Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) (44 page)

“Morgan!” Bri calls out on the brink of panic. “I need your help!” She skids to a stop and grasps my hands and squeezes them so hard I’m afraid my wound’s going to open again.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “What happened?”

“It’s my brother,” she says, on the verge of tears. “He’s gone!”

“Where?” I ask, trying not to freak out as well.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have come here!” Bri yells.

“All right, all right,” I say. “Let’s think about this for a minute. When did they notice he was missing?”

“I’m not sure,” Bri says, sniffling. “Around the time when the bells for Lauds rang, I think.”

“OK, so he can’t have been gone for more than an hour,” I say. “He can’t be very far. He’s probably just roaming about the school. Have you asked anyone if they’ve seen him?”

Wringing her hands, Bri shakes her head. “I just came straight here. I was hoping that you…I…”

“Take a deep breath,” I say. “Nothing’s going to happen to him. Let’s just go around and ask people if they’ve seen him. And we can ask Jack and Keva to help too, and the prof—”

Without letting me finish, Bri dashes away. With a quick curtsy to the priest, I follow suit.

Outside, the sky-lake is dark, pressing down on us like a water balloon about to pop. Everyone’s at the fairgrounds already, leaving the school mostly deserted, and Bri was so fast I can’t tell where she’s gone to.

I hesitate. If past behavior can be relied upon, it would seem Owen may like the crowds. So I set off at a light canter toward the music and laughter.

“Morgan!” Percy calls out, an air rifle slung over his shoulder. He waves me over to the shooting stand where Gareth’s watching his cousin take all of the targets down with a sour look.

“Look who’s come to join us, guys,” Percy says, nearly poking Gareth’s eye out with his rifle.

“Where were you last night?” Gareth asks me. “You disappeared without a mace!”

We all stare at him, and Gauvain pauses in his shooting. “You mean ‘trace,’ idiot. What would she need a weapon for?”

“Because it’s been getting dangerous outside,” Gareth retorts, crossing his beefy arms over his wide torso.

“So what’s the hitch in ya giddy-up?”
³⁰
Percy asks me in his southern twang.

“My friend Owen’s gone missing,” I say. “You guys wouldn’t happen to have seen him?”

I look hopefully at the three boys, but they stare back at me with such blank looks I might as well have been asking them to paint the Sistine Chapel over.

“What’s he look like?” Percy asks.

“He’s about five-five,” I say, “dark hair, dark eyes…”

“That’s about any freshman boy out there,” Gauvain says, passing his rifle back to the amazed man in charge of the stall.

“Well, he’s crazy,” I say, grasping for words. “You know, the one who got into an accident with a salamander at the beginning of term?”

The three boys nod heartily, and hope surges within me. If KORT starts looking for Owen, then he’ll be found in no time!

But Gareth adds, “I remember the bull. It was quite wild. But…I don’t remember your friend.”

Percy and Gauvain nod again, and I feel myself wilt.

“OK then,” I say, starting off again. “Just…keep your eyes open for me, all right?”

“Will do!” Percy says, waving his weapon high in the air and smacking Gauvain with the butt of it. “And come hang out with us when you’ve found ’im!”

I make my way around the crowded field, occasionally stopping by booths or vending stalls to ask more people for Owen’s whereabouts, but all I get are shrugs and shakes of the head.

When I’ve gone around the grounds a couple of times, I spot Jack skulking next to the mirror house, eating fries halfheartedly. When he sees me, his face brightens up.

“Have you seen Bri?” he asks me.

“We’re looking for Owen,” I say, stealing some of his fries.

“You mean he’s escaped again?”

I nod, devouring the rest of his snack. “I’ve asked everyone here, and no one’s seen a trace of him.”

“You don’t think that he’s back at the asylum, do you?”

“I don’t know…” I say. “I guess I could go check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jack says. “If he’s not there, then I can help you guys look for him too.”

We both set off back toward the school, only to be stopped by Arthur, who’s sitting at a table with Lance and other KORT members.

“Where were you yesterday?” Arthur asks me. “I didn’t see you at the tournament. You know you’re not supposed to leave without—”

“I was
in
the school,” I say.

My eyes move over to Lance, sitting on the bench next to him. Unashamed, he looks back at me with his light gray eyes.

“So what are you up to now?” Arthur asks, breaking my string of silent curses at his fake friend.

I glare at my brother, annoyed at all these questions. Does he really think he can have me leashed like some dog?

“Nothing,” I shoot back. “Come on, Jack.”

Jack limps after me, though somewhat unwillingly.

“What?” I ask when he’s stopped for the fifth time in his tracks.

“Well, I don’t understand…” The shy boy looks away as if I’m going to bite his head off at the smallest word.

“Go on,” I say, trying to calm myself down.

“Why do you hate him so much? It’s really not very smart to get him mad at you. You’re only going to dig yourself a deeper hole.”

“Let’s just go see if they’ve found Owen,” I say. “Then we can worry about more trivial things.”

We’re almost all the way back to the school when a large gust of wind catches me in the middle of my back and propels me off my feet. I land on the hard earth, biting my lip.

“Are you OK?” Jack asks to the sound of distant laughter.

I let him help me back to my feet as a large group of people stomp over our way.

“Nice one, Daniel,” Ross says, high-fiving him.

“Now, now,” Jennifer says, pulling away from the middle of the pack with a mock frown. “We shouldn’t play games like these with special-needs people.”

She walks over to me, her miniskirt swishing around her wide hips. I should’ve known she would find the first opportunity to get even with me. But if she wants me to divulge her secret, she’s picked the perfect spot.

Jennifer stops before me. Her frown deepens as she’s forced to look up. With visible effort, she relaxes her jaw and smiles.

“You’ve cut yourself!” she says, sounding to untrained ears genuinely concerned. “Here.”

She takes out a yellow tissue from her pocket and dabs my lip with it. I try to pull away from her, but her other hand shoots out and grips my arm like a vise.

She leans into me. “You better keep your mouth shut, or you’re going to regret it,” she whispers, pressing the kerchief hard into my mouth so that my teeth dig deeper into the cut.

I wince and try to get away, but Jennifer doesn’t let me go. A growl starts out low in my throat, and I lash out, punching her as hard as I can.

Jennifer falls unceremoniously to the ground to the collective gasp of her fan group.

“What did you do that for?” a squire girl asks, rushing over to help Jennifer.

“You better stay away from me,” I say to the blonde girl as she gets back up, holding her eye. “Stop messing with me, or else you’re really going to regret it.”

“She was just trying to help you!” the squire says, outraged.

“Didn’t I tell you that she’s become more violent?” Daniel says. “She should be locked up like the wacko that she is.” He
smirks at me. “Your status as Arthur’s sister isn’t going to protect you forever, you know.”

His words are accompanied by murmurs of assent. I hold my tongue—a little late, but nothing I can add will make things better now.

Without another look at them, I continue on my way to the asylum.

“Hey, wait up!” Jack calls out.

I slow down enough for him to catch up. He steals a few side glances at me, looking worried.

“Did you have to go that far?” he asks.

“What?” I ask, unable to contain my anger any longer. “You think like them too? That I’m some monster waiting to jump anyone who’s unfortunate enough to get in my way?”

Jack cowers away at my tone, and his reaction only riles me up more.

“Are you scared of me, Jack?” I practically yell. “You think I might kill you too? Well if that’s the case, what are you still doing hanging around me for? Go away!”

Eyes wide, Jack darts away like a scared rabbit. The moment he’s gone, my anger disappears, and I’m left feeling like a deflated tire. I want to call him back and apologize, but it’s too late for that now.

I realize my hand is hurting and slowly unclench it—blood has seeped through the bandage and, pushing it back, I notice the stitches have burst out. I sigh. Time for me to make a quick stop at the infirmary.

“What did you do to yourself?” Dr. Cockleburr asks me, dabbing my mouth with as much delicacy as a rhinoceros pawing the ground.

“God nogged o’er ’y zome gids,” I say, my newly bandaged hand limp on my lap.

Dr. Cockleburr humphs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she mumbles. “A shame, for someone training to become a nurse to be caught in fights all the time.”

I grin and immediately regret it as I feel my wound stretch.

“You better take care of yourself, girl,” the portly woman tells me as I make my way out.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, eager to get away and resume my search for Owen.

I make a sharp turn into the hall that leads to the exit, when my ears prick. I hurry over to one of the windows and listen carefully. Above the distant sounds of laughter and music is the muted sound of a horn. It dies out, then, seconds later, picks up again.

And this time, the call is answered by a keening wail a few feet away from me that raises every hair on my body.

“Owen!”

I run after the stumbling boy, jump over a fallen potted plant, slam into a door, and propel myself into the staircase where I’ve seen him disappear.

“Owen, where are you going?”

The sound of bare feet slapping against the stone floor comes back down to me, and I climb up the stairs in pursuit. I now really regret having sent Jack away; if this keeps up, I’m going to be running up and down all over the school, and I’ll be dead before lunchtime.

“Owen, come back here,” I call out.

His head pops up over the balustrade, the torches behind him throwing his face in deep shadow.

“They’re coming,” he says, drool coming down his chin before landing a few steps above me. He laughs. “They’re coming for me!”

I try not to break eye contact with him while I close the distance between us. “Who’s coming for you, Owen?” I ask, keeping my voice calm.

“
Them
,” he answers. “You’ve heard the call too, haven’t you?”

I’m but a few steps away from him now, so close I can see his dilated pupils, the balding spots at his temples where he’s torn out his hair, and the barely scabbing wounds he inflicted upon himself yesterday.

Slowly, I reach out to him. My fingers brush his sleeves, then the cold flesh of his wrist. He giggles and flees.

“Owen!” I call out, running after him.