Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (25 page)

I pass my hand over the grass, feeling its coarse brittleness under my gentle touch, and my stomach does another flip. Whatever disease has attacked the rose plant has also spread outside.

Walking with my nose close to the ground, I make my way farther and farther down the yard. Dried leaves crunch under my footsteps as I walk over the garden. The virus hasn’t left an easy trail, jumping about from one point to another, often forcing me to backtrack and examine multiple trees and bushes before finding more evidence of its nefarious results.

Despite the obscurity, traces of the scourge lead me to a secluded area, surrounded by tall trees on one side and water on the other. Standing like guards before the shore are four large stones, like the warding stone I saw when I met Lady Vivian. Scanning my surroundings, I find a fifth boulder standing erect a few yards away, black and foreboding.

I stop at the edge of the clearing, remembering Jack’s words, and shiver. Something here feels very wrong.

“Morgan! Morgan!”

The cry comes from behind me, back toward the house. The boys have finally noticed my subterfuge, and if I weren’t totally creeped out by now, I’d be thrilled at the prospect of scaring Arthur. Instead, I start back up the way I came, running as fast as possible. I want to get off this island, and I want to get off
now
.

I trip and come crashing into Lance’s extended arms.

“Whoa there,” says Percy, “hold yer horses.”

“Where the hell were you?” Arthur asks.

Lance helps me get my balance back before letting go of me.

“By the shore,” I say.

“Where is it?” he asks, looking at my feet like they could be hiding something.

“Where is what?” I ask, not appreciating his sharp tone. Another foot closer and I’m going to kick him in the mouth, see if a few missing teeth aren’t going to bring his ego down to mortal level.

“The clurichaun!” Arthur says, shaking my jacket in my face.

I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t he in the house?”

“Obviously not. We thought you took him!”

I shake my head. “He was cold, so I gave him my coat, but then I left him in the kitchen. You mean he’s gone?”

Arthur looks at me with an air of disgust. Percy laughs next to me.

“You gave him your coat?” His laugh grows louder. “Mercy, but I’ve ’eard ’em all.”

“What now?” I ask, tired of being treated like the village idiot.

“You do realize our uniform’s got metal weaved in its threads?” Percy asks before exploding in laughter once more.

It dawns on me then that, while I wanted to help Nibs, I probably only increased his pain by putting my iron-meshed jacket on
him; I might as well have finished him. A good thing he escaped instead, unless…

“You-You don’t think that whatever’s taken those people away got him too, do you?” I ask, my eyes darting about like a pinball.

“It’s a possibility,” Arthur says grimly.

“You know,” I say in a failed attempt at sounding debonair, “I’m famished. Could we stop for some food on the way home?”

It’s the cue for everyone to head back to the little boat, still waiting where we anchored it.

The ride back to the mainland seems longer somehow, and much more quiet, the lack of Nibs’s presence weighing down on our shoulders like Christ’s cross.

“Give me the keys, Morgan,” Arthur says with a resigned tone. “You stole Irene’s car and don’t even have a driver’s license. This is not going to be pretty when we get back.”

“I didn’t steal it,” I say, handing him the keys nonetheless. “I… borrowed it.”

Arthur doesn’t reply and gets in. I hurry into the passenger side, afraid he may leave me stranded as a form of punishment. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made me walk thirty miles at night.

“Seat belt,” he says, turning the engine on.

We arrive home past midnight. Casting furtive glances around in case Irene may be lurking about, waiting for me, I get back inside the house. But the place is deserted, except for Ella, who can be heard moving around in her kitchen downstairs.

I let out my breath, which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Guess you’re lucky,” Arthur says, shutting the door. “Irene and Luther are out.”

“I noticed, thanks.” But I grin despite myself. “Are they often gone like this?”

Gingerly, Arthur shrugs out of his coat. “Mostly. They’re in charge of the Americas, so it keeps them rather busy.”

“What do you mean, in charge?” I ask, hoping Ella’s got some sandwiches ready.

“The Fey don’t remain in only one spot, Morgan, and a number of them live in the surface world. They need to be kept in line which means we have to constantly watch over what they do.” He cocks his eyebrow. “Haven’t you been paying attention in your lore class?”

I scowl at him.

“You should,” Arthur says. “If you had, you would have learned that, back in antiquity, Fey people lived in broad daylight. Due to their powers, they were able to subjugate humans, and often used them as pawns in their power plays. And
that
is why we have to defend ourselves, unless we want to become slaves to them once again.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about Carman and stuff,” I say.

“It’s not just her, Morgan,” he says, looking tired. “They all did it. They all liked to play God.”

He turns away from me and heads up the stairs, his arm held tight against his chest. I grab on to his shirt to hold him back.

“You’re bleeding!” I cry.

He tries to shield his arm away from my prying eyes, but it’s too late, I’ve seen the blood dripping freely down his hand, soaking up his shirtsleeve. How could I have not noticed it sooner?

“You’re getting it all over the rug,” I add before he can deny it.

“I’m fine,” he says, “just a bite.” He rushes up the stairs, and a moment later, I hear his bedroom door close.

Stomach grumbling, I hurry to the kitchen to pilfer some food. Ella, like a fairy godmother, has left two plates of cold pasta and chicken on the counter for us. I silently thank her, then rummage through the drawers and cupboards until I find the emergency kit.

Then, grabbing the two trays as well, I make my way to Arthur’s room.

“Coming through,” I say, managing to push his door open without spilling or dropping anything. “Aaaand you’re half naked.” I turn around and close my eyes. “So, so sorry. I…That is your flesh…wound…blood…” Saint George’s balls, my brain’s just been liquefied.

Arthur grabs the emergency kit from under my arm, and I dare to open my eyes again. He’s thankfully managed to finish changing into his pajamas, but from the towel around his hand, I can tell the shower hasn’t helped.

“You may need a couple of stitches,” I say, trying to cover up my earlier embarrassment.

He rummages through the box and pulls out some disinfectant and bandages. When he removes the towel from his hand, I pull back in revulsion. His wound’s turned a virulent red, and tiny bubbles of pus have already gathered around the edges of the bite.

“That’s nasty,” I say. “You sure that leprechaun didn’t have rabies?”

“I’m sure,” he says, his hands shaking while he unwraps the bandage.

“Here, let me help you.” I grab the packet from him before he can drop it, and sit down on the bed next to him.

Gently, I take his hand in mine. His skin is cold and clammy to the touch, but the flush of fever is creeping into his cheeks. I prod his forearm, then his hand, testing the swelling.

“You, uh, you sure this guy didn’t inject you with venom?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he says, breathing heavily. He pulls away. “I’m OK, let me do it.”

“Shut up,” I say, trying to think.

I have no idea what to do against Fey poisoning. I would take him to a hospital if I didn’t know they’d be as helpless as I. The only thing I’ve ever treated that was remotely similar was a viper bite when one of the girls got bitten during a hike in the Alps, and that was under the direction of Sister Marie-Bénédicte’s careful instructions.

I swallow hard; I know I have a mixture of the antivenom in my mini-pharmacopoeia in the fridge downstairs…

Carefully, I help Arthur recline against the bed’s headboard, noticing the dilation of his pupils. I bite my lip. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

I run as fast as I can back to the kitchen, tripping over the last few steps nearly splitting my chin on the railing. It doesn’t take me long to spot the small container, tucked on a back shelf. I grab it, and within a split second, I’m back upstairs.

“Time for some medicine,” I say. “Give me your hand.”

“I said I was fine,” Arthur says.

“Please, you may play president all you want at school, but up here, I’ve got big sister prerogatives. Your hand.”

Without another word, Arthur does as he’s told. His hand has nearly doubled in size since I went down to get my unguent. I open the container and apply a generous layer of the paste onto the injury.

“What is that?” Arthur asks, crinkling up his nose in disgust.

“Herbs,” I say, “mostly Calotropis and Gynura, with a mix of other stuff. It’s an antivenom mixture. Just pray it works on Fey bites too.”

Up close, I can see his hand’s covered in tiny scars, pale against the honeyed color of his skin. I feel him staring at me as I take a clean compress, apply it to the bite, then wrap his hand with gauze. By the time I’m done, my heart is going at a thousand beats per minute.

“That should do it,” I say, placing the last piece of tape to hold everything together. “But, uh, you should probably go see a doctor.”

For some reason, I can’t get myself to look into his eyes. I gather everything back into the box and get up in a hurry.

“Thank you,” Arthur says.

“Sure,” I say, still not looking at him. Before I leave his room, I pause. “Do you know where he might have gone?”

“You worried about Nibs?” Arthur asks.

“Y-Yeah.”

Arthur throws me a look like I’ve just lost my mind. He raises the bandaged hand. “You’ve seen what he can do, and you’re still worried about him?”

“It’s not like you didn’t deserve it,” I mumble.

Arthur tries to straighten up and fails. “What?”

“Well, you were mean to him, and cut him up first.” I point an accusing finger at him. “You can’t blame him for defending himself, just like you can’t blame a bee for stinging you when you’ve swatted at it.”

“This is hardly a bee sting!” Arthur says, furious.

“Well, stealing his ogham is worse. You nearly killed him!” It’s my turn to yell. “In fact, who says you didn’t? None of us know where he disappeared to!”

“I can’t believe this,” Arthur says, outraged. “Haven’t you seen enough? Your friend Owen’s in the mental ward, along with a couple dozen more, I nearly lost my hand, and every day people disappear around the world because of them. And yet you pity him?”

“Exactly!” I know I’ve just treated his injury, but I’d throw my tray at his face if I weren’t so famished. “What has he ever done that was really bad, apart from biting you tonight? You can’t condemn a whole race, or people, or whatever you call them,
because some individuals are rotten. Would you want to destroy all of humanity because a few happen to be scumbags?”

Arthur glares at me, fuming.

“I didn’t think so,” I finish.

I slam the door behind me before Arthur can say anything else, and storm off to my room.

I must be graced by my guardian angel, because the next day I don’t see either Arthur or Irene, so I get to spend my Sunday in peace. I don’t even see Arthur on Monday morning, when it’s time to head back to school.

When Dean leaves me at the docking station, I go find Bri and Jack, already soaked through by the pouring rain.

“How was the weekend?” Jack asks me.

I shrug, thinking back on my private lesson with Arthur, the stolen car, the pervert at the bar, the creepy island, then the clurichaun’s potential death. I don’t even want to think about my spat with Arthur.

“Nothing special,” I say. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Keva says, joining us by the docking site. “I don’t think my skin’s getting enough vitamin D down there. It’s giving me an awful tint.”

“Not like you’re going to get much of it in this weather,” Bri points out.