Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (35 page)

“Lucan’s awake.”

The voice is soft and is coming from somewhere above me, pulling me away from my nightmare.

“How is he?” Arthur asks.

But that’s not possible. Arthur’s dead; I saw it. I try to shift, but my body won’t move. My side aches. Then I remember the hooded figure, the knight with the missing leg, the fight, my broken rib, and then a heavy blow to the head.

“He’s shaken,” continues the first boy, and I now recognize him for being Lance. “Can’t believe he won’t be able to fight anymore. Says Charlie’s dead, though we haven’t found his remains.”

“Does he remember what happened?”

“Barely. They found the banshee roaming about the island, but this one was vicious and attacked them.”

“Which doesn’t make sense,” Arthur says. “Banshees usually like to stand back and watch people die rather than commit the killings themselves. And why would it have been there if the place was already deserted?”

“Lucan says he doesn’t remember seeing Morgan when they got there,” Lance says. “So we don’t know if she’s the one who saved him…or the one who drew them over there.”

I keep my breathing as steady as possible and let the accusation roll over me.

“Any luck getting in touch with the Board?” Arthur asks.

“I’m afraid not.”

Arthur sighs, then says, “They have their work cut out for them, I suppose. I hear they’re now investigating that group of tourists whose bones were found picked clean by lice.”

“Those in the Grand Canyon?”

“Yeah. I think we’re going to have to solve the banshee problem on our own.”

There’s a pause.

“She still hasn’t woken up?” Lance asks.

“How did you end up at the site so quickly?” Arthur asks back.

“Ran into her roommate, who told me what she was up to. When I got to the island—”

“Yes, yes, you found them both unconscious with Dean taking care of them,” Arthur says, sounding irritated. “But it still doesn’t explain how you ended up there alone, especially when you know that everyone must travel in pairs.”

“Are you more upset that I got there alone or that I got to her first?”

My nose starts itching furiously, but I endeavor not to scratch it or scrunch up my face. If they know I’m listening, they’ll stop talking, and I need to find out what’s going on. It’s obvious the two have already gone over this argument a number of times already.

“What about that lawyer of yours?”

“Dean?” Arthur asks. “He says that he went there on express order of the Board and found the two of them lying there. No sign of Charlie, the banshee, or anything, except for the knife.”

“Lucan says it doesn’t belong to either him or Charlie.”

“She must’ve brought it,” Arthur says. “Guess she’s not that stupid after all.”

“Unless it’s their blood on it and not the banshee’s.”

This time I have to work much harder not to react and punch some sense into the boys. I concentrate instead on the fact that if it weren’t for Dean, I may very well be dead by now. Note to self, I must thank the man for always saving me.

“We’ll have to wait for the lab results for that,” Arthur says. “But considering the injuries she’s sustained, I doubt she and the banshee were in cahoots with each other.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lance says. “Though…have you seen it?”

It? What are those two talking about now?

“I have,” Arthur says, “and I think I may have an idea.”

I feel the cool touch of callused fingers on my neck and tense up. The fingers go down to my collarbone, pulling my shirt with them.

I fling my eyes open and cover myself from the prying eyes, wincing in pain at the sudden movement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

My cheeks are burning, and I notice the same blush creep up Arthur’s stunned face. We stare at each other as, for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s at a loss for words. He recovers first and lowers his brow.

“If you were awake, you should have said so,” he says accusingly.

“Do you try to get every unconscious girl naked?” I ask.

We both glare at each other under Lance’s bemused look. Harry walks in on us, holding a bowl of water and a clean cloth draped over his arm.

“Back in the land of the living, I see,” he says, a happy smile stretching his lined face.

“She’s awake?” A head pokes around the doorjamb. “Morgan!” A sheepish Marianne shuffles in and grabs my hand. “I’m so glad you’re OK! I thought for sure you’d be a goner and croak before I had a chance to apologize”—she throws a fearful look in Arthur’s direction and leans closer to me—“for what I said to you the last time.”

I shake my head. “It’s all right. I understand.”

Harry takes my pulse, checking it against his golden pocket watch.

“Still a little weak,” he says, pushing me back down on my pillows. “Nothing a little rest and a good broth can’t cure, though.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” I ask. Marianne’s recovery tells me I must have been out for more than a few days, at least.

“Over two weeks,” Harry says.

I nearly jump out of my bed. “What?”

“Which is rather good, considering you should’ve been dead by now,” the old man adds, looking at my pupils, then taking my temperature. “Your immune system’s quite incredible, young girl, but let’s not tax it more than it needs to be. You need to rest.”

The old nurse turns to Arthur. “Which means she’s not allowed to attend any meeting until Dr. Cockleburr’s given her prior approval. Is that clear?”

With a stiff nod, Arthur exits, followed by Lance. Marianne gives me a quick hug that awakens the pain in my side.

“Get well ASAP,” she says. “Samhain’s almost here, and it would suck if you couldn’t attend the feast!”

I’m left for the next few days to ponder my life at ease—though ease is not exactly what I feel. Every second of that dreadful moment on the island has been painfully carved into my memory, and I get to relive it with every waking moment. Then, three times a day, every day, Dr. Cockleburr comes to change my dressings, checking my wounds.

She’s patient with me, and has given me my own room. Though I don’t complain, I don’t find that very comforting; there are only a few reasons I can think of why she wants to segregate me. Either I’m contagious, or I’ve become so disfigured she’s afraid I’m going to scare her other patients to death. And when I feel the ridged scars marking my face, I’m afraid to see myself too.

At least she’s allowed me to keep the Voynich manuscript by my bed so I can devour it whenever I want.

There are so many strange plants described in it, so many new species I haven’t even heard of, that it gets my mind distracted from more pressing issues, like my recovery. Or the fact that we haven’t caught the real killer yet.

“Are these only plants that exist down here?” I ask Dr. Cockleburr as she checks my vitals.

I shift around so she can place her stethoscope’s cold bell on my back. I breathe in, hold, breathe out.

“Most of them, yes,” she says before I repeat the exercise. “It used to be they could also be found above, but they’ve now gone extinct.”

“Do a lot of extinct species live down here then?”

“I believe so,” Dr. Cockleburr says, taking another blood sample from me. “But the land down here is much vaster than Lake Winnebago above, and much of it unexplored. At least by humans.”

“So could there be dodoes still roaming about somewhere?”

The doctor’s cheeks dimple for a very brief second. “It’s possible.”

“What about dinosaurs? Do you think they could be here too?”

“I don’t know, Morgan,” she says, losing her patience. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep now, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, chastised.

But sleep eludes me. That’s all I seem to be doing these days—sleeping, eating, and catching up on even more homework that Bri and Keva bring me, the only two people who still visit me, not that anyone else has tried, not even Arthur.

Keva doesn’t seem too pleased as she hands me Lady Ysolt’s stack of papers.

“Can you please stop being so mopey and get the hell out of here so I don’t have to carry your stuff all over school anymore?”

I grab the assignments from her along with Bri’s carefully copied notes. Flipping through the notebooks, I can tell that I won’t get bored stuck in the hospital bed here. There must be at least a hundred or so pages waiting to be memorized.

“Any clues on what’s going to be on the test?” I ask.

Keva shrugs. “Beats me.”

“You think you’ll be well enough by then?” Bri asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. Our exams start in a couple of days, but Dr. Cockleburr’s yet to give me her approval to get out of this bed. “I certainly hope so.”

Keva lets out an undignified snort. “Please, just admit you’re milking this as much as possible.”

“Keva!” Bri exclaims, horrified. “How can you say that when she nearly died?”

“If she’d listened to me instead of going off on her own, she wouldn’t be here now. Besides, look at her! There’s not even a bruise left on her face—which is a good thing, mind. But it just proves that all she got were light scratches, nothing serious.”

“They wouldn’t be keeping her here if they thought she didn’t need to stay.”

I raise my hands to stop the argument. “Wait, wait, wait,” I say, not sure I heard right. “My scars are gone? But that’s no possible, I—could you hand me a mirror?”

With some reluctance, Keva hands me her pocket mirror. I can see her watching me curiously over it as I examine my pristine reflection, any mark of my fight gone.

“You don’t mean to say,” she starts, “you haven’t looked at yourself since the day of the accident?”

“No,” I say, tossing the mirror back to her. “I…was afraid of what I’d see.” I pull the bandages still wrapped around my arms. The skin under them is smooth and flawless as a baby’s butt.

“Exactly my point,” Keva says.

“I don’t…” I start, then shake my head. I know I’ve always been a fast healer, but this is pretty awesome.

I push my covers off and climb out of the high bed.

“What are you doing?” Bri asks, her small hands trying to keep me back. “You’re not supposed to leave until they say so.”

“You were pretending all along, weren’t you?” Keva says.

I’m so giddy I could laugh my head off. “I thought for sure I was disfigured, and that’s why they were keeping me here.”

“Despite what it looks like, Morgan is vain after all,” Keva says. “Brilliant. Now let’s get out of here. I think I’ve seen enough of the hospital wing to last me a lifetime.”

Chuckling, we leave the ward and head toward the exit.

“Morgan!”

Dr. Cockleburr’s standing before the door, hands on her hips, looking dreadfully displeased.

“Who gave you leave to—”

“I feel perfectly fine,” I say. “Good as new, in fact.”

“We still have to do some tests,” the doctor says, frowning. “We don’t know if—”

“Like I said, I feel fine. Besides, I’ve been cooped up here long enough. I’ll go crazy if I stay here a second longer.” I sidestep her and wave her good-bye. “I promise I’ll come back if I feel queasy at all!”

Rushing outside before she can protest further, I smash into someone else coming in, so hard I feel like I’ve just turned into a gong.

“I’m so very sorry,” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“Am all right, no harm done.”

“Bloody hell, Morgan, you’ve knocked Sir Percy down!” Keva exclaims, helping the knight up.

“Like I said, no harm, no foul.” But Percy can’t shake the fawning Keva away. “Glad to see you’re doin’ better, though,” he says to me, then raises his eyebrows so high they get lost in his brown curls. “You need a hand gettin’ back into your uniform?”

The blood drains from my face as I stare down at myself. I’m still wearing the hospital gown that I’ve been wearing all week long. Shame burns right through me; I’ve just walked in front of countless people with my bare ass peeking out!

“I’m perfectly all right,” I say, bringing my gown tight around me.

I move closer to the wall in an attempt to keep my buttocks away from prying eyes. Percy laughs.

“I was just on my way out, actually,” I say, looking to Bri and Keva for help, but they’re both too awed by the knight to attempt to save my honor.

“Good thing I caught you then,” Percy says, handing me a note.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Guess I’ll be seein’ ya soon,” he says.

With a little bow, he touches his fingertips to his forelock, then leaves, making sure to give Keva a wide berth.

“What does it say?” Bri asks.

Anxious, I turn the letter around and open it as Percy’s whistling dies away in the distance. I nearly rip the piece of paper in half as I pull it out, then read:

Ms. Morgan Pendragon’s presence has been requested for a hearing at the next KORT meeting, to be held by week’s end, at the ninth hour.

Staring at the fancy lettering, I hear both Bri and Keva groan.

“What?” I ask. “All they want is an account.”

“You don’t understand,” Bri says. “A formal hearing with KORT is
never
a good thing.”