The Faery Keepers (25 page)

             
“But, when the boy was six, he began to see things he shouldn't, and being a trusting boy who believed his parents would understand, he told them about it.

             
“The boy went to his mother and told her about a time he saw a tiny person in his backyard. She said; “nonsense, things like that don't exist.” So the boy believed her and told himself that the tiny people weren't real.

             
“Again, he saw the tiny person and he said to himself that it wasn't real. But it heard him and said, “I am real! Can you not see me?” so he had to believe because it had talked to him.

             
“This time, the boy went to his father and told him about the tiny person. His father peered at him and said, “son, you have quite the imagination. Why don't you run along and play with your dog?” The boy didn't know that his parents talked that night about what to do with him and the next time he saw a tiny person, he told them, and they took him to a doctor.

             
“The doctor asked him a lot of questions and some of them he didn't know the answer to because he was only six, but he answered them as best as he could. The doctor said that he had problems, he and his parents talked behind closed doors a lot while the boy played with the toys left for him.

             
“After the questions came the tests. First there were little needles to draw blood and wires that were hooked up to his head. He was scared and didn't know what to do, but since his parents asked him to, he endured them with little fussing.

             
“When the doctor didn't get the answers he wanted and the boy didn't admit that the tiny people were just his imagination, they started more painful ways of changing his mind. The boy could have probably just said what they wanted him to, but it seemed wrong somehow, so he didn't. He had seen them and he was sure of it. Nothing could change that. Even with electricity coursing through his veins as the doctor tried to change his mind.

             
“His parents did things too, but the boy went along with them. That is until they almost drowned him in their own bath tub. He screamed for them to stop, but it was no use. With his head under water, they couldn't hear his pleas—”

             
“This is a
horrible
story,” I interrupt. “Derek, you're just going to give me nightmares again.” I sit up and look at him in the darkness where he kneels beside my bed.

             
“Wait, I'm not done.”

             
I sigh and lay back down reluctantly. “Go on.”

             
“The boy survived, though. Against all odds. He ran away from his parents and never looked back, even though he had to leave Diesel behind when he left. It broke his heart. But it's alright because now he has a good life, a happy one even. But he never forgot what his parents taught him. That you can't trust anyone, not even your family. He has scars from the shocks they put him through, right where the wires connected to his skin and they serve as a constant reminder of what he had before. What he would never have again.”

             
He stops and belatedly I realize that my eyes are wet with tears.

             
“That's awful. For his parents to put him through that and still be able to live with themselves.” I wipe at my eyes and hope he didn't see.

             
“I know.” I notice that he's absently fingering a spot on his chest.

             
“Wait. . .” my mind clicks. “The boy in the story is you, isn't he?”

             
Derek looks away from me and it's all the answer I need. “Let me see.”

             
His eyes flash back to mine, glowing in the darkness.

             
“The scars, let me see them.” He doesn't move so I reach over and hook my fingers under his shirt hem. He flinches a little but otherwise doesn't move. I lift up his shirt and even in the dimness I can see almost a half a dozen marks, silvery in comparison to the rest of his skin, dotting the expanse of his chest. One is even right over his heart. I gasp and draw away. “I'm sorry. So, so sorry.”

             
“Katie.”

             
“What can I do?”

             
He doesn't say anything, just looks at me. Moves so we're face to face and pulls me to him in a tight embrace. I don't move; just let him find comfort there.

             
“I can tell you a different story, if you want.” he murmurs in my ear before he lets me go. I nod and he starts talking. I fall asleep to the cadence of his voice to a black, dreamless sleep.

             
When I wake up later, the sun is shining and Derek is gone.

15. Chaos

             
There are moments in your life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again. Sometimes they are small changes, a small tremor that you barely feel in your feet, but more often than not they are the earthquakes that rock your whole world, crumbling down your house and leaving nothing behind but indecipherable rubble. Well let me tell you that in this instance that the latter is what happens to me.

             
Derek has disappeared from school for a whole week. No lessons. No contact whatsoever. And when we go over to Nyla's place to look for him, all of the curtains are drawn and no one answers the door after about ten minutes of frantic knocking.

             
“Maybe they're on vacation?” Maggie suggests as a last ditch way to make sense of the situation.

             
“I highly doubt that,” I say as we turn away from the desolate house. Without
its
occupants in it just looks dismal and quite frankly somewhat creepy. The flowers in the front garden are starting to droop and weeds are overtaking, climbing up the face of the house like parasites even with only a week with lack of attention. “But I am really starting to get worried, aren't you?”

             
“Katie, I've
been
worried. This isn't like them.”

             
“I guess we'll just have to see how it pans out.”

             
That weekend I take a walk to the park just to get out of the house and it is eerily silent. There are hardly any people, but that's not why it's eerie. Usually when I come to the park there are multiple
Fey
hiding in the trees, but today they're missing. No one is torturing unsuspecting humans, they're not feasting on the wild life. Nor are they lounging around in the boughs of the maples just to be there. I look around and even the birds are quieter than usual.

             
I leave feeling my skin prickle with goose bumps as a sense of foreboding overwhelms me.





             
The dreams are coming every night now. Relentless. I wake up lethargic every time, unable to fall back asleep. Derek was wrong. These are real. They're happening as I see them. And one night when the last thing I see in that tree is his face, I know exactly where they've been for the past, well, almost a month now. But instead of being mad, I'm just relieved that they aren't dead. From the gist of what I remember, the Zions were scared off and damage control began. From the fire, much of the tree was charred, but none of it caught a flame. I think it's because it was spelled. They are faeries after all.

             
When I relay this to Maggie, she lets out a sigh of relief, but anger flashes in her blue eyes. “He could have at least told us where he was going.”

             
I agree with her but I stay silent. I haven't told her about the first night that I had the dream and I'm not sure why I haven't and now would be a good time to, but I can't seem to find the words.

             
“Hey, what's the matter? You look exhausted.”

             
“I am.” I say, stifling yet another yawn. Dark circles smudge the skin beneath my eyes and I can't seem to stay fully awake during second period English, one of the few classes I have with Maggie. We've somehow finagled our way with Mr. Callum to get seats next to each other.  “Remember, crazy dreams lately? They kind of make it hard to sleep.”

             
“You can always go to the nurse, get a pass to go home early.”

             
“And leave you by yourself for the day? Never.”

             
“Come on, Katie. You're tired. I can survive the day without you.”

             
I stare at her in mock horror.

             
Maggie glares at me. “Go.”

             
I sag in defeat. “Fine.” I raise my hand to get Mr. Callum's attention and ask for a pass.

             
“I'll see you later,” I tell Maggie as I'm leaving.

             
When I get to the nurse's office there's already two kids in there taking up the only plastic chairs. One of them I recognize as Bobby Thorton who's in my biology class, he's got his head tilted back against the wall and a wad of bloody tissues pressed against his nose. The other is a girl I don't know and is obviously fighting some kind of stomach bug from the smell of vomit coming off of her. I give her a wide berth and lean against the opposite wall as I wait for Mrs. Werthery, a kind older woman with dyed red frizzy hair that always seems to be escaping from the bun she puts it in.

             
“Yes dear? Don't be shy, come on up here.” Mrs. Werthery pats the cot by her desk. “What's wrong with you?” She asks, none too kindly.

             
“I didn't get very much sleep last night and I'm not feeling well,” I tell her truthfully as I sit down on the edge of the cot.

             
“Ah. Is that right then? I suppose you want to go home, don't ya?”

             
I nod and try to look as sad and pathetic as I can.

             
“You know I'll have to call your mother to come pick you up.”

             
“Oh, no, there's no need. I don't want to pull her out of work.”

             
She peers at me. “You're the Moore girl, right?”

             
“Yes ma'am.”

             
“Ah, Abigail. I've worked with your mom. I know how she takes her work. But do you really want to walk home and be there by yourself? I mean, not feeling well and all.”

             
“It's quite alright Mrs. Werthery. I'm accustomed to it.”

             
“Well listen to you, using words like ma'am and accustomed. Your mom taught you well. Alright, here I'll write you a pass. But you go straight home, you hear me?”

             
“Yes ma'am,” I repeat as she takes out a slip and begins writing.

             
“Here you are. Now get home and get some rest,” she rips it off and hands it to me.

             
“Thank you, I will ma'am.” I take it and get out of there before Ms. Smelly pukes on my shoes.

             
Once outside, I realize that I'm going to have to break my promise to Mrs. Werthery as my feet take me towards the apple orchard without me telling them to. Despite being tired I get there quickly and I check my surroundings and I start to climb the fence as soon as the coast is clear.

             
The tree is easy to find now that I know where it is. The leaves are beginning to fall from the other trees and the ground is slick with them.

             
The only problem with finding the tree is getting
into
the tree. Every other time I was with Derek and this time, since he's in it, it seems that I have to figure out my own way in. At least, I'm pretty sure he's in there. But how many gigantic apple trees can there be in this state?

             
When I reach the tree aforementioned, I circle its trunk trying to figure out how to get in. I still know where the door is, but just walking up to it and knocking seems too easy and will surely get me arrested and thrown back into the cells. Or worse, immediately killed by the Queen's Guard.

             
Why not try your Mark?
I think. It might work as a sort of key. And even if it's a bust, at least I've tried
something
.
Well, here goes nothing
, I think as I walk up to the spot where I once saw the inside. The other times don't count because I was unconscious at one, and the other I couldn't see since I'd had my vision taken from me. Not something I wanted to experience again.

             
I extend my right arm with the spot on my wrist where the four leaf clover bearing wings is now visible. Most of the time it disappears to wherever magical faery Marks go on their own time but when I need it to, it pops up.