by Maria Amor
“No one knows anything,” Julia admitted. “Other than that he’s safe.” She wanted—once again—to confide in Magda, but it didn’t seem like the time. Magda hadn’t even been all that aware of what had happened last year; she didn’t know everything about what had gone on with Dylan—even though it had been totally platonic.
“It’s gotta be weird, losing the person you were used to telling everything,” Magda said. “You know it’s really kind of no wonder everyone thought the two of you were hooking up.”
“Again with ‘everyone’,” Julia said, sighing. “But nothing was going on.”
“Obviously,” Magda said. “All anyone had to do was spend time around the two of you to see it was just friendship.” Somehow—though Julia couldn’t say how—that observation hurt her. She shook it off.
“Of course,” Julia said. “Hey, looks like you’re all set in the front. Pass me some gloves and the dye.” Magda handed her the box of gloves, and Julia pulled them on.
She changed the subject then, but her mind continued to work on the problem; she needed help. There was no way that she would be able to figure out what was going on with Dylan and her other friends on her own. But she didn’t know who she could trust. God what am I going to do?
As Julia applied dye and chatted with Magda, she felt a little better, but she couldn’t help but keep feeling the lingering guilt that came with knowing that Dylan had worked so hard to protect her and act as her companion, and she wasn’t working hard enough to get him back safely.
CHAPTER 12
Dylan slid his hand along the neck of his guitar, hearing the whisper of the strings. The fingers of his other hand plucked at the strings above the sound hole, picking out a musing, meandering melody. It was time for Thanksgiving and winter break at the School of Sandrine, and if he hadn’t been a captive, he would—he was fairly certain—be headed back to Manhattan with Julia. Dylan sighed.
His captors had apparently done their job well; his parents had no idea where he was, even if they knew he was safe. He’d gotten a letter from them—it showed plenty of signs of tampering, of having been read and re-read—saying that they wouldn’t give up on finding him. Dylan had to reason that they’d used more than one intermediary, and Dylan was also fairly certain that whoever had had direct contact with his parents was dead.
Dylan, my darling son: we are working hard at finding you. The only thing anyone has been able to tell us is that you’re safe. Julia is okay—she had her birthday, and she has her full abilities as a Guardian now. But if you can find a way to get word to us, something we can know is from you, please take the opportunity. Please find a way to let us know you’re not just safe, but truly okay.
Dylan’s fingers shifted on the neck of the guitar and his fingers plucked a discord. He ground his teeth, exhaling through his nose. He should be at Julia’s side, he should have been at her side, he should have been there to help her through the transition into her full abilities as a Guardian. He tried to picture her, tried to think of what she must look like, what her energy might feel like.
Dylan put aside the guitar and looked around the room. Sometime a few weeks prior, Bernadette had come to tell him that the people organizing his captivity had found a way to seal the entire wing of the building off, so that he and the other captives could have a little more space, a little more freedom—but not so much that they could get away. In addition to his room, with the bathroom, he had a hallway, and what the servants referred to as “the sitting room.”
The sitting room had a window—heavily barred with lead and iron—that let some fresh air in, and chairs and a sofa. He’d been able to talk to the others who had been abducted: Suzanna, Azhar, Eliza, Tal, and Keyne were allowed out at different times, and Dylan had a TV in his room with access to Netflix and Hulu.
It was obvious to Dylan—now—that the people holding him and the five other students had no intention of harming them, at least not for the time being. He had started to believe that they genuinely planned to return him and the other students to their parents, or to the school—at some point. The question for all of them was when that would be.
“How are you holding up?” Dylan looked up from his guitar to see Tal coming into the room. Their doors unlocked at different times to give them access to the sitting area; they had to go back within a certain amount of time, or one of the servants would come and get them. Those were the rules.
“I’m okay. You?”
“Missing my parents,” Tal said. He sat down and Dylan considered the changeling boy: Tal had the reed-thin look that the fae-heavy changelings tended towards, with platinum blond hair and big, green eyes. “Mom does Thanksgiving, and Dad’s into any excuse for a feast.”
“You’d think they’d at least have us out by now,” Dylan said, looking around a little nervously. Their captors definitely kept watch on them; Dylan wasn’t entirely sure how, but he knew it was happening.
“Obviously, whatever they’re keeping us here cooling our heels for, hasn’t happened yet,” Tal said. None of them knew what it was that their kidnappers were waiting for, why they were being held for so long.
“Does anything like this happen in Faerie?” Tal half-smiled wryly.
“It’s pretty common with top families,” he said. “There are rules of engagement—people can’t be killed, especially children—but abductions are pretty common. Dad is probably more chill about this than Mom is.”
“My parents are worried,” Dylan told him. “I assume Ruth is—though she doesn’t really care much about me, I don’t think. I hope Julia hasn’t forgotten that I exist.”
“Dude, she’s got to be doing whatever she can to figure it out,” Tal pointed out. “But they did a decent job of isolating her—I mean, who has she got there to talk to anymore?” Dylan glanced at the entryway into the sitting area again.
None of them had been able to find out any real specifics about where they were, who was holding them, or why. It had been over a month, and no one had found them. The window in the sitting area didn’t reveal anything that they could use to find out the location of their prison. Dylan set the guitar down and sat back in his chair.
“What are we going to do?” He looked at Tal.
“We need to figure something out, that’s for damn sure,” Tal said. Dylan gave the other boy a slightly warning look—if they got too specific, at least in plain English, their captors were likely to make it impossible for them to socialize.
“I guess the big thing would be to find out what these guys want,” Dylan said. He pressed his lips together. “You know—it’s possible that whatever they’re up to, we could help them.” He held Tal’s gaze, hoping the other boy would figure out what he meant.
“Help them? I’d as soon…” Tal’s eyes widened slightly. “Depending on what they want, it’s definitely possible,” he said finally.
“At least then we’d know why we’re stuck here for so long,” Dylan added. “Which would help keep us at ease, maybe.” He hoped that whoever was monitoring them was smart enough to figure out that there was a way to keep them occupied; and then, if they tried it, Dylan and the other captives could find a way to use it against their captors. More information had to help them—that was always what Julia’s approach was, and Dylan had to admit that she was useful at figuring things out and coming up with plans.
“I don’t know about you, but I spend most of the time bored,” Tal said. “And the more I get bored, the more I try and think of ways to escape.” Dylan suppressed the smile that twitched at the corners of his lips. That, he was sure, would bring some kind of result. If nothing else, it would make it so that they were given more to do—and more openings to talk to the servants, to get more information.
“Yeah, I have to admit that if it weren’t for the fact that the rooms are warded, I’d be working harder at it,” Dylan said. “And that won’t keep me stopped for long.”
“Obviously, no one has any instructions to harm us,” Tal pointed out
. “I have to think that they’d get in trouble if they ended up hurting us—otherwise they would have done it before now.”
“True,” Dylan agreed. He tried not to look around too much, to appear like he was actually plotting with the air-aligned student. “You know, I have to think that they’ve got instructions specifically not to harm us.”
“Probably,” Tal said. “Though if we were going to try an escape, they’d probably have an excuse. So, if we did make an escape attempt, we’d have to plan it well.”
“Plans aren’t really my strong suit,” Dylan told the other boy. “But considering how much free time we have, I think I could come up with something.”
“Of course,” Tal said. “We’d have to find a way to spread the word.” Dylan gave the air-aligned student a quick look.
“They could probably do something to prevent it, though,” Dylan said, trying his best to sound resigned. “But it would be nice if we had more to do.”
“I’ve gotten halfway through next semester’s work already,” Tal said.
“Did they give you TV at least?” Tal nodded.
“Yeah, as prisons go this is pretty posh,” Tal said. “I can’t complain there. But at the same time, being bored all the time, missing my parents, missing my siblings...and school...sucks.”
“Maybe we can talk to someone about giving us something to do,” Dylan said. “At this point, if it gets us out sooner, I’d almost be open to most things.” He glanced out through the window. The woods that surrounded the building were so thick that he couldn’t even make out anything like a trail. Obviously, this isn’t an actual prison. They’ve gone to really big lengths to make this happen. Someone with a lot of money had to be behind it.
“As long as it isn’t to actually harm Julia, I’d be willing to at least hear about it,” Tal said. Dylan couldn’t quite tell if the changeling boy was serious, or if he was just a very good actor. He had heard about Stockholm Syndrome, and he knew that they were all at risk for it, if they stayed long enough in their captors’ power.
Could Tal be breaking? Dylan needed all five of the air-aligned students he was imprisoned with to be on the same page as him—or at least he needed to know who was with him and who had been turned. If you’re already thinking they might have been turned, you’re in trouble, Dylan thought, but he knew it was a possibility he had to consider.
“Excuse me.” Dylan looked up to see that one of the servants, Dylan thought his name was Odan, was at the entry into the sitting area. “Mr. Kelby, we need for you to return to your room.” The people in charge of the operation never seemed to like to have more than two—maybe three—of the captives in the room at once. Dylan wasn’t certain that if he refused to go with the elf, Odan would use force; but he didn’t want to risk it—not yet.
“Okay,” Dylan said, picking up the guitar to take it with him. He glanced at Tal on the way out of the room; he hoped that what he and Tal had said to each other had occurred to the people watching them, and had the impact they wanted. The appearance of the elf to lead Dylan back to his prison cell told him that they were paying attention, at least. Dylan rubbed his hand against his pants leg, stepping into the corridor with the guitar.
“I’m sorry we had to cut your time out of your room short,” Odan said. Dylan resisted the urge to grin; obviously, the elf couldn’t tell him straight up that they’d been eavesdropping—but he could hint.
“I get it,” Dylan said. “We’re here as enforced guests.”
“That would be the exact idea,” Odan said. The wards along the walls of the corridor leading to his room were not as strong as the ones in the room itself, or the ones in the sitting area; Dylan could feel some of his water-aligned energy coming back to him. He took a deep breath and let the energy flow through him, into Odan—and met resistance, but not as much as he thought he would.
“I just wish I could know something—anything—about what was going to happen to us,” Dylan said, trying to keep his tone sad. He focused on the emotion, infusing it into his energy, hoping that it would carry through to Odan.
“I know it must be difficult for all of you,” Odan said. “But in all honesty, none of the servants know anything but what we’re told: to bring meals, to let you out, to bring you back to your rooms, those kinds of things.”
“Are you sure you haven’t overheard something?” Dylan pushed a little harder on the emotional energy, trying to push at the elf’s mind as best as he could. They were getting closer to his room.
“Some of us have overheard things on occasion, but nothing that would help you,” Odan said. “I believe Miss Bernadette has already told you that there are some in the group who wanted you all killed instead of captive.”
“Are we in danger, Odan? At least tell me that,” Dylan said.
“For now, you’re in no danger at all,” Odan replied. “I don’t know why I would tell you this, but you seem...you all seem so sad.” Odan flashed less-than-white teeth at him and paused just outside of Dylan’s door. “The intention is to keep you six out of the way,” he said. “As long as everything goes to plan, none of you will be harmed in any way.”
“And if it doesn’t go to plan?” Odan’s smile fell.
“I can’t speak to that,” he said. “The elves involved in this project are averse to you being killed.”
“Really?” Dylan frowned in confusion. “Why?”
“The way that you and Julia advocated for the changelings, for the air-aligned creatures being accused, was impressive,” Odan said. “We would hope that both of you would be as fair-minded about us.” Odan half-smiled again. “Also, the last thing any of us want is to anger the future Regina Sylphaea.”
“She may not be that,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “She’s against the idea.”
“Whether she wants it or not is unlikely to be her choice,” Odan said. “Those who are allied with her stand to benefit. I can’t break you out—but I would be able to stand before her and say that I didn’t help anyone harm you.” Odan pressed buttons on the outside of his door and took keys out of his pocket. The doors to the rooms, Dylan had learned, had a complicated system: there was an electric lock, along with a key-based lock, both of them on the outside of the door. Neither, to the best of his knowledge, was able to be tampered with from the inside.
“I wish you could tell me more,” Dylan said, pushing the hardest he had yet.
“I wish I could too,” Odan said, sounding genuinely regretful. “Please go back into your room.” Dylan held the elf’s gaze, considering a bit more resistance; but he knew that he had to just let the emotional waters do their job. He would—maybe—have another chance soon enough to manipulate the energies of another servant; he needed to choose his battles carefully. If he wanted a good opportunity for them all to escape, he had to set everything up the right way—not get impatient.
Dylan went into his room and listened as Odan locked the door behind him. By his estimates, he had another two hours—maybe a little more—until someone came with his food. He sat down on the bed and set his guitar aside, thinking.
“If there was ever a time when it would really help to have Julia around,” he murmured to himself. Julia would know what to do—or at least, she would have a plan, of some kind.
Odan had said that they were in no danger for the moment, as long as the plan went well; but Dylan didn’t even know what the plan was, other than that it involved—apparently—isolating Julia from the people who’d been her support and allies at Sandrine. If it wasn’t her birthday that they were waiting for, what was their goal? Make room for the prey… Dylan had to think that their goal was, somehow, to prey on Julia. But how? Just isolating her wouldn’t do much, especially if she’d come into her full abilities as a Guardian. She would be able to resist a lot more effectively, and especially if she’d gained the compulsion ability in full, Dylan didn’t think that there was a person who could really stand in her way.
Dylan imagined Julia, the way he thought she woul
d look now that she’d come fully into her abilities. She would mostly look the same, and Dylan called up her image in his mind; the wind-aligned tended to look even more youthful, even more ethereally lovely the more powerful they were. He imagined her walking out into the event space, in the dress that she’d gone to weeks’ worth of fittings for, her hair done. Would she have worn it down? Dylan shook his head—no, she would have had it in some kind of complicated style, all twisted and braided around her face. She’d look like a mythical princess.
Dylan smiled slightly to himself, sighing. Julia had certainly looked absolutely stunning on her birthday, in a way that he would never have been able to match—even on his own coming-of-age celebration, when he had been fourteen. Maybe she went into my room. Maybe she found the present.
He’d gotten it for her a few weeks before her birthday, and he’d hidden it carefully, but Julia knew him well enough that he hoped she would have checked; even if he couldn’t see her face when she opened it, he wanted her to have it. The possibility that the people holding him might not ever release him had occurred to him more than once, and Dylan hated the thought that the gift he’d put so much thought and effort into might go unopened forever.
Dylan sat up and picked up his guitar, fingering the fretboard. He had to do something. He had to think of some way to get to Julia, sooner rather than later. He couldn’t count on Bernadette—or even the servants—to come through for him. He needed to work with the air-aligned students, and figure out a way to fool their captors.
They all needed to get out of the prison they’d been brought to. “There has to be a way; they aren’t perfect. There’s something—some kind of weakness—we can exploit,” he murmured. “We’ll find it, and we’ll get out of here.” Any plan that required Julia’s closest friends and defenders was one that Dylan didn’t want to come to fruition.
CHAPTER 13
“I have news for you.” Julia looked up from the book that she was reading at the sound of Blake’s voice.
