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Time passes too slowly for Rachel’s liking.
She and Orion huddle in the pantry, often reapplying vanilla essence to their clothing to make their stay with the boneless corpse more bearable. Meanwhile, Orion listens for any movement in the cafeteria, whispering what’s happening outside of their hiding place. The minutes tick on and her anxiety increases. Eventually, just when Rachel is ready to hand herself over to Golvath and his cronies, Orion lets her know that the woman is climbing out of the air duct.
They can finally leave the pantry from hell, but the relentless stench of decay follows. The smell is in her hair, on her clothes, tainting her very olfactory receptors. It’s better than being in there with Golvath’s victim, of being reminded of what could happen if they don’t win this fight, but not by much.
“We need help,” Rachel says.
They make their way out of the kitchen and carefully walk into the cafeteria.
“Who’s going to help? There is nobody else. Everyone’s under Golvath’s control,” Orion’s voice is husky with fatigue. Not having magic to fight the bad guys has apparently taken its toll.
“We’ll see.” Rachel fishes her cell phone out of her pocket and dials Dougal’s number.
“What didn’t ye understand about stayin’ out of trouble?” Dougal answers on the second ring. No hello, no are you okay?—just pure worry and criticism.
Rachel exhales loudly, before she says, “Lecture me later. Are you in town by any chance?”
“Aye,” Dougal says. “Nan told me off for leavin’ ye and Mercia by yerselves. Said I needed to come back right away, so here I am at yer empty house.”
“Oh, good. That saves you a trip,” Rachel says. “Bring Ziggy to the school and stay out of sight.”
“Do I want to know what happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Just don’t actually come into the school,” Rachel explains.
“All right, see ye in ten,” Dougal says and ends the call.
She pushes her phone back into her pocket and regards Orion. “You were saying, Faerie Boy?”
Orion shakes his head as he makes his way back to the doors leading into the building. “We need to find Mercia before they do.”
A pang of irrational jealousy pushes to the forefront of her mind. An unfair thought pops into her mind: He wasn’t this worried about me in the Fae Realm. This green monster doesn’t feel like her, doesn’t usually rear its ugly head inside her, but for some reason it’s there. What makes Mercia so special?
Rachel tries ridding herself of the emotions. This isn’t me. I don’t care what he does with his time or who he does it with. She blinks, swallows down her envy.
Rachel carefully follows him, sidestepping shards of glass near the overturned counter to avoid any preventable accidents. They travel into the deserted hallway, both keeping an eye out for any surprises. There are none, though, just as there is no sign of Mercia.
“Do you know where she’ll hide?” Orion eventually asks.
Another bout of jealousy crawls through her body.
“I don’t know her any more than you do,” Rachel whispers back.
It’s true, but—
She frowns and wraps her hand around the umbrella pendant. What’s going on with me? Surely it’s not possible for Golvath to bypass the Ronamy Stone? No. She doesn’t feel anything weird rummaging through her mind. Rachel’s just tired, she isn’t her usual self. Stress can do that to a person.
Orion gives her an incredulous look. “I thought you two were friends.”
“I bribed Mercia to help me with drugs she desperately needs. It’s doubtful any type of friendship begins under such circumstances.”
“You and I don’t have a squeaky clean beginning either, yet I still consider you a friend.”
“Even after the Sluaghs?”
“Yes.” Orion’s exasperation is evident in his sigh.
Regardless of the guilt she feels for causing so much heartache and hardship for the Halflings, she finds a way to smile at him.
“Truth be told, the Sluagh attack was bound to happen, whether you led them there or not. The army’s morale was not improving after losing two battles in as many days, so it was just a matter of time until the Sluaghs sniffed us out,” Orion says. He suddenly comes to a stop, tilts his head, closes his eyes, and seems to listen to something she can’t hear. “Mercia’s outside,” he says. His brow furrows in confusion. “It sounds like she’s somewhere above us, but she’s definitely outside. Where could she be?”
“She headed to the old schoolhouse, so it’s safe to assume she made her way to the bell tower.” Rachel changes course, heading back to the old schoolhouse, hoping Mercia doesn’t do anything stupid before they get there.
“You don’t look pleased,” he says. “Care to explain why?”
“Can you sense anyone nearby?”
“They’re all searching for us on the other side of the school. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I feel weird,” she mumbles. “More than that, though, I don’t understand why Mercia would go up the bell tower by herself. If the stories are correct—”
“What stories?” Orion asks.
“During orientation week, every new batch of freshmen are told the story of the boy who fell. The tale’s details change as to how he fell from the bell tower, but the rest essentially remains the same through every retelling.
“When Ridge Crest was still a three-classroom schoolhouse, and children of all ages attended, a fifteen-year old boy was tasked with ringing the school bell every morning and every afternoon. This chore was said to have been a great honor, because the schoolmaster at the time didn’t hand out the responsibility to just anyone.” She pauses as they turn the corner where Holland had waited for them. Once she’s sure they’re alone again, she continues, “One day, the boy walked up the rickety spiral steps to ring the afternoon bell. He shooed the nesting pigeons, and grabbed the rope to ring the bell. The bell tolled five times, and the children cleared out of the building. The boy, however, remained standing in the tower, staring at all of Shadow Grove.”
“I suppose this was when there wasn’t much of a town to look at?” Orion interrupts.
“Yup.”
“So, what did he see?”
“Nobody knows, but it couldn’t have been good. The story goes on to say he saw something so terrible it tore his mind apart and broke his will to live. When the bell stopped tolling, the boy screamed and screamed.” Rachel looks up at Orion. “And then, during this madness, the boy fell from the top of the bell tower. Some say he slipped, others believe he was pushed, but some think he jumped. Apparently, he landed face first at the bottom of the steps that led into the schoolhouse.”
Orion grimaces, an inquisitive eyebrow rising. “That’s grim even by Shadow Grove’s standards.”
“The story doesn’t end there, though. The tale does, however, always end the same way, ‘The boy still walks the halls of the old schoolhouse, so whatever you do, don’t approach him or you’ll be driven mad.’ The thing is, the so-called Ghost Boy walking around the school is probably Golvath.”
“Ah,” Orion says. “Well, if it helps, I can’t hear anyone else up there with her.”
“It helps.”
When they reach the T-junction in the hallway, she turns right, heading away from the boiler room and possible exit, moving deeper into the gloom of the old schoolhouse. The air feels thicker here, not alive or dead but something in-between.
“You would’ve made an excellent healer in my father’s army,” Orion breaks the silence. “The soldiers would’ve loved to hear your stories while they were losing their limbs or lives.”
“I have a terrible bedside manner when it comes to people,” Rachel mumbles.
“You weren’t half-bad when I got stabbed by the Night Weaver’s Fae light.”
She grumbles an affirmative, but doesn’t say more. A few steps later, they reach the stone archway. Beyond lies a small circular chamber with a questionable wooden spiral staircase that leads five stories up to the rusted bell.
“Mercia,” Orion calls up the tower.
“Do you want the entire town to know we’re here?” Rachel hisses.
“Look at those stairs.” He gestures at the rotting, thin wooden slats that are already broken in some places, as well as the rickety handrail leaning precariously to the side. “No way am I climbing them.”
“I could ha—”
“Not while I still have a breath in my body,” he interrupts her. “Mercia.”
“I’m sorry, but since when do you get to decide what I may or may not do?” Rachel crosses her arms.
“Since I gave up my entire existence in the Fae Realm just to make sure my brother didn’t kill you,” he snaps back. “Mercia!”
“Almost done,” Mercia shouts back.
“Nova wouldn’t have hurt me,” Rachel scoffs.
Orion holds up his hands in a trickle of sunlight, showing off the crisscrossing scars that cover his fingers and palms. He turns his hands to show the rest of the ridges marring his skin. “I’ve seen those almost imperceptible flinches when you look at my hands, wondering what happened, what I did to deserve these scars. Well, let me tell you, my brother—the same one you think so highly of—did this to me when I was still a Faeling. Are you certain he wouldn’t have done worse to you if he had the chance—a choice in the matter?”
“If he wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity.”
Orion squares his jaw, shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.”
“Oh, now I’m Rachel again.”
“If I need to drive my point home, yes, then you’re just Rachel.”
“Well, Orion, that still doesn’t give you the right to dictate my life for me. If I want to climb those stairs, I will.”
He makes an animalistic sound of frustration in the back of his throat. “You’re so ... so ...”
“I’m so what, huh?”
“So ...”
Rachel grabs his hand and places it over the umbrella pendant around her neck, keeping a firm grip on his wrist. He struggles to pull away from her for a beat, before exhaling in relief and blinking a few times as he gets rid of the fugue in his mind.
“Do you feel better now?” she snaps at him.
Orion looks away from her.
She releases his wrist and places her hand on his unshaven cheek, nudging his head so their eyes can meet in the gloom. Rachel narrows her eyes at his icy stare, undaunted by the implied threat of bringing up what’d happened, what Orion had said. Bubbling rage cancels out fear and common sense. The tension coagulates. Electricity crackles in the air the longer they stand there, their resolve unwavering.
There’s a shift.
Anger, pain, and fear trickle away.
They close the space separating their bodies.
Rachel moves her hand away from Orion’s cheek and feels her way around his neck, pulling him closer until their lips collide. She feels his free arm snaking around her waist, hand resting against the small of her back. Orion pulls her even nearer. When that doesn’t satiate their desire for closeness, their mouths part and tongues dance. Their breaths combine, hearts seemingly beating to the same fast-paced rhythm. He takes a step forward and she backs up against the arched wall, before his hand changes direction again, finding her hip.
She pours herself into him—all of her ire, relief, desperation. Everything she’s bottled up since he so unceremoniously left Shadow Grove. In turn, she accepts his pain and dread and anger, every part he’d hidden away since she showed up in the Fae Realm. Rachel deepens the kiss.
Orion reluctantly pulls away, breathless, and rests his forehead against hers.
Her chest heaves as she searches for air, dizzy from the kiss. Her swollen lips still pulse, her skin remains tender where his stubble had scratched. The places his hands had lingered are warm, crackling with life.
They’d both needed someone. Probably anyone would’ve sufficed right then. She’s not naïve enough to imagine the kiss being anything other than a desperate attempt to normalize an abnormal situation. But there is no denying their chemistry. She’s still unwilling to label this something between them as anything other than companionship, or the increasingly sameness of their personalities, but it’s there. That chemistry is real.
Normal people don’t react like that. Dougal’s words from when he’d been influenced by Golvath rings through her mind, chastising her for her strange behavior in certain situations. Freak out for God’s sake!
“You do know this thing between us won’t end well.”
Rachel grins, pushes onto the tips of her toes, and presses another kiss in the corner of his mouth. “We’ll worry about that once it stops being so much fun.” She lowers herself to the ground, reaches around the back of her neck, and unclasps the necklace.
“What are you doing?” Orion asks. “No. What if—?”
“I pushed Golvath out of my head this morning without the help of the Ronamy Stone. I’m sure I can do it again.”
He reluctantly takes the pendant into his fist.
“Don’t lose it.”
He releases his hold on her and backs off.
“Yes,” Mercia’s hiss of triumph echoes down the bell tower.
Orion’s eyes widen as a golden flame flickers into existence, moving up to his wrist, enveloping his entire arm. “She did it,” he says, looking at Rachel.
“Well, stop standing around then. Glisser Mercia out of here and then come back for me.”
Orion extinguishes his flame and quickly fixes the necklace around his neck. A heartbeat later, he’s gone, leaving Rachel alone in the dark against the stone archway.
“Finally. Some privacy.”
