Tora’s imaginary voice: DO NOT GET BACK ON THAT BED WITH HIM.
I sigh inwardly. If it’s not Nate’s parents killing the mood, it’s my guilty conscience. I tear my eyes away from Nate. “Okay, lead the way then.”
We cross his oversized bedroom and walk down the passage that leads to the rest of the house. The first door we pass is closed, but the second has been left ajar. Nate pushes it open and pulls me inside. My feet sink into the thick carpet.
Nate spreads his arms. “Where do you want to start?”
My eyes brush over the bed, the dressing table, the sepia-toned artwork on the walls. “Well, if I wanted to put something away where no one would find it, I’d go for . . . the closet?” Nate walks across the room and flings open the doors to the walk-in closet. It’s larger than my bathing room.
“Dad’s stuff is on the right,” says Nate, his hand trailing over the shirts and jackets. The hangers squeak as they swing back and forth on the rail. The smell of cologne lingers.
“Your dad probably wouldn’t like me using his shelves as a ladder, would he?”
“Probably not. But he wouldn’t like you digging through his belongings either, and we’re not about to ask his permission to do that, so climb away.”
I lift my foot onto the first shelf as Nate starts going through drawers of socks, ties and underwear. I keep climbing until my head is level with the open space that runs along the top of the whole closet. “Lots of boxes up here,” I say, my fingers gripping the dust-covered plywood. “And files and photo albums and books. I’ll bring them down.” I jump onto the carpet.
“Why don’t you just pass them to—” Nate stops talking and forgets to close his mouth as the boxes float, one by one, down to the floor.
“Faerie, remember?” I say, settling on the floor and crossing my legs beneath me.
“I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this.” He sits opposite me and starts paging through a file while I pull the lid off one of the shoeboxes. It’s filled with old birthday cards and several loose photographs.
“Is this her?” I ask. Nate reaches for the photo.
“No, that’s my mom. Step-mom, I mean.” He turns it over and looks at a date written on the back. “From before she married my dad.” He drops the photo back into the box, and I move it to one side, reaching for the next box.
“Okay, nothing useful in there,” I say, after I’ve sifted through the crayon drawings and toddler photographs. “Just a whole lot of photos of you looking even more gorgeous than you do now.” Nate coughs and looks up at me.
Crap, did I say that out loud?
I look down at my feet, wishing I could hide my blush behind a glamour. “Um, what’s her name? Your birth mother.”
Nate turns back to the file on his lap. “Angelica. I don’t remember her surname though.”
“Do you know why she left?”
He shakes his head. “Dad always says she was never cut out for family life. Even after she discovered she was pregnant with me, she still didn’t want to marry Dad. He likes to tell me that she loved me, but I’m pretty sure he only says that to make me feel better.” Nate closes the file and pulls another one onto his lap. “I mean, if she loved me, then why did she just leave one day?”
My fingers trace the embossed title of an old hard-covered book. “Maybe something happened, and she didn’t have a choice but to leave.”
“Well, whatever.” Nate flips through a few more plastic sleeves. “It worked out for the best. My step-mom is pretty cool, as far as moms go.”
I slide my fingers beneath the book’s cover and push it back, listening to the creak of the ancient spine. And there, in the overly-neat handwriting of a child, is her name.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Angelica!” I blurt out.
“What?” Nate’s head snaps up.
“It’s here. Her name. This was her book.” I pass it to him, and a bookmark falls from between the pages. Retrieving it from the box of photos into which it fell, I see that it isn’t a bookmark after all, but a thin metal disc, tarnished with age. A symbol of a griffin with a serpent for a tail is engraved into its surface. Something stirs in my memory.
“What’s that?” asks Nate.
I shake my head, turning the disc over. The reverse of the same pattern is on the other side. “I don’t know, but it’s weird. I feel like I’ve seen this symbol before.”
Nate takes the disc. “Haven’t lots of people? I mean, it’s a griffin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but griffins don’t usually have serpent tails. They have a lion’s body, which means they also have a lion’s tail. But this one has an actual serpent where the tail should be. And see the way the serpent curls up, making a circle around the griffin?” Nate nods. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this exact one before. On a textbook maybe. Like on the spine.”
“Your textbooks sound far more interesting than mine.”
I take the metal disc from him and turn it over and over in my hands. If this disc belonged to Angelica then I can use it to find her. Nate is preoccupied, poring over the brittle pages of the book, so I close my eyes without saying anything to him. I run my fingers over the pattern and send my mind out, searching, probing, feeling for the person attached to this item.
Abruptly, I feel a rushing sensation. Something pulling at my mind, tugging irresistibly. I feel trapped. Smothered. Faces and colors swirl and flash, blinding me, dizzying me. I can’t get out.
Vi! Violet!
My eyes spring open. I see clothes hanging above me, and Nate’s anxious expression. “You just suddenly fell over,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“Um, I don’t know. That was weird.” I push myself up into a sitting position. The bottom of a coat brushes my shoulder. “Well, this disc thing definitely doesn’t belong to your mother.”
“Wait, you were trying to find her? And you didn’t tell me?”
I shrug. “You were busy looking at the book.”
“Vi!” He tries to remain angry, but curiosity clearly gets the better of him. “Okay, so who does it belong to?”
“Too many people.”
Nate frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I saw lots and lots of faces, so I’m assuming the disc has belonged to many different people over the years.”
Nate stares at me a moment before saying, “This ability of yours doesn’t work very well, does it? I mean, what if someone else owned this book before my mother?”
“Well, let’s hope she had it long enough to truly make it her own.”
“Is that how your ability works? How long would she have—”
“Shh!” I reach across the boxes and clamp my hand over his mouth. “I heard something,” I whisper.
I lower my hand, listening carefully. From the room below us comes a thump. My first thought is that Drake and Zell have come for Nate, but then I remember that Flint put protective spells around the house. Nate rises and goes to the door of the closet. I’ve just reached into the air and pulled out a knife when a voice calls, “Nate? I got your favorite for dinner.”
Nate dashes back to the pile we’ve left on the floor. “Jeez, what is she doing home already?” He grabs Angelica’s book, tucks it under his arm, and begins piling the boxes on top of each other. I discard my knife into the air and hastily send the boxes and files back to the top of the closet. I stuff the griffin disc in my pocket and run out of the room after Nate.
“Thanks, Mom,” he shouts down the stairs. “Looking forward to it.” Then he pushes me back into his room and shuts the door. “You should probably go,” he says to me.
“What, you don’t want me meeting your mom?” I tease.
“Well, uh, maybe not looking like that.” He drops Angelica’s book onto one of his couches.
I put my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”
“Come on, Vi,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You just need to add your boots and you’re like the forest version of L
ara Croft.”
“Excuse me? Lara who?”
“I mean, it’s really sexy and everything.” He pulls me closer and slips his arms around my waist. “But it’s not exactly the way I’d want you to meet my mom.”
“I can glamour myself in something pretty,” I suggest. I’m only joking though. I’m terrified at the thought of meeting his parents; it would be taking my betrayal of the Guild even further to reveal myself to another two humans.
“How about you glamour yourself in something pretty just for me?” whispers Nate, his lips at my neck. A shiver races up and down my arms. I don’t bother reminding him that he can’t see glamours.
A knock at the door causes him to jump away from me. “Uh, hang on,” he says to the door. “Just getting changed.” He turns back to me. Go, already, he mouths.
I can’t help giggling at how rattled he is. “You know she can’t see or hear me, right?”
“Yeah, but I can,” he whispers.
“Fine,” I say, pretending to pout. I fetch my stylus from Nate’s bed just as my pocket tingles against my skin. I squeeze my hand past the metal disc to reach my amber. It’s a message from Tora.
Hope you’re not sulking. Come over for dinner tonight.
“I have to go anyway,” I tell Nate, holding up the amber message as proof. I turn and scribble across his wall with my stylus. A doorway to the faerie paths materializes, but before I can step through, Nate grabs my arm. He spins me around and presses his mouth to mine. I melt against him, my eyes closing. The world disappears, and it’s just the two of us, my hands rising to caress his face, his fingers sliding down to the small of my back, pressing me closer to him. My head spins, sounds disappear, and I feel weightless.
Nate pulls away from me. “Now you can go,” he says with a wink, pushing me gently backward through the doorway. Remarkably, I manage to direct the faerie paths back to my kitchen without getting lost in my own giddiness. My legs still feel a little bit like liquid though, and I have to grab onto the table as I step into the kitchen. Filigree deigns to raise his head from the couch before deciding to ignore me. I’m fine with that. I’d like to savor this floaty feeling without someone reminding me to feel guilty. I’m about to go upstairs and flop onto my bed when I remember the griffin disc in my pocket. Curiosity and floatiness battle it out in my head for a few moments before curiosity finally wins.
I cross the sitting room and enter the study that once belonged to my parents. Their books still line many of the shelves, but there’s a small section that belongs to me. In my memory, the griffin symbol is associated with studying, and the only things I’ve ever studied are Guild-prescribed textbooks.
I sit down on the floor in front of the shelf of books that belong to me. I search the spines. Nothing. I pull all the books from the shelf and flick through the pictures. Still nothing. By the time I have to leave for Tora’s house, I’m no closer to locating a griffin with a serpent tail.
With a sigh and a flick of my hand, I send the books back through the air. They slam into the bookshelf , jostling to find a space in line. Oops. Guess I overdid the magic a little.
*
The faerie paths deposit me directly outside Tora’s tree. I take a step closer, lean forward, and blow gently against the bark. Gold dust rises, revealing a door knocker. I slip my hand around it and knock three times. After only a moment, a portion of the tree ripples and disappears. Flint stands in the doorway.
“Have you been roped in as part of the cheering up committee?” I ask.
Tora’s blonde and green head appears over her brother’s shoulder. “I thought I’d need extra help pulling you from the depths of despair.” She looks me up and down. “But, surprisingly, you seem fine.”
I shrug as I step past them into the house. “I’m dealing with it.” And I am. By sneaking off to visit the human boy who got me suspended in the first place.
Raven, Flint’s wife, crosses the sitting room with a tray of ladyfair blossoms balanced in one hand. “Oh, oops, I forgot your dress,” I say to Raven as she hugs me with one arm. Her hair—magenta strands mingling with dark brown—smells like roses. Over her shoulder I see Tora rush back to the kitchen to deal with something that’s started emitting smoke.
“No problem,” says Raven. She sets the tray of spindly pink flowers down on a low table. “You should keep it. It’ll bring your collection of dresses to a grand total of one.”
“Thanks, Raven, but you know I don’t do dresses. Can you imagine me trying to fight in one?”
“I have complete faith in your abilities, Vi,” says Raven. Flint pulls her down onto the couch beside him, then grabs a fistful of blossoms from the tray. “You could probably wrap yourself in a curtain and still take down a whole horde of goblins.” She takes a blossom from Flint’s hand and adds, “You’re ranked top of your year, aren’t you?”
I sink down into the squishiest chair in the room. “Probably not anymore.” The thought causes something inside me to ache. My lifelong dream has slipped from my grasp. “Tora’s not allowed to tell me the rankings now that we’re so close to graduation. It’s meant to be a surprise at the ceremony.” I remove a blossom from the tray, bite off the end, and suck out the sweet nectar. It’s like honey, but with more of a citrus flavor.
“She should tell you anyway,” says Flint, dropping his empty blossoms back on the tray. “My mentor told me back when I finished training, and you and Tora are practically family. It should be a crime for her to keep information like that from you.”
It’s true. We are like family. I lived with Tora for almost a year after my father died. I had no other relatives in Creepy Hollow, and Tora didn’t want me to be alone. It was strange at first, living with my mentor, but we’re so close in age she ended up feeling more like a bossy older sister.
Suddenly, I remember where I’ve seen the griffin symbol: in Tora’s library. The library I spent hours studying in while I lived here.
“Actually, Flint, it’s a crime for me to share information like that,” says Tora from the kitchen doorway. “Something your sleazy mentor knew.”
Flint looks like he’s about to protest at the word ‘sleazy’, but I interrupt. “I’m just going to use the bathing room.”
They barely notice as I leave the room. I hurry to the library and close the door behind me. The walls are covered with books from floor to ceiling, but the one I’m looking for should be near the desk. A shelf I could have easily stared at when I should have been studying.
I scan the spines of the books—and there it is! The griffin with the serpent tail that curls up and forms a circle around the legendary creature. I pull it from the shelf, blowing a rainbow-colored cobweb off the top. The A to Z of Halflings Throughout History. It sounds almost like a children’s book. Sitting down at the desk, I flip the book open. The symbol must be mentioned inside if it’s important enough to be on the cover. I turn to the contents page. Yes! I silently thank the genius who laid this book out. The contents page has a list of names, in alphabetical order, and beside each name is a picture. I search for the griffin and find it beside the name Tharros Mizreth.
I know that name. Everyone does. But my fumbling fingers turn to the relevant page anyway.
Possibly the most dangerous of all halflings in the history of the fae, Tharros Mizreth possessed power unequaled by anyone both before and since his time. While many halflings are unable to control their magic, Tharros had complete command of his abilities from an early age. His greatest desire was for the fae realm to no longer be hidden, and his attempts to control parts of both the human and fae worlds resulted in the death of many.
He chose for himself the image of a griffin, traditionally a symbol of power and majesty, adding to it a serpent in the place of the griffin’s tail. While expert opinions differ as to the meaning of the serpent, the most popular interpretation involves the snake that Tharros conjured to kill his human father.
Tharros was born and raised in the fae realm in—
&
nbsp; CHAPTER EIGHT
I close the book and lean back in the chair. I know most of Tharros’s life story from history lessons I had to sit through when I was younger, but I’ve never heard about the griffin symbol or the snake that killed Tharros’s father. I pull the disc out of my pocket and trace my fingers across the pattern. This is a symbol of the most dangerous halfling our world has ever known. How on earth did Angelica end up with it? Could she possibly be related to him? Half of his family tree would be human, after all.
I stand and return the book to its shelf. I run both hands through my hair, then lean on the desk. Perhaps it’s a bad idea to go looking for Angelica. If some Underground faerie—okay, so I’m not a hundred percent sure, but Zell seems like the Underground type—is after her, she’s probably mixed up in something dangerous.
“Vi?” I look up to see Raven standing in the doorway. I didn’t even hear the door open. “Vi, honey,” she says warily, as though talking to a dangerous animal. “What are you doing in here? We were getting worried about you.”
“Um, I just . . .” Crap. I just what? “I . . . I started getting upset. About the suspension. And I needed a few moments to gather myself.” Gather myself? Who says that?
“Okay, well, are you sufficiently gathered? Because dinner’s ready.”
“Yes. Coming.” I slip the disc back into my pocket. I point a finger at the glass ball suspended from the ceiling, but instead of simply extinguishing the flame within it, I manage to explode the whole thing.
“Um . . . oops?” I say.
“Okay, let’s not tell Tora about that,” says Raven, pulling me out of the room before I can cause any more damage. “I’ll fix it later.”
I follow her to the table where Tora and Flint are waiting. I sit down and look at my plate. There are many things Tora is good at; sadly, preparing food is not one of them. Fortunately, I’m too preoccupied with what I’ve just discovered about the disc to really notice the charred flavor of the food.
The Faerie Guardian Page 6
