Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (26 page)

“Freshmen, get ready!” comes Sir Boris’s resounding voice as the longboat nears us in complete silence.

We’ve just sat down when Percy appears beside the teacher and talks to him in private. When he’s done, Sir Boris looks straight at me, filling me with dread.

“Miss Pendragon and Miss Vaughan, come to the front.”

Bri and I look at each other, but neither of us knows what’s going on. If it had just been me, I’d have had a thousand possible explanations, but with my friend involved…I just don’t have a clue.

“Yes, sir?” I ask when we get to the prow.

The bald man nods to Percy. “KORT business, hop out!”

Percy bows to us and helps us back to shore. “Ladies, if you please.”

“What are you doing?” I whisper to him. “Why can’t we go to class?”

“But you can,” he says. “Just after a small detour, president’s orders.”

“A detour?” Bri asks. “Have we been summoned by KORT?”

Percy smiles at her, and, despite the lack of light, I can see her blush furiously. “To see a very special someone,” he says.

My mouth runs dry. “If you mean Arthur,” I say, “then it’s really not worth it.”

“Not Arthur,” Percy says, grabbing a hold of both Bri and me. “Now ’old your breath!”

A brilliant green orb surrounds us, and then an invisible force projects us deep into the waters of Lake Winnebago at the speed of a bullet train, through to the other side above Lake High. I feel nauseous, and the moment we land, my legs buckle underneath me.

“It weren’t so bad now, was it?” Percy asks, clapping my back.

“Let’s not do this again,” I say, feeling the ground beneath me roll up and down like the sea.

“Ah, you’ll get used to it.”

“Why are we here?” Bri’s voice is cold.

I look up to find that we’re standing in front of the asylum. Surely Arthur didn’t want me locked up here, did he?

“We wanted to go see Owen,” Percy says, all mirth gone from his eyes. “But we needed your approval first.”

Bri lets out a long breath. “Why?”

“The lady here apparently needs some convincin’.”

It’s my turn to redden. Bri’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation, but there’s no way I’m going to tell her what I told Arthur on Saturday.

Bri finally relents. “Fine,” she says. “Just…don’t get him excited.”

“We’ll be careful,” Percy says in a serious tone I’ve never heard him take before.

I try not to think of Bri’s worried look as we trail Percy past the lobby, where the same man from my first visit still stands. Except this time, with Percy around, he doesn’t make a fuss about there being more than the allowed two visitors.

“If you could divest yourselves of your trinkets,” the man says in a bored tone.

“He means our Fey implements,” Percy says. “Ya don’t have to worry ’bout that yet.”

He takes off his sword, belt, a dagger hidden in his boot, his vambraces, and finally a single emerald stud from his ear.

“Are you sure you got everything?” the man asks.

Percy nods with a smile, and the man leads us farther inside the complex, down the now-familiar dark corridors.

“Why are they making you take all of that off?” I whisper in Percy’s ear.

“Nothin’ Fey is allowed to come in,” he says. “It’s too dangerous.”

We turn around a corner into the common room, where I immediately spot Myrdwinn sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with what appears to be a set of runes.

The school director spots us as we make our way across to the other side.

“You’re back in here, huh?” I ask him with a smile.

“Eeeh, I can get in and out when I want,” the old man says, waving his hand dismissively. “I know all the ins and outs of this place.”

He peers at me more intently; then his face lights up. “I know you!” he says delightedly. He runs over to me, his long beard trailing behind him. “Have you come for the pie? The taste
du jour
¹⁷
is apple, my favorite!”

I blink. “Uh, no. We wouldn’t want to deprive you. We came for a visit.”

“A visit?” Myrdwinn claps his hands together. “How delightful. I’ve been longing for visitors.”

“No, we didn’t—”

But the old man doesn’t let me finish and steers me instead toward the rest of the patients assembled there.

“I’ve been preparing a little something just for such an occasion,” he confides. “You’re going to love it!”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s music of the purest kind,” Myrdwinn says, closing his eyes like he can hear it already. “It could make the angels weep.”

He grabs a chair and stands up on it, then throws his hands up in the air to get everyone’s attention. His lack of success doesn’t seem to deter him, however, and he starts beating the measure with vigorous sweeps of his arms.

I don’t know whether the patients are truly listening to him, or whether it’s something else that’s risen them out of their stupor, but some of them start to move back and forth, more and more violently, moaning and chanting incantations in a language I’ve never heard.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Myrdwinn cries from his perch, laughing like a maniac. “Cows would produce much better milk with this kind of music instead of listening to Mozart!”

A bald man stands up, screaming, tearing at his face like he wants to rip it off.

A couple of nurses rush in to quell the commotion.

“But we’ve just started!” Myrdwinn protests. “I was making art!”

“Shall we?” our guide asks, displeased at having been detained for so long.

He takes us down another hallway, and we end up in front a plain door with the number twenty-seven painted on it.

“Just a reminder to keep quiet,” the man says. “You wouldn’t want to disturb the other patients.”

“Of course,” Percy says.

We let Bri open the door to her brother’s room and follow her inside.

The chamber is small, and dimly lit by a tiny candle in a corner. Sitting straight on the small bed is Owen, his gaze vacant.

Bri leans in to kiss him on the cheek. She murmurs something in his ear, brushes his greasy hair out of his face, then busies herself rearranging his pillow and covers. When she’s satisfied he’s as comfortable as he can possibly be, Bri moves away from Owen and looks at Percy and me expectantly.

“We’ve tried to make him eat,” she says, her lower lip trembling, “but he won’t take anything.”

I can’t bring myself to say anything; my throat’s too constricted. To think that, just a few weeks ago, Owen was full of life and excitement. And now he’s stuck in this depressing place, wasting away while his twin tries her best to get him well again.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. I know very well why Arthur’s sent me here now, the devious little bastard. He didn’t like losing his argument, and now he’s decided to torture me. And it’s working.

“I need to get out,” I say, bolting out of the room before I break down.

“Not the most pleasant place on Earth,” Percy says when he catches up with me. “Never liked it much growin’ up, and it hasn’t changed since.”

In the front hall, he proceeds to put his gear back on.

“You…you’ve been here before?” I ask. I can’t imagine Percy ever being locked up here. He’s got too much life and energy in him.

“Knew people who were,” he says, buckling his sword belt back on. “Shall we?”

I look back. “What about Bri?”

“She’s gonna stay a little longer.”

Despite the building’s thick walls, I hear the church bells calling us for morning Mass.

“Makes you wonder what they’re thinkin’ ’bout,” he says as we cross the lawn toward the church.

“What do you mean?” All I can see is Owen’s vacant stare, his body as lifeless as that of a puppet.

Percy sweeps his arm back to encompass the whole asylum behind us. “What is it that the Fey have shown ’em that they’ve ended up like this, haunted for the rest of their lives? It’s like a spell that can’t be lifted. Sometimes, I wonder if I were to get caught…maybe then I’d see what it’s like, and if there’s ever a respite in the constant hell they live in.”

My footsteps falter, and I watch Percy’s back as he strides toward his friends, his words trotting in my head. I don’t know what’s going on with Owen or anyone else in the asylum, and I wonder if their fates are worse than being killed like Agnès was. Or my father.

And for the first time since I’ve arrived, I wonder if that means Arthur is right and we can’t survive unless we destroy all the Fey.

“What was that all about?” Keva asks me as I join her and Jack in the Freshmen pews.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I answer back, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

“Come on, you can tell me,” she says, wheedling.

But no matter how much she prods, pleads, or threatens me, I keep my mouth shut. Owen’s plight is not mine to discuss.

“Fine, be that way,” she retorts. “But instead, I want you to keep Puck away from our room, and especially away from my clothes, jewelry, and makeup. Besides, not seeing his ugly face first thing in the morning will be a great improvement for me.”

“Sure,” I say, distracted.

Across the rows, on the benches reserved for KORT, sits Arthur, a head taller than most, except for Lance and the cousins Gareth and Gauvain. He stares straight ahead, focused on Father Tristan and his preaching, the model student. Only once does he look in my direction, a quick flick of the eyes that tells me he
knows he’s won our argument and the little shite doesn’t have the good grace to hide how much he relishes it.

I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t let Arthur get to me like this, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but foster thoughts of punching his smug face, a very unholy thought to entertain considering we’re in church.

“And this I say to you,” Father Tristan says, looking up from his pulpit, “be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of the devil’s disciples, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. May the Lord be with you.”

“And also with you,” we all say in unison.

“Bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing,” the priest continues, raising his hands over the assembly. “May the Almighty God bless you, by the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” I whisper, crossing myself before standing up.

“Go in peace.”

It is the signal, and everyone does their best to hurry out while appearing not too eager to leave church. I, on the other hand, have no compunction about it, and manage to get outside before the rest of the crowd. A good dose of fresh air is all I need to stop my head from exploding.

Before I can get very far, however, I hear someone call me.

“Arthur, how delightful to see you,” I say, not delighted at all.

A few feet behind him are Lance, Percy, and Jennifer. The latter throws me a furious look, and I give her a cheery wave in return.

“What is it?” I ask Arthur. “I don’t want to be late for class.”

“You won’t be late for class, but you might miss breakfast.”

“On your account? I don’t think so.”

I cut across the lawn to get away as quickly as possible without looking like I’m running away from him; which proves impossible.

“So?” Arthur asks, keeping pace with me.

“So what?”

“Did you see him?”

“Of course I did.” I open the north door to the school building just wide enough for me to slip inside.

A moment later he’s next to me again, and I wonder who he’s gotten this annoyingly stubborn side from, because there’s no way I exhibit the same genetic trait.

“What do you think now?”

“What do I think?” I ask, practically spitting in his face. “What do you think? This isn’t a game, Arthur! Of course I feel horrible seeing what happened to Owen and to all the others, whether they’re in there because of Fey encounters or something else. I wish I could do something about it. But that’s what you wanted, right? So what? You want me to thank you for opening my eyes, is that it?”

I notice people staring at us, and I lower my voice. “But I’m not taking back what I said before. I still don’t think it’s fair to hunt every one of them down because it happens that some of them did…whatever it is they’ve done to us. That’s not justice, Arthur. That’s being a sociopath.”

Arthur’s brows lower. “You said you wanted to help them,” he says, “but how can we help them if they remain under this spell put on their eyes by those creatures? And how can we protect the innocent from the Fey’s devious and evil clutches? You don’t know what they’re capable of. Being sent to the asylum is the least of it! What about those who are kidnapped from their families, huh? What about those who are turned into monstrous hybrids so that no one, not even their own family, wants to come near them? What about those who, for the pleasure of some egotistical Fey, have been turned into trees or rocks? Have you asked them how
they
feel about the whole situation?”

Arthur takes another step toward me and jabs me with his finger. “I know it’s not a game, Morgan. Lives are at stake, those of
the laypeople, and ours! But what else can we do? We don’t have their powers or abilities. Would you have us all turn ourselves over to be toyed with as they wish?” He jabs me again. “You say that some of them are innocent. And perhaps you’re right. But have you ever stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, they are laying low only because they’re afraid that if they get caught abusing a human, we may punish them for their wrongdoing?”