Faery Realms: Ten Magical Titles: Multi-Author Bundle of Novels & Novellas

by Rachel Morgan

  I plopped down in my assigned seat and waited for Sierra.

  She showed up a couple of minutes later, right before the bell rang, wearing a huge grin on her face.

  “I take it things went well?” I prompted.

  She took the seat in front of me and whipped around with a nod. “He asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat and go to the movies this weekend.”

  The bell sounded, and our teacher stood up behind his desk. “Please take out your books and turn to page two hundred thirty.”

  “And you said yes, right?” I whispered as I flipped open my book and searched for the correct page.

  “Of course,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  I grinned. “When?”

  “Rylie? Sierra? Stop talking or be sent to the principal.” Mr. Jackson looked down at us over glasses that always slid down his nose.

  Sierra rolled her eyes and turned to face the teacher. “Sorry.”

  I knew it was selfish, but all I could think about was how her date better not be on my birthday. After class was over, I pulled Sierra aside in the hallway. “When are you going?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Calm down. I know exactly what you’re thinking. I told him Friday night.” Gripping my shoulders, she gave them a little shake. “Did you really think I’d leave you on your birthday?”

  I shrugged, feeling a little guilty.

  She shoved me to the side. “Really? You know me better than that. You’re my best friend. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Besides, you know I can’t pass up cake and ice cream.”

  That was true. Sierra was petite, but she could eat like a linebacker.

  Two more classes, and the day would be over. I had choir practice after school, but I really didn’t feel up to going. I was tired and achy again. Turning to Sierra, I rubbed my temples and told her, “I’m going to go take a Tylenol in the bathroom.”

  A concerned look crossed her face. “Still got that headache?”

  “Yeah. It goes away for a bit, and then comes right back. My mom said it could be allergies or something.”

  She walked with me to the bathroom. The moment we pushed through the swinging door, the stench of body spray plugged up my nose and made me cough. The bathroom’s bright fluorescent lights made the sunshine-yellow walls glow. There were four stalls, all empty at the moment. I put my backpack down and yanked out a bottle of water and the Tylenol. I threw a couple in my mouth and washed them down.

  Sierra handed me her lipstick. “Need a touch-up?”

  “Yeah.” I took the lipstick from her and applied it to my lips. It made my mouth a deep burgundy. “Thanks.”

  “What are friends for? That color looks great on you, by the way.”

  I smiled. Sierra always made me feel better.

  *

  Two hours later, the medicine still hadn’t kicked in. My head continued to throb, but I had to go to choir.

  Choir was in the small auditorium, in a domed building adjacent to the main body of the school. It had been replaced by the large auditorium sometime in the nineties, and the old was given to the arts program. It was dark and dreary, and the seats were hard wood instead of the plush cushions of the new auditorium, but the choir students liked it for its character.

  I walked down the aisle, and Mrs. Lopez looked up from behind the podium. Her black hair was pulled up in a severe bun. It looked a little strange since her long locks were usually down in loose waves. “You feeling okay, Rylie? You don’t look well.”

  “I’ve had an awful headache today,” I said truthfully.

  “Do you want to just go home? You should rest your voice if you’re not feeling well.”

  “No. Adam is my ride, and he’s at baseball practice anyway.”

  “Well, if you want to just sit in the chairs and watch, that’s fine with me.”

  “Thanks, but I think I want to try and sing.” I didn’t like letting Mrs. Lopez down. She was my favorite teacher.

  “I like that attitude, Rylie.” Mrs. Lopez smiled broadly. As the final trickle of students came in, she asked, “Do you want to do your solo first? Get it out of the way?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Mrs. Lopez.”

  I walked up the stairs to the stage and gripped the microphone stand, adjusting it to the perfect height. Mrs. Lopez took a seat at the baby grand, her fingers splayed across the keys, and nodded at me as she began playing “Someone Like You” by Adele.

  I sang through the song twice, hitting every note with ease. Singing is my passion. When I sing, I feel free, and everything else seems to fade away. Even my headache and the nightmare were forgotten.

  “Excellent,” she praised. Concern marred her brow. “Now, go sit down and watch. You look so pale.”

  I knew she was probably worried about me coming down with something. Our end-of-year concert was quickly approaching, and my solo was one of the main acts.

  “Thanks,” I said, relieved. I walked to the back of the auditorium. Every step felt like someone was banging something hard against my head. I sank down into one of the chairs and let my head fall to rest on the back of the seat. It was dark and cool. Closing my eyes, I listened to the choir sing.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Adam’s voice whispered in my ear a while later.

  Opening my eyes, I saw his handsome face in front of me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “Headache.” I groaned, annoyed that it was still there.

  “I wish I could take it away for you. Are you ready to go home? You look like you could use a nap.”

  “A nap sounds wonderful.”

  He held out his hands. I took them, and he pulled me to my feet. My head swam, and I leaned into him, waiting for the sensation to pass.

  “Rylie?” His voice was low, worried.

  I waved him away. “I’m fine. Stood up too fast.”

  As we walked to his truck, he rubbed the back of my neck with the fingers of one strong hand.

  “That feels good,” I murmured, stretching my neck side to side as he worked the muscles.

  “Probably a tension headache. Anything bothering you?” He opened the passenger door and helped me climb in.

  “Not really. I mean nothing major is going on.”

  He shut my door and circled the truck to get in on the driver’s seat. As soon as he was settled, I slid over to sit in the middle so I could rest my head on his shoulder. My eyes fluttered shut.

  “Ry?”

  I opened my eyes. It felt like it had only been seconds, but I realized we were already in my driveway.

  “Do you want me to come in?” he asked.

  Oh, how I wanted him to. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the pain away. When it didn’t magically disappear, I gave him a sad smile. “Yes…but no. I think I need to go lie down.”

  “Okay.” He slid from the truck and came to help me out of the seat. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  There were starbursts in my vision by the time we made it to the front porch. I couldn’t grasp my keys; my fingers felt numb from the migraine. Adam took them gently from my hands and opened the door.

  I let my backpack fall to the floor just inside the door. I’d get it later, when my head felt better. Adam rested an arm around my waist, and we trudged slowly to up the stairs.

  “Have you taken anything?” he asked as he helped me pull off my shoes. “Ibuprofen?”

  “A couple hours ago,” I mumbled. “I just need to close my eyes.” I fell to the cool pillow, barely registering as he settled the covers over me. My upper back was killing me, and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t remember doing anything to hurt it. Maybe I slept on it wrong or something?

  His warmth disappeared momentarily, and he came back with more Tylenol and a glass of cool water. “Take it.”

  The ones from earlier certainly hadn’t worked. I tossed back the pills, and then handed him the glass.

  Adam kissed me on the forehead, brushing his fingers
across my face as he said, “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.” I smiled. I was such a lucky girl.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I opened my eyes long enough to watch him leave, and then curled up on the mattress, hoping the pain would go away.

  Chapter Four

  “Rylie?”

  I stirred and rubbed my eyes. It was darker, but I could tell my mom was sitting next to me on the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows and asked, “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.” Her voice was disembodied in the dark.

  “Oh wow. I didn’t mean to fall asleep for so long.” I sat up and leaned back against the pillows.

  “Are you feeling okay?” She placed her hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

  “I had a headache and backache earlier, but they’re better now,” I lied. My back still hurt, but it was much duller than earlier. There was no sense in worrying her over a little pain.

  “Do you want something to eat? I made your favorite. Pork chops and mashed potatoes.”

  “Yeah. I’m hungry. Did you make gravy and biscuits?” At least that wasn’t a lie. I really was hungry. My mom may not have been the best cook, but there was still something comforting in a home-cooked meal.

  “Yes, I made biscuits, gravy, and corn on the cob. You wouldn’t let me live it down if I didn’t. Come and eat, then.” Mom stood up and left my room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  I stared at the pale violet walls for a few minutes, waiting for my body to catch up with my mind. A few months ago, I changed the posters on my walls for more sophisticated artwork. I also had Sierra draw me a landscape picture of a waterfall, which hung above my dresser. Across the room, my MacBook was on my desk, still open to Facebook. Above it, deep teal curtains framed the single window.

  Everything looked normal, but I felt like something was off. I was starting to think maybe I needed to see a shrink.

  It took me a minute to gather the energy to push myself out of bed. I stretched, and then went to the bathroom to splash cool water on my face. I patted my face down with a towel and stared at myself for a couple of minutes. Something seemed different, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was…

  I shook my head. What was I thinking? How could I look any different? I yanked my blonde hair back in a ponytail and hurried downstairs.

  My father was sitting at the table, still in his work clothes. His suit was rumpled, and if I didn’t believe it impossible, it looked exactly like the suit he wore yesterday. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders.

  “Catch any bad guys today?” I asked as I took the seat across from him.

  “You know I don’t like to talk about work.” A muscle clenched in his jaw, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. “Tell me about your day. When is your next concert?”

  “At the end of the month we have a Spring Fling concert.” I reached over and scooped potatoes onto my plate. “I hope you can make it this time.”

  “She has a solo,” Mom said proudly.

  “I’ll be there. As soon as you have the information, I’ll put in for the day off.” He paused, and then met my eyes. “I’ve missed too much. Before we know it, you’ll be out of the house and on your way to college. I don’t know how you grew up so fast.”

  I’d never heard my dad’s voice so sober. He was usually jovial, so it was obvious something was bothering him.

  “You’re stuck with me for a couple more years.” I took a bite of tough pork chop; it was like chewing on leather. “It’s delicious, Mom.”

  After we ate, I gathered the dishes and followed my mother to the sink. My head had finally stopped throbbing, but my back was still bothering me a little bit. I stacked the plates on the counter and asked, “What’s up with Dad?”

  My mom turned on the water and lowered her voice. “They found the body of the little boy they’ve been searching for.”

  I glanced through the archway that led from the kitchen to the living room. My father sat on the couch, staring at a dark television screen without really seeing it.

  “That sucks,” I murmured, pulling a dishtowel from the drawer.

  “Yeah.” Mom ran the plate under the hot water and then handed it to me. “He always blames himself if they don’t find them in time.”

  I bent to put the plate in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “It’s not his fault.”

  “He’ll get a new case and move on. It just takes him a little while.” She handed me another plate, still warm from the faucet.

  Many of my friends hated their parents, or at least didn’t get along with them, but my parents were okay. Sure, we had our disagreements, but they were always there for me. My dad was a good man. He really cared about his job, and especially the cases that involved kids—they really got to him. I admired that about my dad. Other officers would tell him not to let it get personal, but he seemed to do a better job when he did.

  Once the kitchen was clean, Mom slung an arm around my shoulders and asked, “Want to go watch Grey’s Anatomy?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’ll make the popcorn.” She shooed me out of the kitchen.

  Mom and I shared a passion for that show. Every week, we would sit down together and watch it. I grabbed my favorite spot on the couch, which was the built-in chaise on the left end. I clutched one of the soft brown pillows to my chest and waited for Mom to get back so I could hit play on the DVR.

  Mom sat next to me. She tucked her legs under her and offered me the extra-buttered popcorn as I turned on the show.

  “He’s so hot,” Mom swooned over her favorite doctor on the show. Dad shook his head and went into the other room.

  I rolled my eyes. “I guess they’re okay for old men.”

  She laughed and elbowed me. “Not old. Distinguished.”

  “Whatever.” I shoved another handful of popcorn in my mouth.

  When the show ended, Mom hit the power button on the remote and asked, “How’s school?”

  “Fine.” She always wanted to know what was going on with school. School was boring. I didn’t know why she bothered to ask; my answer was always the same.

  “Understanding all your classes?”

  “My grades are fine, Mom. Although I don’t think I did very well on a pop quiz this week.” I didn’t like keeping stuff from my parents. It was pointless: they’d find out anyway.

  “Did you read what you were supposed to?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she asked. Just like always, there was no judgment in my mother’s voice, only a need to understand and help.

  “It’s Shakespeare. It makes no sense.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, then brushed a lock of hair away from my eyes. “I never liked reading those books either, but they are important, Rylie. You need to do your assignments.”

  “I know. Sorry,” I told her, my eyes on the southwestern-patterned blanket over my knees.

  “I’ll help you if you want.”

  “I might take you up on that.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I was lucky that my parents were understanding and willing to help me. But I also knew that if I didn’t do my schoolwork and started getting bad grades, I would be in trouble.

  “Good.” She switched gears. “What about Sierra? How is she doing these days? It seems like I haven’t seen her around much lately.”

  “Better. She’s going on her first date since Trent.”

  “That’s good. And Adam?”

  “No different than yesterday.” I laughed.

  My mom grinned. “I’m just making sure nothing is new. Now that you’re a teen, we don’t spend as much time together as we used to. I need to feel like I’m up to speed on your life.”

  “Nothing new, Mom. Same old stuff.” I yawned. “I think I’ll go up to my room. I have one more chapter to read before bed.”

  “Okay.” She kissed my cheek. “Have a good night.”

 
I climbed the stairs slowly, dreading having to open that Shakespeare play again. It wasn’t that I couldn’t appreciate him—I knew he was “one of the greatest playwrights” ever. But I just couldn’t get into it. All “wither thou goest” and “prithy thee,” it was like a completely different language.

  I grabbed the book out of my backpack, because it wasn’t worth being surprised by another pop quiz to fail. Falling on the bed, I opened it and started reading. It was a pain, but I finally finished the chapter. Problem was, I forgot what I read as soon as I closed the book.

  Ten minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom again. I looked…slimmer? I wasn’t overweight to begin with, but I felt—and looked—like I was thinning out a little. My cheekbones looked more prominent. Maybe I was getting taller? I leaned closer and rubbed my birthmark; it almost looked darker than usual, which was so not cool. I wondered if a plastic surgeon could cover it up. Maybe I’d look into that someday.

  I straightened the things on my dresser, thinking about what my parents would say if I actually had it removed. They had always thought it was neat, and they claimed it made me unique. It might be neat and unique if I could cover it up once in a while. I collapsed to my comforter and considered turning on my iPod for some music before bed.

  There was a knock on my door, and my father called, “Rylie?”

  I stared at the door, aghast. He rarely came in my room. This case obviously hit him even harder than most.

  “Come in.”

  He shuffled across the room and stopped beside my bed, his hands dangling at his sides. “Just wanted to say good night.”

  I felt a rush of sympathy. He gave so much to the police department—so much time, energy, and emotion, and I rarely saw it give him anything back. I jumped to my feet and gave him a big hug. “You okay, Dad?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice muffled against my hair. He dropped a brief kiss to my hairline and pulled away to smile at me. “Just a long week. I’ll be okay.”

  “Mom told me.”