Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (32 page)

“Maybe they couldn’t find out how she did it,” a guy ventures.

“Well, can you?” Bri retorts. “You know how she did it?”

“It could’ve been poison,” someone interjects. “I hear she’s good with those.”

“Then the police would have found out it was,” Bri says. “Or at least the Board. But no, they let her come here. And that’s because they know she isn’t the one behind it. Didn’t you see the body? Who do you think would have the ability to do such a thing? You? No. A KORT member? I doubt it. But certainly not someone who doesn’t even know how to do EM!”

I see a few people nod, whispering to each other. As they herd back inside, the noose around my neck uncoils a few notches.

“Thanks,” I say to Bri when they’re all gone.

“Don’t mention it,” she says. “I know you didn’t do it. It was one of
them
. And believe me, when I find those Fey, I’m going to destroy them.”

The sweetness of September is swiftly replaced with the bitterness of October, bringing with it the first snowfall. Though the weather under the lake is milder, I can still feel a shift in the light, like all the colors have been muted.

What I wish would be muted instead are the rumors surrounding Rei’s death and K’s disappearance, but they’re still going strong, spurred every so often by more supposed proof of my involvement.

“You shouldn’t go in here,” Bri says as Keva and I arrive before Sir Boris’s classroom. “I mean, you should wait a bit.”

“Wait for what?” I ask, pushing through anyway.

Taped to the blackboard are hundreds of newspaper cuttings and enlarged pictures of Agnès’s dead body, and of me as I’m being taken to the police station. Jack’s trying to tear everything down, though with difficulty. In their corner, Ross and Brockton snigger, and I feel Daniel’s intense gaze follow my every movement.

Shock, then anger flare within me, warring with my desire to flee and never be seen again. But that’s exactly what all these kids
want. I clench my jaw shut and head straight for my seat, to the disappointment of many.

Just pretend none of it’s there, I tell myself in a now overly familiar self-hypnosis pattern. Pretend like everything’s as it should be and nobody even knows you’re here.

But it’s hard to believe in my own words when the whole world is dead set against me.

“What is this?” asks Sir Boris when he sees the partially torn collage.

Jack hurries back to his seat.

“Who’s the dolt who messed up my room?” he asks again, furious enough his Russian accent grows thicker.

Every student’s eyes are kept studiously down as the teacher scans the rows, looking for the culprit. His gaze crosses mine and lingers there for a second before moving on.

“Very well. Mr. von Blumenthal, please clear this up.
Bistro!
”
¹⁹

“But I didn’t—” Daniel starts protesting.

“Whether you’re the instigator is of no concern to me,” Sir Boris says. “You seem like an enterprising young man. Surely you can get rid of this filth in under a minute. Now get a move on, boy. We haven’t got all day.”

Daniel glares at me as he gets up. I shrug, enjoying this tiny victory, for I know he’s the one behind this.

But this instant of glory is quickly dispelled by the constant attacks I’m faced with whenever Sir Boris’s back is turned. On my way to the blackboard, Dina trips me and I sprawl to the floor under the laughter of my classmates. Burning with humiliation, I quickly return to my seat.

“Morgan, watch out!” Bri shouts.

I duck instinctively as a pair of scissors zooms past me to embed itself, sharp end first, in my textbook.

“You did that on purpose!” I yell, looking at Daniel accusingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daniel says with a sneer.

“Miss Pendragon!” Sir Boris exclaims. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Glaring, I yank the pair of scissors out of my book before grabbing my backpack. I’m done with this place.

“Where are you going, Miss Pendragon?” Sir Boris asks, his face purpling with anger.

Angry tears stinging my eyes, I make my escape. I realize that I should be the bigger person, but it’s awfully hard to turn the other cheek when all people want to do is squish me to a pulp.

Somehow, I end up by the kitchens. I veer left toward my secret practice room, eager to avoid attention. But once inside the storage room, I find it hard to get my composure back.

“I didn’t do anything!” I yell, holding my hands before me as if I’m strangling someone.

My ring responds and a sheet of air blasts out, sundering the remains of an old desk in two. I stare at the result of my outburst, aghast.

“How is it even possible?” I wonder aloud, staring at my hand like it’s a creature of its own.

But my fit of rage is far from over, and recalling what I’ve just had to deal with makes those roiling emotions bubble to the surface once more. All because of that stupid Jennifer and her big mouth!

Another blast of wind shoots out and pierces the wobbly cupboard in the back, drilling holes all over its dusty doors.

Panting, I look at my handiwork with smug satisfaction. If Arthur were here, he’d be amazed at my progress. Except he’s
not here, and, in fact, he’s been very good at avoiding me these past few days.

And that, to my surprise, hurts more than anything else. After pretending to be on my side, to be helping me, the moment things got complicated, he’s decided to shun my presence, both publicly and privately. It’s like…I’ve been disowned!

“If you didn’t want me as a sister,” I shout, “you should’ve. Just. Left. Me. Alone!”

I punch my hand at every utterance, firing bursts of air with each stab, until not one piece of furniture in the room is left untouched. I keep on destroying everything around me, even as my head starts pounding and my shoulder aches so much I feel like I must have ripped my arm off.

Finally, when the Fey is no longer responding to my murderous desires, I stop.

“Serves you right,” I mutter, seconds before I pass out.

“Drink this, dear.”

I feel the cold touch of a cup being pressed to my lips and let cool water slip down my parched throat. I cough, and someone helps me sit up.

“How…?” I start.

“That was going to be my question to you.”

I find myself staring into a pair of gray-brown eyes, and I give a jolt. “Lady Vivian!” I exclaim, fighting another bout of wooziness.

When I feel stable enough to open my eyes again, I wish that I was still unconscious—my secret training room is a wreck, and there’s no doubt there’s going to be hell to pay.

I give the principal a shaky smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed.” Lady Vivian gets up in one smooth motion, her ochre dress shimmering about her like liquid gold, then helps me up. “I see you’ve found a use for these old items.”

Hands behind my back, I throw her another apologetic smile. “I, uh, they weren’t as sturdy as I thought they’d be.”

The torch on the wall gutters, throwing deep shadows on the principal’s statuesque features.

“Well, what’s done is done,” the woman says with a sigh. She eyes me carefully, her eyebrows arched high. “I trust this shall not happen again?”

I gulp. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. Now run along, or you’re going to be late for your training session. I’ll get someone in here to clean this up for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, curtsying before dashing out of the room.

I thank my guardian angel for letting me off the hook on this one. With everything else going on, I certainly don’t need to get on the principal’s bad side as well. If only I knew what was causing those strange deaths, then I would get out of this bloody mess.

Could it be poison from one of those plants that only exist down here as I’ve seen in the Voynich manuscript
²⁰
that Dr. Cockleburr’s shown me? I mentally scratch that idea out—if it were, Dr. Cockleburr would know about it.

The only explanation I can think of is that it’s Fey. But then, why would it have found itself in Switzerland first, then all the way here? The only thing the two places have in common is…me.

A light breeze drifts in from the arrowslit window and tousles my hair. I pause in my tracks, and shake my head at the ludicrous thought.

“We’ve been through this already!” a voice echoes down the hallway, startling me out of my own galling thoughts. “Why are we going over the same things over and over again? It’s not going to tell us anything new!”

I flatten myself against the wall; eager to remain unnoticed.

“Yet every time a few details change.”

My breath catches. That was definitely Arthur’s voice; there’s no doubt about it. I peek around the corner to find an empty hallway adorned by pennons
²¹
hanging down along the walls that I don’t recognize—where have I ended up?

“Don’t forget Rei’s the one who told us of the Kruegers’ disappearance,” Arthur continues patiently. “And, as I found out just yesterday, the strange wind K and her were investigating turned out to be the wailings of a woman.”

A collective gasp follows his words. Against my better judgment, I find myself tiptoeing toward the voices. I stop where the corridor turns. Along the outer corner, between two standing armors, is a set of ebony doors, into which a dragon-hunting scene has been carved. I jump back in fright when I see a dark shape zoom toward me, and realize that the reason I was able to hear this discussion is because Puck’s been snooping around. Sneaky little bugger.

I draw closer to the narrow gap in the doorway left by Puck, without daring to peek in. There’s no doubt this is one of those infamous KORT sessions, and they’re discussing the murder. Which, I reason, completely justifies my eavesdropping.

“But if that’s the case—” says Percy, sounding unusually tense.

“A banshee,” says Gauvain.

“That’s bad, real bad,” Gareth adds. “They are omens of death.”

“And we all saw what happened to Rei,” another guy adds. “K’s probably already dead too.”

“I will not allow you to talk that way!” Arthur says, raising his voice. “Until there is definite proof she is gone from us, we will consider K alive and keep up with our searches. Banshee or no banshee.”

“But that does complicate the equation,” Lance says, with what appears to be a dash of excitement.

“Which is why every watch and search must now be done in pairs of knights,” Arthur says, “and at least one of them must be a member of KORT.”

Somebody bangs on the table. “That’s not fair! We’ve already doubled our workload, and now you want us to go on duty three times a week? There’s only eleven of us left, you know. Ten without K.”

“I’m aware of that, Hector,” Arthur says. “But that’s part of the KORT package. If you don’t like it, we can find a replacement for you as well.”

There’s a long pause, during which I can imagine Arthur’s hazel eyes boring into whoever the unlucky bloke at the other end is.

“It’s fine,” the guy grumbles.

“Now that’s settled,” Arthur resumes, “we should find where this banshee’s lair is, and fast. Samhain’s almost upon us, which means its powers will triple. So if anyone wants to do extra rounds, on top of the ones already assigned, I need some volunteers.”

Before the meeting ends and I get caught, I shrink away from the door.