“No,” I sob, bending over his light brown hair stained black from all the blood.
This is all my fault! If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive, attending school with all his friends, then hanging out with Irene and Luther on weekends.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, kissing his forehead, slick with tears. “So sorry.” I lift my head up to the heavens above. “Please, God, please don’t let him die like this…Please!”
Lance’s hand seizes my shoulder and squeezes. “Morgan,” he says.
I turn a tearstained face to him, but he’s not looking at me. I hear a gasp, and drop my gaze down to Arthur’s face. His mouth is open, and he’s breathing through it in small, shallow gulps. Under my fingers, his skin is knitting itself together.
“What have you done?” Lance asks with awe.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say, staring in shock at the now blemish-free skin. “I don’t even—”
Arthur’s eyes flutter open, and his hazel eyes meet mine. A small smile spreads on his flushed face. He reaches up and winds his fingers in my hair, then pulls me closer to him, so close his breath tickles my neck.
A sudden warmth spreads down my face, and I find I can’t pull away from him. My lips open in protest, but no words come out—too much trauma in one day has turned my brain to mush.
“Nice to see you, Morgan,” he whispers, and an answering smile spreads across my face.
I’m about to hug him when someone yanks me back by the hair.
“Get your filthy hands off him!”
Chapter 33
Dazed, I look up to find Irene standing above me, her face purple with anger.
“Mother,” I say as more people file in behind her, dressed in fighting garb.
“Do not call me that,” she says, seething. “And you,” she adds, pointing at Arthur who’s getting up, “get some clothes on. You look indecent.”
“That wasn’t my first worry while fighting off Carman,” Arthur says, unperturbed.
At the mention of the Fey, Irene turns pale. “That can’t be,” she says curtly. “The prison…”
Yet the ruined stones, the debris littering the muddy ground, and the scorch marks about the place are a dead giveaway.
“How…” she starts, then looks at her son. “Why did you end up here, when your own school was under attack?”
“Saw your lovely lawyer carry Morgan off,” Arthur says in his usual nonchalant way while buttoning up the coat Lance has handed him. “So I decided I’d follow. We ended up here.”
“And you?” Irene asks, turning to Lance.
“Followed Arthur,” the usually quiet boy replies, “and this little fellow.”
Puck, still holding on to the bowl, hobbles over to me, and I gather him into my arms, where he curls up into a small, shivering ball. I find myself glad that he managed to stay out of harm’s way.
“What is that filthy beast doing here?” Irene asks, pointing at the hobgoblin.
“That is Puck,” I say, tightening my arms around the small creature, “and he saved my life.” How, that’s still a mystery to me, but considering I’m still breathing, I figure I’ve got plenty of time to worry about that later.
“It’s the Sangraal,” someone whispers reverently.
“The Sangraal?” a woman repeats. “But it’s been lost for ages!”
I look down at the vessel still clutched in Puck’s small hands, its rim covered in small runes—this is the holy cup that’s supposed to have magical powers? I remember my glowing skin, my injury healing, and my scar disappearing. Huh, that would explain things.
Before I can wonder at the meaning of its reemergence and its role in my speedy recovery, Irene shoves me back and grips my left shoulder.
“Gone,” she says. She pulls away, a look of mixed terror and rage on her features. “Guards, tie her up.”
Confused looks are exchanged by her men in an exact mirror of my own.
“Did you not hear me?” Irene sputters. “Tie her up! And use your iron netting to do it. She’s dangerous.”
I want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, say that Carman’s already gone, escaped under the lake somewhere. But the men come forward carefully, as if approaching a wild boar. One of them pulls out a long lace of metal that glimmers in the hazy light.
“You can’t be serious,” I say. Why would they want to tie me up, and with iron bindings to boot?
“Don’t you dare lay your hands on her,” Arthur says, standing before me.
“Step away from her, Arthur,” Irene says, her composure back. “You wouldn’t want anyone questioning your position now, would you?”
Arthur doesn’t move, and I draw closer to him, taking comfort in his presence. But that’s the wrong thing to do, as Irene goes around her son and grabs me by the hair once more, pulling me away.
“Stay away from my son, you monster!” she hisses.
Puck whimpers against my chest. I try to smile, chuckle, but I can’t help tears from pricking my eyes.
“Monster?” I ask, looking at the people around me.
But nobody’s meeting my eyes. Not even Arthur, who’s looking straight ahead as if I’m not here.
My smile wobbles. “This is a joke, right? Ha ha. Now drop the act. It isn’t funny.”
With a grunt of disgust, Irene turns away from me, and the two guards grab me roughly by the arms. I resist, clutching on to Puck.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice rising three octaves with my growing fear. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Arthur, tell them!”
But Arthur remains mute. I swallow my anger and sense of betrayal back down. I shouldn’t have expected more from him, but, after all we’ve just gone through, I had hoped.
“Take your hands off me,” I say, breathing in to keep myself cool and collected. “I’ll follow you.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. Then the two guards take their metal wiring away, though they remain at my sides—as if I were stupid enough to run away now.
◆◆◆
Two boats are waiting for us by the shore, the Pendragon coat of arms painted on the front of their black hulls. I climb into the first boat, the two men close to me. When everyone’s aboard, the boats push themselves away from the snowy bank in complete silence before the familiar green glow comes up in a bubble around us and the crafts dive into the freezing waters of Lake Winnebago.
The sight that greets us upon our arrival is one of destruction and desolation. People have streamed out of the school and are busy collecting the dead or helping the few injured soldiers who haven’t gotten to the clinic yet.
The long barges land north of the wharf, which is now but a pile of smoldering embers. A fleeting thought of Laura and Diana crosses my mind, and I wonder whether they are safe.
“Take her to the KORT room,” Irene says, “while I gather the Board to decide her fate.”
I step out of the boat with as much dignity as I can, which isn’t an easy task when two tall, burly men are holding on to you like a criminal.
“Just a moment,” Lance says, stepping uncharacteristically to the forefront.
Glaring, Irene tries to go around him, but Lance is much taller and stronger than she is and keeps cutting her off.
“Get out of my way, boy,” she says, exasperated. “I could have you in chains for this.”
Lance’s knuckles whiten on the grip of his sword, but he doesn’t move. “I can’t let you take her right now. I need her.”
“Whatever for?” Irene asks.
“I need to take her to the infirmary,” he says, his voice level.
My mouth drops open, and I nearly drop Puck, who uses that opportunity to jump out of my arms and scramble away. I hadn’t pinned Lance for a caring guy, especially with regard to me, but this is proving me wrong. I throw a challenging look in Arthur’s direction; this is how a true chivalrous person ought to be. But Arthur’s pointedly avoiding my eyes.
“She’s fine,” Irene says, her vo
ice cold.
Someone whispers in her ear, and she casts a look at Lance and Arthur, both covered in blood and soot, and she finally relents.
As we pass by the asylum, which is now but a mass of rubble, I see some of the nurses try to calm down a group of their patients as they stare and scream at the remains of what once had been their home. In the midst of them, I catch the eye of a single man, his pale skin lighter than his white hair. A heartbeat later, he turns away from me as the stench of burning flesh reaches me, making me gag.
“The Fomori,” one of my two guards says as we walk by a large bonfire. “Gotta make sure they’re completely destroyed.”
Shuddering, I accelerate my pace until we reach the great northern door and step inside the building.
The moment we walk into the medical wing, Dr. Cockleburr assails me.
“Where have you been, missy?” she calls out from her corner, where she’s placing a brace on a boy. “Do you even realize how much work there is to do around here? But you decide to skip out on me and—”
She stops when she realizes the two men next to me aren’t there just for decorative purposes. She frowns and pulls the bandage tight, making the boy wince.
“What’s going on?” she asks, hurrying over, wiping her hands on her stained apron. “Morgan, who are these people?”
“Board members, I assume,” I say, trying to ignore everyone’s stares.
“What happened to you out there?” she asks, tut-tutting. “You’re going to have to get changed before you resume your work here.”
“That’s not going to be possible,” the taller of the guards says.
“Are you injured?” Dr. Cockleburr retorts.
“No, ma’am,” says the guard.
“Then what are you doing in my clinic?” she asks, her thick eyebrows drawing down. “I’m already overcrowded as it is. Get out.”
“We can’t, ma’am,” the other guard says. “We have to keep this one under control. She may be dangerous.”
Just focus on the light fixtures, I tell myself as the too-familiar feelings of shame and humiliation burn my cheeks red.
“Morgan, dangerous?” Dr. Cockleburr asks in surprise. “That’s preposterous. She’s one of the better healers around here, a true natural!”
“And that’s why we’re here,” Lance says. “Is Jennifer still…”
The doctor motions with her head to the ward, and I find myself shuffled forward. Dumbfounded, I follow Lance’s broad back to Jennifer’s bed. One thing’s for sure, though, it’s not because of me that he’s worried, after all.
Jennifer hasn’t changed since last I saw her. If it weren’t for the tiny network of black veins that now reach her neck and the bottom of her face, she’d look like she was resting. But, from experience, I know what those black veins mean, and Jennifer shouldn’t even be alive anymore.
“Go ahead,” Lance says, pushing me gently toward the front of the bed.
“What is it you want me to do?” I ask. “Fluff her pillow?”
“Heal her.”
I snort. “Right. Let me pull out my magic wand and get right on that, sir.”
Lance doesn’t laugh. Neither do Arthur nor my guards. They all watch me like they really are expecting me to perform a miracle for them.
“This is stupid,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m not a magician. I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. Don’t you think I’d have healed her by now if I could?”
“You saved him,” Lance says, pointing at Arthur, who’s staring at me so intently I’m the one who looks away first. “I saw it with my own eyes. His ribs mended. His skin grew back together. He’d stopped breathing, and now look at him!”
“All hail to the new Saint Lazarus,” I mutter under my breath.
“It’s true,” Arthur says. He touches his chest where the lacerations had been. “I felt your touch, right here.”
I roll my eyes. These people are impossible. And yet…yet I can’t deny that something miraculous happened on that island.
“But that was all God,” I whisper. “I prayed to Him, and He answered me…” I raise my bare arm and turn it over, exposing the long, pale scar that newly adorns it. My hands are still stained black, but all my other scratches and bruises are gone, and I hadn’t prayed to God then.
No, I healed because Puck made me drink out of that cup, which these people say is the Sangraal. Then could it be that I truly did heal Arthur? My eyes widen in consternation.
“No way,” I exclaim, despite myself.
“Could you…could you at least try?” Lance asks, a note of pleading in his voice.
I start at his question, having momentarily forgotten his and the other men’s presence. I sigh.
“OK,” I say. I raise my finger before he can thank me. “But…don’t expect anything to come of it.”
I turn back to Jennifer, observing her still body. What did I do to Arthur to mend him? Hold him in my arms, cry, and kiss his forehead. I shudder at the thought of having to kiss Jennifer.
Settling for something less drastic, I sit on her bed and lift her head to let it rest on my lap. I lay my hand on hers and lean over her until my long hair hides the four men from my sight.
Closing my eyes, I start to pray.
Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Let thy kingdom come, thy will be fulfilled, as well on earth as it is in Heaven.
A light tingle spreads from my head, down my shoulders and arms, and all the way to the tips of my fingers.
Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
My hand feels warm on Jennifer’s. My initial reflex is to pull away, but I force myself to stand still.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. Forever and ever. Amen.
“Look,” I hear someone whisper.
But I dare not open my eyes for fear of breaking my concentration, and start the Paternoster over. The words tumble out of my mouth, too low for anyone else to hear, more and more rapidly, in an endless litany.
My mind is empty of everything but the prayer and Jennifer lying in my lap. Nothing else matters. Nothing but the desperate hope that perhaps she will be saved after all, and the fear that I may fail.
I feel movement, hear a gasp.
“By all that’s holy,” someone exclaims, “she’s done it!”
Someone leans onto the bed, and I sway backward, breaking my contact with Jennifer.
“Jennifer,” Lance says.
As if in a dream, I see the boy grab the blonde girl’s hand and press it to his lips as her eyes open. Her pale face has a translucent quality to it, but gone are the lines of black that had striated her body just moments before.
A sudden wave of fatigue washes through me, leaving me with the feeling of a shipwrecked sailor who’s just spent days swimming for survival.
A pair of hands grabs me by the shoulders before I fall over on the bedspread. I want to push them away; a nap is just the thing I want right now. All I need is an hour, or a century.
“This is proof that she’s like them,” Irene says, her sharp tone cutting through my tired thoughts.
“This is proof that she’s saved not only me, but Jennifer as well,” Arthur says right next to me.
“Don’t play with words,” Irene retorts. “Only the Fey can do that, and that means only one thing: she needs to be locked up.”
That last statement has the effect of twenty gallons of ice water being poured over me, and I bolt upright.
Irene notices my reaction and smirks. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured it out by now.”
Chapter 34
“You can’t do that. She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Arthur says, staring Irene down.
“I’m afraid you have no authority on the subject,” Irene says, motioning for the guards to grab hold of me.
I’m so weak that they have to ca
rry me between them. My feet drag on the stone floor as they head for the exit. I don’t even have the energy to protest.
“Where to?” they ask.
“The only place around here that’ll hold those of her ilk are the catacombs,” Irene replies.
“You can’t be serious,” Arthur says. He hurries over to Irene’s side.
“I am,” Irene replies with a vicious smile. “Well, at least until we figure out where her ogham is.”
Ogham. A hysterical laugh shakes my shoulders at the concept of having one of those stuck in me somewhere. Don’t they remember how long it took me to get one of the elementals to work? And now they expect me to have my own source of power?
The laughter dies when I see nobody’s finding any of this funny. “Oh, come on,” I say. “Obviously I’m not the one who healed them. Well, I did, but I didn’t.” I lick my dry lips, then clear my throat. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s because I drank from that bowl, the Sangraal, nothing more.”
I feel my guards tighten their hold on me, and one of them crosses himself.
“I grew up in a Catholic school,” I whisper to him. “Don’t you think I’d have…melted by now if I were a devil? Or at least been struck by God?”
But it’s useless. Whatever I say, these people are not going to believe me. I should be used to this behavior by now, but my naive faith in humanity always bounces back to bite me in the ass.
Eyes half closed, Irene observes me like I’m some lab monkey. “That’s exactly my point. And the proof is that your seal’s gone.”
“My seal?” I blow on a loose strand of hair that’s fallen over my eyes. Why does that ring a bell? I reach up to my shoulder where my scar used to be, where I saw it transform into a pentacle after drinking from the Sangraal—the same symbol I’ve seen on the tall monoliths protecting our school. Was that what Dean was talking about?
“What’s been keeping your abilities at bay,” Irene adds. She stalks up to me, her short skirts swaying back and forth around her narrow hips. She circles me like a vulture, then stops so close to me she’s forced to look up to stare into my eyes. “It’s what allowed you to pass for human all these years,” she hisses.
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