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Long before the sun is up, Rachel awakens from an unseasonal chill. Still half-asleep and shivering, she wraps a blanket around her shoulders and stumbles out of bed. She exhales puffs of air, her extremities numb. With Ziggy bouncing along by her side, Rachel crosses her bedroom and opens the door. She exits into the hallway, tiptoeing to where the thermostat is located, and turns up the heat without paying close attention to her actions. She quickly retreats to her bedroom with Ziggy in tow, closes her bedroom door again, and dashes back to bed.
“What are the chances of you being able to warm me up?” she whispers. The golden sphere bobs in place, before it slips back to its preferred locale—snuggled up beneath the covers next to her feet. “Thought so,” she says through chattering teeth.
Rachel pulls the duvet up to her ears. She inhales cool air through her nostrils and exhales warm air into the space between her body and the blanket, hoping to get cozy that way. A few minutes pass, but the cold lingers. Groaning, she gets out of bed a second time to check on the window, figuring she might have forgotten to close it properly before she turned in.
As Rachel pulls the curtains aside, Ziggy rolls out from underneath the covers and illuminates the interior of the bedroom. The golden glow confirms the window is shut fast. Not even a trickle of a breeze can get inside. She blinks a few times, lifting the fog in her mind so she can figure out why her bedroom is freezing.
Ice forms on the edges of the glass and quickly freezes over the entire windowpane. Her heart thumps faster, while she moves her hand to the umbrella pendant.
“Ziggy?” her voice quivers.
The golden orb rushes to her side just as an unseen finger traces a line through the ice. The accompanying squeak as a second line is traced makes her forget all about the cold. A third line is traced, forming an H. She watches on, her palms sweating. Soon, the word HELP comes into existence. Rachel’s legs thaw enough for her to take a step closer, one hand still wrapped firmly around the pendant.
Orion’s face suddenly flashes in the windowpane, mouth opening into a scream, eyes pleading.
The alarm on her nightstand blares, startling her out of the inexplicably realistic nightmare. Her eyelids shoot open, and she stares at the white ceiling, heart still pounding. Rachel’s hair clings to her skin, while her body is tangled in the bedsheets. She brushes the hair out of her eyes, focusing on getting her breathing under control.
“Rachel, you’re going to be late for school,” her mother shouts from the other side of the bedroom door. “Get up, get ready. This is not a drill.”
“I’m up.” Rachel reaches over to hit the OFF switch on her alarm. When the clock stops its incessant noise, Ziggy rolls up from her feet and comes to rest on her pillow. “You should’ve woken me when you realized I was having a nightmare.”
She pets the golden sphere, which glows brighter.
“It’s too late to suck up to me now.”
She shifts one leg off the edge of the bed and places a bare foot onto the purple-and-black geometric carpet. Rachel groans as she remembers her abysmal performance with the SATs, wondering if she’ll be able to broach the subject with her mother before she travels to Bangor. She pulls herself up and throws her other leg off the bed. It’s probably best to rip the Band-Aid off quickly, as painful as it may be.
She rubs her temples and shifts her gaze toward the window. The curtains are drawn, unmoving. The image of Orion in peril is still fresh in her mind, renewing her fear of what might have befallen the missing Fae prince.
“It was only a nightmare,” she whispers. “He’s probably living it up in the palace. Right, Ziggy?”
Ziggy rolls onto her lap, before dimming ever so slightly.
Her heart sinks. “One flash for yes, two flashes for no. Is he in trouble?”
Ziggy doesn’t answer her—maybe because he doesn’t know either.
Her fingers move to the umbrella pendant. She turns the pendant around between her fingers, and says, “Will you be able to find him if we cross into the Fae Realm?”
This time there is no warm golden light to answer her question.
“Rachel,” her mother cries out again.
“I’m up, Mom,” Rachel barks back. She returns her attention to the sphere on her lap, whispering, “I need to get ready for school—”
Two flashes signals the no. Ziggy floats up and weaves through the air, still flashing gold in timed intervals.
Rachel gets out of bed and walks to her wardrobe. “I’m not going into the forest without a plan, Zigs. Besides, Orion made me promise not to follow him and you can’t take me to him even if I did.”
The Fae light zips through the air like an aggravated wasp, weaving in and out of her line of vision. It flashes once, dims. Flashes once more.
“Settle down.”
Rachel pulls out a tank top, a cute sweater, and a pair of jeans to wear for the day. She inadvertently scans the interior of her wardrobe, taking inventory of what lies on the shelves and hangs from the railing. She has no idea what Orthega’s fashions are like. Surely nothing she has lying around in her closet will be suitable. Maybe last year’s Halloween costume can be repurposed for a journey into the Fae Realm? She touches the red cloak with the silky black lining. She could wear her Little Red Riding Hood costume inside-out if need be, and hide whatever clothes she wears underneath. Aside from the cloak, though, she’s at a loss.
When Rachel’s done dressing, she grabs her sling bag and opens her bedroom door.
Dougal comes down the hallway, but he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for school. The bags under his eyes are pronounced, his hair is tousled, and he keeps yawning.
“Ye look like ye’ve seen better days,” Dougal says as they meet at the staircase landing.
“Ditto,” she says. Together, they descend the stairs. “Are you sure you should go to school today?”
“I’m not goin’ to sit around here and count my toes the whole day,” he says.
“It’s better than listening to lectures on things we’ll probably never use in the future, though.”
“Aye, but I don’t like being alone all the time, either.”
When they reach the bottom of the staircase, Rachel notices her mother rushing for the front door, holding her eyeliner pencil and lipstick in one hand and grabbing her coat with the other. She looks up to see them standing near the staircase and sighs in relief.
“There’s lunch money on the kitchen counter, pizza money is on the microwave, and I’ll pay some extra cash into your account so you can buy groceries for the week.” Her mother sounds out of breath. It’s like she can’t get out of Shadow Grove fast enough. “Don’t let me hear about you two holding parties while I’m gone.”
“Yer leavin’, Mrs. Cleary?” Dougal asks with a hint of surprise.
“Yes, dear.” She looks at her wristwatch. “My sister called me last night—”
“I’ll fill Dougal in on the way to school,” Rachel cuts her off. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“Remember to get Mrs. Crenshaw’s room ready tomorrow.” She rushes out of the front door, leaving an annoyed Rachel and dumbfounded Dougal behind.
“I hope nothin’s wrong with yer aunt.” Dougal finally breaks his silence as they walk to the kitchen to find something to eat.
“Nothing’s wrong. My mom just looks for reasons to bail when things get inconvenient at home.” Rachel grabs a couple of bananas from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and finds some travel-sized yogurt tubs in the fridge. She hands the breakfast-to-go to Dougal, who stares at the banana and yogurt. “It’s the breakfast of champions in this house.”
“Ye sure we shouldn’t go through the drive-thru on the way to school?”
“And risk being tardy?”
Dougal scoffs at her reason.
“Sure, fine. Whatever.” Rachel leads him into the living room.
“Do ye wanna skip school today?” he asks, stuffing his breakfast into his backpack.
“Can’t,” Rachel says. “Fridays are Mr. Davenport’s weekly test days, because clearly he has nothing better to do with his time.”
She opens the front door and exits the house with Dougal following close behind. They don’t speak on their way to her car, but he does raise an eyebrow as he peers across the roof of her Hyundai i10.
“I had a nightmare last night,” she says, opening the driver’s door.
“About?”
“Orion.” Rachel climbs into the car and Dougal slips into the passenger seat. She continues with a vague retelling of the nightmare, telling him about how real it felt. “I think he’s in trouble.”
Dougal sighs heavily.
She glances at him from underneath her eyelashes and clicks her seatbelt into place. “What?”
“Rach, he explicitly told ye not to go after him. Remember?”
“I remember.” Rachel turns the key in the ignition, and the engine whirrs to life.
“I can’t go with ye. At least, not while Nan’s in the hospital,” he says.
She reverses out of the driveway. “I know,” she says.
“And ye still wanna go into the Fae Realm? By yerself?” Dougal’s frustration leeches into his voice. When she doesn’t contradict him, he says, “Yer a damn fool, Rachel Cleary.”
Rachel bites back a cutting remark of her own. “Are you done mothering me yet?”
“No. I have a few choice words left on the matter,” he retorts.
“Have at it then. Get it all off your chest now, because once I get out of this car, we’re not getting into this again,” she says. When Dougal doesn’t respond, she shifts her gaze away from the road to look at him. “Well? I’m waiting.”
Dougal crosses his arms and shakes his head. “What’s the point? Ye have already made up yer mind.”
Rachel turns her attention back to the road. “Actually, I never said I’m going. You just assumed I am.”
When they near the Eerie Creek Bridge, Dougal rolls his eyes. “Do ye even know where Orion is?”
“I’m sure Ziggy will figure it out if we were to go, which I haven’t decided on yet.”
“Yer gonna get yerself killed because of that oversized lightbulb, and I will become the Sheriff’s prime suspect.” Dougal pushes his hand through his hair, his usually pale complexion already reddening as his blood pressure spikes.
“If I go, which I doubt I’ll be doing, I’m already coming up with a way to explain my disappearance in case I don’t return. Stop worrying,” Rachel says.
“I don’t like this one bit.” Dougal continues grumbling in Gaelic, much to Rachel’s dismay.
When he’s let off enough steam, he sulks for the remainder of the journey to Ridge Crest High, situated on the other side of the moderately sized New England town. She takes the backroads today, driving through the suburban areas in order to avoid the traffic on Main Road, but the scenic route doesn’t improve his sour mood. Even his takeout breakfast isn’t enough to turn him amicable.
Rachel expects him to jump out of the car as soon as she pulls into a parking space in front of the school, but Dougal surprises her by staying put.
He calmly gets out after she’s pulled the key from the ignition, waits until she’s retrieved her bag and locked the doors with the fob key, and walks her up to the entrance. Still, his annoyance doesn’t dissipate. It rolls off him in waves, crashing into her—and anyone else who dares to get close to the Scotsman—with a tsunami’s strength.
“Can you, like, relax or something? You’re scaring the freshmen worse than usual,” she hisses as they walk through the crowded hallway.
“No,” he grumbles, pulling his backpack higher up on his shoulders.
“Dougal, my man,” Vinesh calls his greeting as he and a few other footballers approach from the other end of the hallway.
Dougal scoffs, murmurs something unintelligible, and gives Vinesh a halfhearted high-five.
“I heard about your grandmother,” Joe Jr. says. “Is she okay?”
“I s’pose. It could’ve been worse,” Dougal answers.
Rachel heads to her locker, just a few feet away from the gathering of teenage boys, and listens as the football jocks bestow platitudes and sympathies on Dougal. They mean well, of course, but Dougal is clearly not in the right mind for this. She unlocks her locker, exchanges the textbooks in her bag for her purple ledger, and checks her hair in the mirror affixed inside the door.
“They’re rowdier than usual,” Cam says beside her. “Reason?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Dougal’s grandmother took a bad fall yesterday.”
“Is she all right?” Cam asks.
“The better question is whether the doctors and nurses are okay.” Rachel closes her locker.
Cam snickers.
“You’re earlier than usual.”
“English test,” he says. “Thought I’d try and study for it in between my extracurricular activities.”
“Which includes?” Rachel leans her shoulder against the locker, giving him a once-over, unable to keep her suspicion at bay.
Cam shrugs. “A little of this, a bit of that. Obviously it’s nothing good.”
“Obviously,” she says. “So, what’s your deal, Cameron Mayer? According to Holland Keith, you’re a gay drifter who skins cats beneath the full moon.” Rachel earns herself an incredulous look. “Nobody believes a word that comes out of her mouth, though. Don’t worry.”
“Jeez, remind me not to get on her bad side,” Cam mumbles.
Rachel flashes him a smile. “The worst thing that’ll happen to you if you get on her bad side is you’ll end up like me.”
“Breathtakingly beautiful?” he says.
She feels her cheeks warm. “You’re a smooth talker, but no. I was thinking more along the lines of becoming a pariah.”
“What’s that?” Dougal’s voice reaches her ears.
“Oh, this? I dunno, man. I found it in my locker this morning. Vinesh got one too,” Brandon answers.
“Can I see?” Dougal asks.
Curious, Rachel looks over as Dougal inspects something in his large hands. She can’t make out exactly what it is, but when the blood drains from Dougal’s face, her concern intensifies.
“Vin, can I see yers?” He glances up to meet Rachel’s gaze. The worry seems to have changed into something else, something close to pure dread. She halfheartedly excuses herself and walks up to his side.
“Sure,” Vinesh says. He hands over a bone white carving to Dougal. “They’re kinda creepy, but sorta cool. We don’t know who sent them or how they got into our lockers, but we’re not the only ones who got one.”
Her blood turns to ice as she looks at the two carvings. The one is a figurine of Brandon in his practice gear—lying face-down, sprawled out. The other totem depicts Vinesh dressed in much the same manner, lying flat on his back, his neck twisted at an awkward angle.
“Ye’re seein’ this?” he asks her in a whisper, so nobody nearby can overhear them.
“Yes.”
“Who else got one?” Dougal asks the others.
“I overheard Bianca Novak calling hers disgusting, and then there’s Rebecca Franklin,” Brandon answers.
“Don’t forget Ashley Benson,” Vinesh says.
“Oh, yeah. She got one, too.”
“All right.” He hands their totems back. “I’ll see ye in a wee bit then,” Dougal says to his friends. He turns to face Rachel. “We have History first period?”
She stares at him blankly. “Yes, but—”
“Let’s go.”
Rachel waves halfheartedly to Cam as she turns on her heels. They walk quietly through the crowded hallway, side-by-side. Most of the students make way for Dougal, who towers above everyone at school—staff included. The freshmen give him wide-eyed looks of wonder. Girls flutter their eyelashes at him, lick their lips, giggle together and whisper about his good looks.
Yes, he’s easy on the eyes, but wow. Have some dignity already.
“The warning bell is about to ring.”
“Ye can skip the class today. This is more important than learnin’ about Napoleon’s defeat at the Battle of Waterloo.”
“We’re not even studying that, Dougal,” she says in a higher than normal pitch.
“Fine, Nixon’s Watergate thin’. Same diffs.” He waves his mistake off as inconsequential.
Technically, the history curriculum is trivial in comparison to the looming horrors awaiting Ridge Crest High’s students, especially if those totems are, in fact, signifiers of their imminent future. There’s no question about what matter takes precedence, but it’s difficult for Rachel to get her head out of school mode when she’s physically at school. Besides, who in their right minds can get mixed up with Napoleon and Nixon? They’re in the same class, for heaven’s sake! She doesn’t have the energy to call him out on his ignorance—or laziness—this time, though. Not with everything that’s going on.
Rachel leads him through the labyrinth of corridors, past the lockers and classes and dawdling students. The first bell rings and students scurry, hoping to avoid a detention slip for tardiness. The hallway slowly clears. By the time the second bell rings, they’re heading into the old school’s wing, where hardly anyone wanders at any time of day.
“Here,” she says, indicating the girls’ bathroom. Rachel looks over her shoulder to make sure nobody’s spying on them before she turns her attention back to him. “Do you want to go inside?”
His eyes pin on the door leading to the girls’ bathroom. “No,” Dougal says. “And ye found th’ second one on Nan’s side-table?”
“Yes.”
His gaze shifts to study the hallway, which ends in a T-junction. Dougal points ahead and says, “Where does this go?”
“Old schoolhouse,” she says.
He walks past her without another word, heading into the seldom-explored bowels of Ridge Crest High. Rachel follows. What else can she do?
“If you want to hunt for ghosts, perhaps we should come back tonight when they’re active?”
“Ye and I both know this ain’t no wraith’s doin’.” He slows his pace so she can catch up. “There’s another Fae in town, Rach, and the bastard’s gone and hurt my Nan. This is personal, yeah?”
“I get it, Dougal, I really do. But what do you expect us to find by wandering into the old schoolhouse? We are defenseless, and wholly unprepared to take on another Miser Fae by ourselves,” Rachel says. “Your grandmother and Orion both insinuated that the Night Weaver is one of the weaker Miser Fae. We don’t know what else is out there and we definitely don’t know how strong they are.”
“Go back then,” he says. “I don’t need yer help.”
Rachel stops in her tracks, her eyes wide and forehead creasing. “Real mature.”
When he doesn’t respond, she hurries back to his side and continues down the corridor. There’s no way she’s going to let him go after a Miser Fae alone. She’ll never forgive herself if he winds up dead all because she didn’t want to miss a class.
The hallway branches off. The old bell tower is to the right. To the left lie some classrooms, which’d fallen into disuse decades earlier.
“Let’s start at the old classrooms and work our way back here,” she suggests. Rachel gestures to the left, indicating where they should begin.
Dougal nods, turns left, and continues forward.
After a while, she says, “I know you’re angry with me because you think I want to go into the Fae Realm and find Orion.”
He exhales through his nose. “Why couldn’t ye have preoccupied yer time with Greg, huh? Greg’s a bahookie, aye, but at least I could’ve kept him in line. I can’t keep a Fae prince from hurtin’ ye, Rach.”
“Damn it, I don’t need you protecting me,” she says, unable to keep the frustration from her tone. “Also, what in heaven’s name is a bahookie?”
He crosses his arms, closing himself off. “Somethin’ ye’re too good for anyways.”
Asking him to change his nature, to disregard one of the fundamental elements of who he is, isn’t fair. Still, it’s exasperating to have a part-time bodyguard, watching her every move so he can keep her safe, especially when she’d been doing perfectly fine on her own for the majority of her life. Besides, he can’t just show up and play the big brother when it suits him.
Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt halfway to the end of the hallway. The white paint is yellowed, cracked and peeling away from the walls. The doors are located closer together and scratched-up from years of neglect. All the windows are boarded up and the air is stuffy with dust and disuse. Rachel’s attention shifts to a specific door, green instead of the usual red, with a faded sign fixed at eye level. BOILER ROOM, it states.
“What’s the matter?” Dougal asks when she stops in front of the door.
She studies the thin wooden partition from top to bottom.
“Rach?”
The weirdly shaped object sticking out of the lock seems to call out to her. Not like the forest. Simply because it’s so out of place. The hair at the back of her neck stands at attention as she reaches out to touch it. She recoils, shudders for reasons she can’t explain, and looks to Dougal.
“Are you sure you want us to do this now?” she asks. “Because I have a really bad feeling about what’s waiting behind this door.”
