkward. You were kind of ghosting us.”
“Victim blaming, cool. No, you guys were being dicks, you weren’t treating me normally, if I backed off, that’s why.”
“Can we not have a whole court case over this, right now, before an exam?” Mia made a pleading gesture. “Please? Pretty please? Can we make nice?”
“I mean, does it matter?” Melissa asked. “I’m just her.”
She mimed Mia’s tone from earlier.
“Melissa,” Lucy said.
“Fine. Sure. Making nice.”
“All I meant with that phrasing was… we’re friends,” Mia said, turning to Lucy. “We’ve been friends for a bit now, we share, we do things, we buy each other lunch, we talk about boys.”
“Should I go?” Bracken asked.
Melissa jumped to assure him, “No, you’re fine.”
“Isn’t this sort of thing so much better if you’re doing it with friends?” Mia asked, still making that pleading gesture.
“It’s not the sort of thing you just randomly bring friends into,” Lucy replied. She looked at Melissa. “Right?”
“Right,” Bracken said.
“Bracken! You’re in on this!?” Hailey asked, turning. “Tell us something, give us a hint!”
She started toward Bracken, like she’d cling to him, but Melissa was at the ready, placing the end of her cane at Hailey’s collarbone, then pushing out so Hailey stumbled back. Hailey, annoyed, started forward and reached out to grab the cane, only for Melissa to evade her grasp and bat her lightly on the back of the hand.
The ensuing exchange looked a lot like a toddler on ice trying to stay balanced and make forward progress while a grown adult fought them. Cane at knee, pushing. Hailey’s foot slipped, and she sat down in a puddle of the moisture that had been tracked in on snowy boots.
“What the fuck?” Hailey asked.
“Don’t pester him.”
“Look, Melissa-” Hailey said, and, still sitting down, she tried to snatch the end of the cane out of the air, where it was poised ready. Melissa deftly moved it around, then bapped Hailey lightly on the head.
Lucy just sat back, happy for the distraction, waiting for things to move on.
She didn’t have to wait too long. The teachers opened the doors, and immediately started giving directions. Melissa put the cane down. Mr. Sitton was in charge of Lucy’s classroom. One of the teachers from the younger grades was in charge of the other.
“Coats and bags off, put them at the back of the class. Take your seats, as close to your original seating assignments as you can,” Mr. Sitton said.
Lucy was separated from Mia, Sharon, Bracken, and Wallace. Leaving her with Hailey, Melissa, and George. She thought about asking about George’s drunken wandering into the Undercity, but decided to leave it be. She wasn’t even sure what she’d ask.
It would be fair, though, after Mia had spilled the secret almost immediately.
The classroom had been arranged with chairs stacked, half the desks moved to the very back. It meant the desks were arranged with almost two paces between column. To prevent cheating, presumably.
“Pen, blank or lined paper, water bottle without labels or cap. I will check. Phones in your bag or with your jacket. If I see an outline of your phone in your pocket, I’m taking the test paper away.”
“Isn’t that biased against girls?” Hailey asked. “Because we wear tighter clothes?”
“Guys wear skinny jeans,” Bryson said.
“Some guys wear skinny jeans, but all girls basically do.”
“Enough, please. Not up for debate. Settle in. Have at least one pencil or pen. Do not turn over the packets or booklets on your desks.”
“Oh shitballs! I didn’t bring my bag and I don’t have anything to write with!” Logan exclaimed, hands at his head.
People laughed. Lucy didn’t.
“Come to my desk, Logan.”
Lucy packed her stuff away, and because she had spell cards in her pocket, and they were similar-ish dimensions to a phone, she put those in her bag.
Lucy’s seat was all the way at the back, far left, by the windows. She got settled, then sighed. She watched as Melissa got settled one aisle over, one seat ahead.
“I’ve split your exam into two parts. There’s a part with a blue band down the one side. That’s math. Fifteen pages, when you start, count them. Business is ten pages, green band down the side.”
Lucy settled in.
“We start in one minute thirteen seconds,” he said. He’d brought a plastic clock like the one that was poised above the door, and he’d put it on the ledge beneath the whiteboard, leaning back.
He spent that minute handing things out and checking for phones.
Lucy wasn’t sure if he was spending extra time checking her for contraband or a phone. She stared him in the eyes until he made eye contact and looked away, walking over to the next column of students to check.
“And… begin.”
Lucy checked things over, everything fine, then read over the two exams.
She set to work, going through it.
Twenty minutes in, she was halfway. Ten minutes ahead of schedule. Good. And she was doing the math portion first, which was going to be slower. There were two ‘read, analyze, and problem solve’ sections of the business exam that would take longer, but not in any extreme way.
She shivered at a cold draft, moving her free hand between her seat and her thigh for warmth.
Two problems later, she shivered again, and turned her head around, looking behind her, trying to see if any of the windows at the back had been left cracked open.
When she turned back around, she could see the classroom had changed. Snow drifted lazily around the room, snowflakes settling on every surface. Where they settled, frost spread.
The others were hunched over, shivering, snow collecting on heads, shoulders, arms, and backs, as they leaned over their exam papers.
Lucy turned- and she pushed her chair back, chair legs squeaking against floor. Nobody reacted. Mr. Sitton didn’t even look away from the point in space he was staring at, his eyelashes frozen.
A Fae sat on his desk, near the windows. His hair was black, and long enough to pool around him. His clothing was white lace that exploded upward in a way that left the middle of his abdomen, chest, and shoulders bare, while standing up around and behind his shoulders like a city in miniature. The top extended down almost like a dress, but he was wearing flowing pants. The trailing portion of his top, legs, hair, and the one arm he had out to the side to prop himself up were all artfully arranged.
His other free hand braided a lock of hair, fingers dancing as they drew out the seven-fold braid.
“What-” Lucy started. She glanced at Mr. Sitton. He hadn’t reacted. “-are you doing?”
“I’ve sealed their Innocence behind a layer of frost,” he said, tilting his head to glance over the room, before returning his eyes to his hair. He didn’t seem to need to look to do what he was doing. “They can carry on, unaffected.”
Lucy glanced at Melissa. Aware could be resistant-
“Even her,” the Fae responded to the half-formed thought.
“Why do this?”
“You seem to be in a state of mind to answer questions pertaining to your education so far, Lucille Ellingson.”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy,” he said. He looked up from the hair he was braiding, past long lashes, then smiled.
“I’m in the middle of a test, actually.”
“I assure you, mine is more important.”
“Can you stop time while we do this?” she asked, sitting back.
“I could. I won’t. The clock and the importance you give it should add a degree of honesty to your answers.”
“And if I tell you no? Ask you to postpone?”
“A refusal or inability to provide satisfactory answers will be treated as if all your answers were unsatisfactory.”
He drew a silver hair pin out of his tangle of long hair. It was two feet long, decorated at one end, and drew together to a rapier point at the other.
“As far as they or any Innocent would know, the girl calling herself Lucy Ellingson had a breakdown, viciously wounding herself in each wrist, palm to elbow, before slashing her own throat.”
Lucy shivered for reasons other than the cold.
“And I can write things with the blood spatter so that everyone who saw or heard of this would tell themselves it makes sense in retrospect.”
Lucy started to talk, but there was no air in her lungs- she’d exhaled and forgotten to inhale again. She drew in a breath, and the air was cold, in a way that made her think ‘bitter cold’. She could almost taste it.
“In the event of a lesser offense, we take the one who taught you glamour, and confine him, away from where he may fail to teach another. You would be left alone, but likely altered with Fae workings, to ensure Winter glamour won’t ever pass through your hands again. To Innocents, it would seem like an injury from the cold.”
“And the non-innocents? Kennet will realize, won’t they?”
“If they take issue, they can bring it to the Winter Court bureaucrats. It won’t matter, but they retain that privilege.”
“That seems to be a refrain,” Lucy said. “That whatever we do, it won’t matter.”
“So it is. In more than our investigations here. The longer you live, the more you realize little truly matters, and those things that do matter are not for people like yourself.”
“And why not? Because I’m black? A teenager? A girl?”
“All of those things and more.”
Lucy glanced at the clock.
She hadn’t expected to have to turn to her studies in Law practice already, but… “I believe I have the right to return to my business here.”
“Assert your right, then,” he said, sounding almost bored.
“In my awakening, it was agreed on that we’d be allowed to lead full and rich lives, unimpeded. A deal we made before spirits. It matters, it adds context to other things.”
He gestured, with a movement of his fingers, hair sliding between them.
He wanted her to cite three things. She could only think of two right away.
“It’s innocent ground. The fact you’ve sealed it and put it away, it doesn’t change that it’s an institution, and the institutional aspects of Innocence are protected. Our wars, our politics, our money, our education.”
He gave her a pointed look.
Asking for point number three.
“It seems completely and utterly unnecessary. The time limit. Setting up an adversarial situation. You could set a time limit outside of this, by other means. The Winter Court should be better than this.”
“The Wild Hunt of the Winter Court is not of Winter, though we may be drawn from it. We merely enforce it.”
“But you represent it. As agents out in the world, when the Winter Court itself is described as insular, hard to access… you’re the face of it.”
Braided hair hooked over his thumb, he held up three fingers, and shifted his posture, meeting her eyes. The chill felt worse in the moment of eye contact. The pose made her feel like it would be crass to interject.
He flung the braid over his head, where it moved other locks and strands, all falling in a tumble that made little hairs stand up on her arms, beneath her sleeves. Three fingers still extended, he used pinky finger and thumb with a new lock of hair at one side of his face, twining three braids together.
“Then you, wielding winter, are an agent in the world. You are a face of it, more than even we are. You are seen by all, we are seen by those we investigate.”
“You are Fae.”
“And you are one of the lucky few introduced to the power we of Winter wield. It is thus necessary, and I dismiss your third argument.”
He turned to using one finger, leaving two outstretched. The three parts of a braid became four, with a complex weave tying them together.
“I could call Judges to contest that point.”
“The Wild Hunt would win the summary argument, after which point I would be obliged to leave the world a story of a girl who broke under strains and took her own life at the back of a place of learning.”
He stopped braiding, arching one eyebrow. “Shall you ask?”
Lucy considered, then shook her head.
“To answer your second argument, Innocent ground has been breached enough times. Earlier, students were talking about the lockdown. The glass in the doors of the hallway below remember a scene you yourself cleaned up, where blood painted the floor in a crude rune, and dead and maimed animals were put up as a warning.”
“They were Aware, not Other.”
“You are a practitioner. In the absence of a Lord, I must look at how the powers of this place comport themselves and represent the ideas of this settlement- what is, what should be, what can be. You, as a representative power, impugned that Innocence, bringing an alchemical creature into another school, putting Innocence aside much as I have here, and left yourself no sound argument to make on these grounds. No.”
He drew a second finger in, leaving a ring finger extended, working at his hair with the others.
“They crossed us first.”
“I, in the arguments I will make here, will make it clear how you’ve crossed the Winter Court, necessitating our own prompt action here. Not to worry. That leaves you with one argument.”
It hardly mattered at this point. He’d shot down her other ones, and this was more supplementary.
“Lucy,” he breathed the word, now plaiting together a braid of five strands, one finger extended.
She waited for him to say something.
Then she realized.
“Yes. I see it in the light that reflects in your eyes,” he said, shifting his posture, picking one hand up off the desk to sit upright, instead of leaning out to one side. “You, who named yourself Lucille in your awakening, have clarified your name since. That which was established in your awakening is violable, by your very name. I could concede this point and leave you with a supplementary argument, but I’d be obliged to dismiss your name in all matters.”
“No,” she answered, quiet. “I’m not that dumb.”
“Nearly everyone tries warring against the inevitable, when the Wild Hunt comes. It doesn’t matter.”
“I think I’m coming to resent that idea, instead of appreciating it. Trying matters, change is possible and it matters, things aren’t as set in stone- or ice, as you all seem to believe.”
“Did your efforts this past summer matter?”
“Tell me they didn’t.”
“I’d ask John Stiles to deliver a retort, but he cannot.”
“That’s dirty.”
“It’s the clear truth. Charles Abrams took the throne, John Stiles ceased to be. Your efforts did not change the outcome, and in a hundred years, few will remember that you even tried. All die in the end, all grows cold, and you, Lucy Ellingson, do not matter, except in the stain you may leave on Winter, and that is what we will litigate.”
She glanced at the clock. She was behind the curve, now. Ten pages done out of twenty-five, thirty minutes out of the allotted hour spent.
Was it stupid to care about that?
“Why does Charles get to matter? Why doesn’t John get to matter?” she asked. She got up from her seat.
“A man in the right place at the right time, compared to a faceless soldier?”
She kept her tone level, but it came with a dangerous edge. “John had a face. One I kind of liked, actually.”
“Faceless in ways that have nothing to do with what you see.”
“Elaborate,” she told him. “Because I think you’re wrong.”
“Can you afford the time it takes for me to elaborate? You keep glancing at the clock.”
“Can you afford to elaborate? You didn’t know him, did you? I did. I think you’re wrong.”
“I’ve known enough men like him, I know the shapes men take, the nature of a soldier, even the specific nature of a soldier like him. I’ve seen it play out enough times to know him without meeting him.”
“I don’t think there are enough men like him for that to be true.”
“No, perhaps not now. They have a tendency to sacrifice themselves for noble causes. But I knew enough in the past.”
Lucy shook her head.
“We can argue this point, before we move on to other, more important ones, but your time runs out, and these people will suffer from the cold when it does.”
The Faerie moved from a sitting position to a standing one. He was taller than Mr. Sitton, but slender. He kept fiddling with his hair. She wondered if that was at the core of his particular conceit with Winter.
“The easiest way to clean up would be to cut them. Hide frostbite with wounds. Write the script in blood. That Lucy Ellingson did not only maim and kill herself, but she hurt as many as she could before she did.”
“Even for a Winter Fae, that seems like a whole lot of karmic mess to handle,” Lucy said.
“A cost in the moment, but we face a running cost as long as you continue, if you continue to leave a blemish on Winter,” the Fae said.
“Blemish, stain,” she repeated, frowning. She was out of her seat as well, and paced.
“You consort with goblins. How could you not blemish that which you touch?”
“Really?” she asked. “That’s your first point of order?”
“Really,” he said, giving the word weight.
“It’s in the scope of my responsibilities,” she told him. “I am a practitioner of Kennet. I wield tricks, the spells I am taught, and powers given to me by the locals.”
“As asserted during your awakening?”
“Among other things.”
“The same awakening was already dismissed. The ideas expressed are mutable, you stated a name and then you changed it.”
“Establishment,” she told him, pointing at him. “I’ve established that reality, in blood, sweat, and tears. Three vectors for the Self. I’ve expressed those vectors in the awakening of Kennet, for Kennet’s growth, and when fighting its enemies. Three expressions.”
A tidbit from her Law books. How to establish something.
“When fighting its people. A contradiction.”
“No.” Lucy shook her head. “Fighting for a place can mean dealing with the problems within it. Cutting out rot, on occasion.”
“Ah, I see. So John Stiles, who you passionately defended, was he rot?”
“No,” she replied, testy.
“He held a gun to your head, a knife to Verona Hayward’s throat. He was your enemy. The goblins, who you claim to represent, you fought them, took a captive from them. You were on the wrong side of Mathew Moss and Edith James, on the question of binding and their leadership, so wary of you. What kind of representation do you call this?”
“Reality.”
“Many in reality manage to wield the glamour of Winter without such chaos and bitterness surrounding them. They don’t need to associate with goblins.”
“And I do. It’s what I was awakened into. A greater effort that involves working with all kinds of Other. You want to know what?”
He arched an eyebrow, fingers working.
“I’m glad. It’s good. I think it makes me stronger.”
“Strength at the expense of others. You pollute yourself, you pollute the glamour you use.”
“Beg. To. Differ.”
“We’ll return to that,” he said, holding up one long finger, as he walked among the desks. Students were so cold and frost-covered they were nearly white. Hair was frozen like eyelashes could freeze in negative thirty weather. “You’ve failed to follow the strict instructions of your teacher. Either he’s failed or you have. Action must be taken either way.”
“What did I fail to do?”
“In the last training session we witnessed, you misplaced your feet seven times. You did not control your breathing sufficiently twice when asked. You, distracted by your companion, who I intend to get to shortly, failed to focus on what he told you to focus on.”
“You expect perfection?”
“We demand it. More than perfection, we demand respect. Even in your dealings with me here, I’ve told you that what we’re discussing is more important than the test, and before I spelled out the fact that people here could die, you turned your focus to the clock and the tests.”
“You don’t know what was going through my head.”
“I know enough. I’ve known enough individuals like you, young practitioner, to know how you think and how you act.”
She nodded slowly.
“Even after I told you their lives were on the line- lives I know you care about, you spoke with disrespect in your tone. It seems you don’t believe me or value the threats at hand. That alone is worthy of strict punishment and repercussions.”
Her mind raced. She thought through her options.
Law didn’t provide anything substantial. Not really.
He stabbed Melissa’s test paper with the hair pin, then left it there as he walked three-quarters of the way around the desk, starting at one side and ending up at the other. “You introduced others to Guilherme, the Winter Fae. Melissa and a boy next door. They’ve done even worse than you. A stain on your record and your mentor’s.”
She had an idea. It was a hail mary of an idea, but…
“I’m obliged,” the Fae told her, as he put the pin to Melissa’s throat, “to address these things.”
“Hey,” Lucy told him. “No.”
“Don’t. I challenge your notion that change is impossible. You made assertions that Charles will change things.”
“He already has.”
“And that I won’t? John won’t? No, I challenge that idea. I testify, the work I’m doing, which includes work with Winter, is more or less unprecedented. I testify that I will bring change. I will use Winter glamour to do it. More, better change than Charles. And John will at least matter because I’ll think about him while I do it. I intend to have his comrades by my side when I do it, and to be by their side, helping them. Groups change things. Communities. And we’re building something that big. We founded something, here. You know me well enough to read my mind, you think? Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Were I to say, I would fall into a trap. That is not to say you’re right.”
The Eighth Court is part of it, she thought.
Yeah, he probably didn’t want to say that out loud, even if he intuited it. And if he didn’t intuit it, he was bluffing.
Lucy shook her head. This was something she’d found out about in the Law texts. Law was a kind of binding. Attention to karma. Protections. Lots of early beginner practices had to do with truces. Stalling, postponement. A good Law practitioner could stall long enough to gather karma and turn the odds. It was a delicate, careful game, that required careful and detailed knowledge.
It just sucked her first time using it had to be against the worst sort of enemy for it.
“I am willing to call the Judges on this,” Lucy said. “If you would gainsay me in what I state and what I pledge to do here, I intend to ask them to allow me to prove it.”
“Buying yourself most of a lifetime, free of interference, until such a time as you cease working toward the goal, or you stumble in any significant way.”
Lucy folded her arms. “There may be temporary breaks along the way. Periods of rest, because what I’m doing requires community and bonds, and the sort of bonds I’d need to fill require periods of rest and relaxation.”
The Fae shook his head. “At which point I’m obliged to go through the motions. I can ask you, with Judges present or not, to make a commitment, commensurate with the lifelong oath you’re stating. Establishment.”
Putting her on the spot.
She’d formed the idea of pledging to do something new with Winter glamour, with the Eighth court and various associated options in mind. This had been in the back of her mind, a thought half-finished.
Now she had to finish it.
For a deal like this, she had to make a promise. She already had an implement, so that was out. She could declare she’d take a Demesne that matched her goals. That would be a fair investment, showing faith in what she was doing, and matching the faith she expected of him and the Judges. She could take a familiar in the same way.
Life decisions. And she had- two minutes. Less than. The clock was hard to read, all covered in frost.
She thought back to the implement ritual. How it had come to an end. A vision of the future.
“A husband. One who will meet and work in concert with this goal. To affect change, more and better than Charles Abrams. To do something with Winter that matters. To challenge your mindset and prove you wrong.”
“He cannot be mundane. You know this as well as I do. If you’re to make change, you need power. He must be a practitioner.”
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes.”
“And not, as you’re thinking, an Innocent you awaken.”
She closed her eyes again, then opened them, meeting the Fae’s eyes.
“There’s no need to say anything else. I’m also obliged to levy my threats, if you intend to take a lifelong oath. To escalate the scale of this, so that not only you, but those around you, everything you’ve built, is at Winter’s mercy, ready to be taken away threefold.”
Avery had done something like this. Buying time with a deal with Wonderkand.
This was a more extreme version of that.
“Obliged, huh?” Lucy asked.
The Fae smiled, and it was a cold smile.
Avery had mentioned the Wonderkand thing.
She’d also mentioned what the fairy had said, in the fairy market.
It doesn’t matter.
They really believed that, and they wanted to make it so.
He was leading her on.
“Verona Verona Verona,” she whispered.
“No,” the Fae said.
Frost spread with that word, covering the wall and windows.
“Miss Miss Miss.”
The frost covered a good third of the floor.
“Did you think it would be so easy, to evade us? Postpone us?” the Fae asked.
He moved around the classroom. She backed up and moved to the side, to match him. No, that was falling into his trap. She thought of lessons from Bubbleyum.
She moved the other way. Toward mess and options.
The back of the class. The piles of jackets and bags.
He gestured, and the frost began to melt and fade on everyone present.
“Did you know?” he asked. “Wielded with the utmost skill, long hairs dragged against skin can feel like a shiver of cold?”
She thought back, hairs standing up all over her body, goosebumps.
“I had you at my mercy before you knew I was here,” he said, dropping his hand from the lock of hair he was toying with. “Interrogation done, I can report back now.”
She felt the hair that had been extended up her sleeve and looped around grow taut, arm jerking.
It caught on something deep inside her arm, and it pulled free like a buried cable pulled out of the ground, but sharp, not rough. From the crook of her elbow to the heel of her hand. It pulled free with a tug, and he whipped the hair with a deft gesture, painting the ground with slashes of blood. It looked almost like Faerie writing.
Stumbling, Lucy pressed her arm tight against her chest, wrist near her collarbone, elbow at her lower ribs.
She moved toward her bag and coat. She’d already been on her way, thanks to Bubbleyum’s education, but the gaping arm wound only sped that along. Blood soaked her sleeve with a surprising, bewildering speed.
She reached her bag, reached down, and stopped as she felt more tugs.
One at the side of her throat, tight from one end of her throat to the other. The other at her other elbow. Keeping her arm from reaching any further.
Don’t panic. Guilherme’s lesson.
Panic effectively. Bubbleyum’s.
She stuck out her leg, caught the mini-strap near the top of the bag, and kicked it skyward. She pinned it against her chest with her bloody arm, and the pain woke up for the first time, hitting her full-force.
Oh man, this hurt.
“No,” the Faerie told her.
The bag was pulled from her grip and toward her old seat. As it was pulled away, it rubbed hard against the cut on her arm, pain making her stagger-
Staggering making the hairs that extended to the side of her neck and her elbow pull. Opening small wounds there.
With her bloody left arm feeling numb, she reached for her throat. Dog Tag. Weapon ring.
When she was bleeding this badly, drawing on Self would be dangerous. Not drawing on Self would leave her defenseless.
She turned blood into a weapon, crimson claws at her fingertips. Her hand was weak, but the hairs-
Didn’t break, as she ran the blades into them. Stronger than steel, impossible to cut. The pressure only opened the two wounds wider.
The Fae moved his fingers- she moved her hand. Grabbing the threads, that were sharp enough to cut into fingers and palm. Fighting to keep him from pulling them out and slicing her other arm from elbow to wrist, cutting her throat.
So she screamed. Another Bubbleyum lesson. Screaming could be useful in a lot of circumstances. To intimidate, to call for help.
A scream, top of her lungs. For many reasons. People were stirring from the frost being released. Probably because the Faerie wanted to time this so it would all come together as people came to. The bloody writing would shape the story he wanted to tell.
If she woke them up earlier- well, she was bleeding, but a Fae was a Fae. Glamour wouldn’t work as well around innocents.
But the frost only returned. Securing that innocence.
“No,” the Fae said.
The scream had another use though. It was the antithesis of the soft spoken, hard-line, cold Fae. It was hot, it was violent, it was full of expression.
It rattled the glamour, it let her express Self, and that Self was her only real power source right this moment.
Which helped to sharpen the claws. Cut the thread.
She cut herself free, feeling one last moment of tearing. Blood at one side of her neck, spreading at the crook of her elbow and a few inches of the widest part of her forearm.
She reached her bag, grabbing it. She stabbed her good arm into it, and pulled it out, hoping she was grabbing the tool she wanted and not a thermos. Grabbing the spell cards with elemental runes, and not the curse ones.
She knew her bag, she’d sorted it out, she’d come prepared.
Both were the things she’d aimed for.
Her earring let her hear the hair scraping, running along desks. She saw the flecks of frost coming away, like fine sparkles.
The Faerie, drawing a web in front of himself. Hair that had frost crawl across it, while other hair-
He gestured, hand tracing one lock of hair. She heard it, saw it so faintly she thought her eyes could be playing tricks on her.
Spell card for fire. And a goblin firecracker.
Throwing it at him would be a mistake, so she threw it to one side. It banked off the back wall, nearly knocked the clock above the door off the wall, and then landed near the back row.
Seven, she guessed.
The Faerie gave her a look that communicated a great deal, then disappeared.
Leaving her bleeding badly in two places and bleeding terminally in another, surrounded by students still caught by frost.
She couldn’t even relax yet.
She pulled a spell card for water out of the stack, throwing it in the same motion.
The goblin firecracker went off. Bigger than most firecrackers, smaller than a grenade. Made to ruin glamour. She’d bought one at the market in anticipation of an interaction with Winter Faerie.
A massive, nonviolent explosion at one end of the classroom.
And she had to act. To move, throwing her arm hard into the window. Breaking it.
To give herself an excuse.
The winter glamour that held the innocence back didn’t even all break, in a confined space with a goblin Assblaster going off.
But some broke, and that paved the way for more to shatter.
People shrieked and shouted, some fell over in their chairs. Logan brought his whole desk and chair over in his alarm.
“What the hell was that!?” Mr. Sitton called out.
Lucy sat down hard in her chair.
“What was that!?” Mr. Sitton roared. “Who did that!? Logan!”
“Why me!?”
“Someone,” Lucy mumbled. She raised her voice, “Someone popped into the classroom. Popped out.”
Why was she mumbling?
“Firework past the door,” she said.
Melissa’s hands went to her mouth as she looked at Lucy. Sharon, right ahead of Lucy, screamed. Practically in Lucy’s ear.
“I hit the window, sorry. Is it bad?” she asked.
It’s bad.
She didn’t hear any coherent responses over the shouts and screams.
Halfway through thinking it was better if she didn’t talk while woozy, she passed out.
No heart monitor. No breathing machine. It was just quiet.
Someone’s shoes squeaked as they walked down the hospital hallway.
Winter’s Wild Hunt Fae stood outside in the blowing snow, watching through the window. Lucy avoided looking at them.
Her mom sat in the chair next to her, still wearing the purple nurse scrubs from the shfit she’d been about to start when Lucy came in. Both of her mom’s arms were extended out, holding Lucy’s hand.
Connor sat at the corner of the room. He’d tried to strike a bit of conversation, but what was there to say? It was nice he’d come. Weird he’d stayed. He seemed weirdly almost as affected as her mom did.
Maybe because he imagined Avery in a similar situation.
Verona had come by. A lot of people had. But Verona had been among them, and then she’d left. Because there were two places they’d deemed more safe to be. A place with lots of innocents, and the most goblin-touched parts of Kennet below. Both had less of the Winter Wild Hunt Fae present. They’d agreed if Verona was in Kennet below, she could do more.
But Lucy had been attacked at school, and there were lots of innocents there. So she had to amend the idea, right? It wasn’t just being around lots of innocents. She had to be around lots of Innocents, while being alert and ready. For any frost sealed Innocence or tricks or illusions. So she lay in the hospital bed, unable to sleep, bored out her skull, her bag ready and uncomfortable beside her in case she needed to act.
It felt wrong to be bored when alarm bells were ringing inside her skull, when her heart felt a bit broken for reasons she couldn’t put words to. When her mom looked very similar to how she’d looked when Paul had left.
Every movement pulled at tape or a bandage, or at the IV at her arm, or at her hand, which her mom held in a fierce grip, like Lucy would disappear if she let go.
Boredom fed frustration and frustration fed anger. Anger with nowhere to go.
A threat too big to fight.
“Connor?” Lucy asked.
He sat upright. “What is it?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you close those blinds?”
“Happy to.”
He got up, finding the little rod that could be turned to move the blinds to a closed position. The room became darker, illuminated by the fluorescent lights.
The Wild Hunt Fae outside were put out of sight.
The implicit promise they’d come again was put aside.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
The meds didn’t help with all the pain. Pain at the neck, pain at the elbow, pain all down one forearm. It maybe cut it by a quarter to a half, if she was being generous. Pain fed into frustration. Frustration fed into anger.
She was angry at so much of this.
She was pissed at the hospital gown she was wearing, because it only magnified the feeling of how bulletproof she wasn’t, right now.
Couldn’t do much about it. Couldn’t even read. It felt like if she took her eyes off things, they’d attack.
“Do you think I can use sympathy points to get Booker to stay longer on Christmas?”
“Don’t even joke,” her mom said.
Conversation died.
What was there to say?
Boredom and pain. The boredom made the pain worse, because it meant she couldn’t even distract herself from it. Worse then either was the look in her mom’s eyes. That she probably shared. The worry in Connor’s eyes. The danger had passed, at least in the sense of her immediate health, but the danger hadn’t passed in the sense that the Fae were still out there.
There was a knock at the door, and everyone tensed. Connor tensed. Her mom tensed.
Grandfather entered. He wasn’t old, like his name implied. The idea was that anyone older than average in a squad could get a nickname like ‘Grandfather’. But he had gray in his hair and beard, and a tiredness in his eyes. He wore a green sweater and a heavy jacket that probably concealed weapons. The hospital room had a bathroom built into it, like a square at one corner of a rectangle, and Grandfather paused at the corner of the square.
“I feel like I’m intruding,” he said.
Lucy shook her head.
“I was told you’d be most at ease if I was the one to come and stand guard.”
“Sorry,” Lucy replied, quiet. “I feel like a burden. I know you’re not as keen on me as I am on you…”
“It’s fine. Not a burden. You’ve done more for us than we’ve done for you. I’m glad to repay the debt.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said.
“What do you need? I stand by, shoot anything suspicious?”
“Please don’t shoot up the hospital, unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Lucy’s mom said.
“Okay,” Grandfather said.
“If I fall asleep or read, can you be on the lookout for anything bad?” Lucy asked. “And if there is something, get me awake and paying attention, make sure I can reach my bag?”
“I can do that.”
“Thank you,” Lucy told him.
He nodded, settling into the corner, with a view down to the hospital hallway, arms folded, one inside his coat.
Feeling awkward with him there, seeing her at her weakest, Lucy turned over, her back to him, adjusted the pillow, aware her hair hadn’t been prepped for bed, so it was squashed, and she hugged a pillow to her chest and face. A faint cold draft ran down her back, where the hospital gown didn’t close completely, and she startled back to a sitting position.
It took a bit before she could just pull the covers up around her head, resuming that position, and not startle. She lay there, head covered, face buried, death grip around the pillow, or as much of a death grip as she could manage with stitches running down her arm, the back of her mom’s hand resting against the back of one of hers.
Pillow hugged to her face, hating she felt like this, hating Grandfather was seeing her like this, that her mom probably wanted to blow up at her, that someone else’s parents probably wanted to blow up at their kid for being in danger, by proxy…
She screamed into her pillow, muffled.
The scream traced its way back from anger to frustration, frustration to pain, restlessness, and heartbreak.
Everyone in the room with her was polite enough to act like they didn’t see or hear.
McCauleigh Hennigar exploded from the shape of a ball to a full standing position, arms outstretched.
Only to collapse, twisting, a rolling fall that draped her along the ground. And from the ground back to an abrupt standing position, precarious, on the tips of her toes, one arm outstretched, the other curled around her body without touching it.
Every movement carefully controlled. A tight spin became a leaping jump. With arm strength alone, she stalled a backspring, her entire body’s backward momentum arrested, before drawing together, unfolding.
Sharp, sudden, unexpected movements. From positions that made it look like she needed two or three steps to get square and stand again, she used one. From positions where it looked like she could stand, she bounded into leaps or broke into spins, or thrust herself up instead.
There was emotion in it. Something wound up and constrained fighting free, lashing out. Movements looked like they hurt, because McCauleigh pushed herself an extra half-step too far each time.
Lucy wasn’t a dancer. She didn’t like dance, and she didn’t know how much of that was a kneejerk reaction to dance being so closely tied into the popular clique. She loved music, but that was different.
There was no music right now, but Lucy wondered what it would sound like. Whatever was in McCauleigh’s heart, head, and body. The sound her brain kept going back to was a wailing. Not even a musical wailing. Just… a tormented sound like an animal in a trap that knew it was going to die or a mother that had lost a child. Wild, jagged, abrupt, dark, and painful. The times McCauleigh drew herself together were like the abrupt and small gasps of air, before a surprisingly loud, intense sound tore itself free of the mourner’s throat: big movements that turned and spun out, went too long, too far.
Bare arms stretched out, lines of muscle beneath skin taut, and in the moments they were held out at full length, the trembled from the exertion- straining to move millimeters out past their limits. Straining to strain, because the difference would be negligible to the casual observer.
It felt personal, and the oohs and ahhs of the Dancers of the Wavy Tree dance studio felt like they were intrusive, wrong.
Lucy knew before seeing McCauleigh’s eyes that she was crying.
“She’s going home?” Lucy asked.
Verona nodded.
“This is ass.”
“Can you talk to her? I’ve spent weeks and months talking to her, I’m not sure what to say that I couldn’t say already.”
Lucy nodded.
McCauleigh turned in fierce forward spins, fingers bent into claw shapes, lashing out. She covered surprising amounts of ground while still turning quickly, the steps she was taking became spinning leaps, and the coach of the Wavy Tree stepped in, ready to interrupt.
Lucy, sitting off to one side, had a glimpse of McCauleigh, expression twisted, fierce enough the instructor was taken aback.
And McCauleigh stopped, breathing hard, hand going out to the instructor’s shoulder to push her aside, so she could walk away, back to the gathered Wavy Tree dancers, over to where the chair with her stuff, her towel, and her water were.
Girls sprung to their feets, Hailey and Sharon among them. Melissa, sitting near them, used the handle portion of her cane to hook Sharon around the neck, eliciting a ‘hurk’ sound, before Sharon stumbled into Hailey.
“What the fudge, Melissa? You’re a menace with that thing,” Hailey said.
“Give her a second,” Mia murmured, arms folded, an expression of concern on her face. “Let her cool down.”
Lucy nodded to herself.
“We need her,” Hailey said. “Who is she? Please tell me she’s moving in.”
She looked to Melissa, who pointed at Verona. “Ask her.”
“She’s your friend?”
“Yeah. And no. She’s not moving to Kennet.”
“Can we kidnap her?” Mia asked.
Verona paused.
“No,” Lucy said, to interrupt Verona’s line of thought. “Not really.”
“No,” Verona reluctantly agreed.
McCauleigh had rinsed off, and had a towel over her face, heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. She was still breathing hard.
Lucy got to her feet.
“Hey. How’re you managing?” Mia asked.
Lucy shrugged. She looked down at her bandaged arm, which had a crazy number of stitches beneath the bandage. “Managing. Any word on if anyone was hurt?”
“Some people with ringing in their ears. Logan banged his arm pretty bad. Might be a fracture.”
“That’s Logan. I don’t care as much about him.”
“Wow. Cold.”
“It’d be hilarious that you were so surprised you flung yourself at a window, if it wasn’t for the part you almost died from the bleeding,” Hailey said.
“Hilarious?” Verona asked, voice hard.
“I hope whoever it was got what they wanted with that jerkface stunt. Delay on all exams,” Sharon said. “Good for you, jerk.”
There were a bunch of kids from younger grades present, some playing around on the bars, others hanging nearby, having watched McCauleigh. Mia’s suggestion they give her a minute was probably the only thing keeping them at bay.
Queen bee energy.
“Let me talk to her? Stuff I gotta say,” Lucy said. “Then you can mob her after, I guess.”
“Go,” Verona said.
“Wait, why?” Mia asked. “Why Lucy? What’s up?”
“Stuff to sort out,” Verona replied, vaguely.
Lucy’s hand went up to the side of her neck to scratch where tape held a big bandage in place, but her arm hurt too much to raise it that high. She winced and walked over, eyes darting around- Grandfather was at the door. Angel was outside at the side, visible through big windows. Some Fae were present in the distance, but they weren’t venturing closer.
Innocence was a bit of a cloak.
McCauleigh moved the towel away from her face and looked at Lucy. “Here to convince me to stay?”
“Nah. Don’t think I could, could I?”
McCauleigh shook her head. “Just wanted to get a last dance in, without family watching.”
Lucy had a glimpse of McCauleigh’s eyes. There wasn’t much light in them.
Lucy nodded to herself.
“The Fae who came at me? Tried to say nothing mattered. What use fighting back, what use doing anything, it doesn’t matter in the end. Just… look pretty, I guess, and murder anyone who interferes in your pretty little parcel of the world. Exceptions for the huge assholes like the Carmine Exile.”
“Sure,” McCauleigh said. “Feels that way sometimes.”
The look in her eyes made that much clear. That she felt that way.
Like she’d died and she was waiting for everything else to catch up with that fact.
“Fight,” Lucy told her. “It matters. So much of what we have, we fought for it. If someone wants to beat you, taking it lying down doesn’t do anything except let them have a cushy time of it. Make them work for it. Maybe there’s a way through.”
“Maybe,” McCauleigh said. “But my family… fighting doesn’t get you very far with them.”
“You know, I’ve known Verona since we were little? She was there for me when I peed myself in school. Super embarrassing, but there you go. Took baths together, there’s tons of pictures of us napping, conked out in weird positions, listened to all the dumb music, watched videos way too mature for us, all the stuff. Even did the awakening ritual together.”
“Mmm. Yeah.”
“She’s shockingly good at so many things. Shockingly bad at some others. I’m really a big fan of hers. Verona’s family, I love her.”
“She’s alright,” McCauleigh said, looking over her shoulder. The look on her face betrayed the understatement.
“I know you’re talking about me!” Verona raised her voice.
“Hurry up!” Mia called out. “We have questions!”
Lucy shooed them with a wave of her arm.
“She’s a pretty big fan of yours, eh?” Lucy ventured, fingers touching McCauleigh’s arm to make sure she had her attention. “You’re on her wavelength in ways I’m not. And she’s going to miss the shit out of having a friend around the House on Half street like she had you. She’s found herself these past few months, and I think you get credit for some of that.”
“And now I’m leaving and that’s that, huh? Should I-”
Lucy was already shaking her head.
“-do anything?”
“Stay in touch?” Lucy suggested. “I know it’s hard and tricky, and I know you are going to have so much crap to deal with.”
“You don’t even know.”
“No. I don’t. But she kind of does, I think. So… fight.”
“That’s the issue. Fighting.”
“No, I mean… push forward. Try. Don’t let that light inside die, okay? You think you gotta go, okay. You made that call, okay. I’m not so arrogant I’m going to tell you I know better. You’ve given it a lot of thought. Okay. But your eyes were bright while you were dancing and they were scary when I started talking to you. Still a bit scary now.”
McCauleigh exhaled heavily through her nose, then rubbed at her face with the towel.
“So long as you’re trying, there’s a chance. Find a way forward. You can come back if you need to, we’ll figure something out to protect you. Get you a place to stay, backup. But even if it’s about seeing Verona again after a couple weeks, couple months, couple years… whenever stuff’s done? I think you want that. I know she wants it.”
McCauleigh looked over at Verona.
“I know you and I haven’t clicked as much, but you and her have it in you to be best friends. I don’t mind sharing the turf.”
“Kinda diminishes the meaning, doesn’t it? Like having five different first places.”
“Nah. Interpret it a different way. Like it’s an elevated kind of friend. Ride or die, or whatever you want to say.”
McCauleigh motioned to Verona. Verona got to her feet, and gestured for others to stay back.
“You done?” Verona asked.
McCauleigh shrugged. “I’m probably going to go now. I don’t want to deal with them. They’re kind of annoying.”
“They’re sorta cool when you get to know them,” Lucy said.
“I’m going to grab my stuff and head out before they can find their boots to follow after. Head back to my family’s place. Face the music. Face everything. Everyone.”
“Okay,” Verona said. She glanced at Lucy.
“I didn’t try to convince her not to,” Lucy said. “Sorry.”
“Wouldn’t change anything. Made up my mind.”
“Pretty clear from the dance,” Verona said.
“Yeah. So this is me going. I’m not going to do the ritual. Not going to let things get to the point where they’re kidnapping anyone. They’ll try to twist my arm, turn the screws, metaphorically, maybe. But they’ll try to make me. I won’t.”
She met Lucy’s eyes, then looked at Verona.
“Good luck with your crap. Faerie, new practitioners, Musser’s sending a scouting party before Christmas, is my best bet.”
“Confirmed by the Bitter Street Witch,” Lucy said.
“That’s going to be a thing. So… good luck,” she told Verona.
“Thanks. You too. Good luck. Stay in touch?”
“Might be a bit,” McCauleigh said. “Depending on how they react to a firm ‘no’.”
“Be safe,” Lucy told her.
McCauleigh nodded.
Then she bent down, got her gym bag with all her stuff, her coat, and stepped into her boots, doing up the buckles.
Then she headed for the door.
Mia practically yelped, hurrying over.
And McCauleigh was gone just a moment after Mia caught up.
McCauleigh turned her head, glancing at a Fae as she walked by. Lucy was afraid she’d flip her middle finger up at the Faerie, but she just turned away, carrying on until the blowing snow hid her from plain view.
Lucy looked at the Faerie for long moments before Mia’s flustered and frantic approach disturbed her and she had to calm Mia down and answer questions.
Everyone’s asking the impossible. Of us, of McCauleigh, of Kennet. My mom’s asking it of me, and so are the Faerie, from two totally different directions. And we have to start answering, or else.
Next Chapter