by Lisa Morgan
“This is crazy,” I commented, looking at my bare feet. I could feel Liam’s eyes and brought my gaze up to his.
“I know this is a lot for you to understand and believe, Margaret,” Liam remarked, walking over beside me.
I jested back, “In a little over twenty-four hours, my whole world has been thrown into a blender, pulse button hit, and now I’m left with a big old glass of what-the-hell. And the worst part? I’m actually starting to believe all the stuff I’m hearing and reading about.”
“The world,” Liam said, inhaling, “is a much larger place. It seems even larger now that all you thought to be true has been turned on its ear.”
“Well, that’s the understatement of the year.”
Liam nodded and offered a smile. “Alas, we’re here for you. I am here for you.”
“Here for me to what?” I asked. “To hold my hand while I have a total breakdown?”
“To help you learn. We need you to understand what’s really out there; for you to see it and know it’s true, before it’s too late.”
“Too late? I think we hit too late yesterday when the thing dressed like my mother went all Skeletor on me.” I took a breath and stared at the floor. “What I want to know is why? Why now? I get it, the big bad bones made a deal with my dad, sent him to Loonyville, but why me?”
“You have the blood of the Phoenix in your veins.”
“So I keep hearing,” I quipped.
“The revenants believe that if they can possess your blood they can acquire certain abilities that they otherwise do not have,” my grandfather explained.
“Abilities? Like what?”
“For one, the revenants could become of the flesh.”
“Would that be so bad?” I questioned. “Sure would make them easier on the eyes if they all look like what I’ve seen.”
“It would be disastrous. They already hold the key to bring death itself back to a semblance of life. No matter the state of decay, they have the magick to raise them once more. They’ve very few weaknesses, Margaret. Your blood would make them invincible.
“As I told you before you began reading, your power is only in its earliest stages. It’s mutable, changing. The sooner the revenants and Ossa can get to that, the sooner they can twist it into what they desire it for most.”
I asked reluctantly, “And what do they want it for the most?”
“Immortality.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand … You said they can bring the dead back to life. What do they need my blood for then? Can’t they just go dig up some more storm troopers?”
“With your blood,” he explained, “they could not be killed by any weapon The Realm has. They could overtake that world, then move on to take control of the humans.
“They already walk amongst mortals, but it takes a great deal of magick to keep up the illusion that they’re like those around them. Your blood would give them the power to do so, without using further magicks.”
“So these revenants, and Ossa, want to kill me and drink my blood or whatever because they think they’ll live forever if they do?”
Liam nodded and I ran my hand through my hair, pacing the room to absorb this knowledge.
Liam spoke kindly, following behind, “I know this is nothing you ever expected, nothing you’d even dream in your worst nightmares, but nonetheless, it is true.”
I looked out on the manicured lawn in these twilight hours. The small solar lights that surrounded the grounds had flickered to life, casting more shadows than rays it seemed. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Liam took hold of my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Now, you learn. About The Realm and the beings that live within it. You learn to fight, at least enough to protect yourself. You will begin to see your powers manifesting without your control at first.”
I asked, shrugging off his hold, “If my blood can make the revenants live forever, does that make me …”
“Immortal?” he finished for me. I nodded. “No. It does not. Margaret, nothing is ever truly immortal. As long as you are not struck down, however, you will live a very long time. Some of the ancient Phoenixes lived for hundreds of years before they finally went to ash.”
“Struck down? You mean, killed?” I asked exasperated.
Liam pulled me into an embrace. “That is why you are here, Maggie, so that we can teach you to protect yourself, and to protect you while you learn. It has been the most sacred responsibility of The Trust to oversee the young Phoenix for centuries.”
“The creatures that live at The Trust are here to teach me?” I stared up at Liam, biting my lip before I dared asked the next question.
“So, Grandfather, where are the rest of the Phoenixes now?”
“They are … they are in Ashe now,” Liam stumbled through the words, releasing my shoulders and turning to look out the window. A shadow crossed his features as he stared to the trees in the distance.
Finally, he confessed to what I had silently hoped was untrue, “My dearest Granddaughter … you are the last of them.”
Fourteen
Liam left the library shortly after his confession, telling me he had business to attend to that could not be paused any longer. I continued to stare out the window to the growing darkness, trying to see anything of this world I was now aware existed, while the full meaning of his words marinated me.
There were no Phoenixes left in The Realm.
None, except me.
“I need some air.”
I left the room and made my way out the front door. The porch was huge, like something you’d see in old plantation movies. I expected to see ladies in large ball gowns being escorted by their handsome beaus, holding onto their arms and twirling parasols.
I passed a few rocking chairs and took the railing in my hands, opting to hop over it rather than taking the steps and going the long way around. My feet hit the grass, and I was reminded that I still wasn’t wearing shoes. The cool evening dew was setting in, dampening my toes as I moved around the house. Up close, the structure seemed even larger than what I’d taken in last night as I’d approached on the motorcycle with Michel.
Absently, I drifted over the grass to a marble bench situated in a flower garden, running my hands over the different shrubs as I passed them by. Piney needles scratched my palms, but I paid them no consideration, my mind too busy sifting through the information I’d learned today.
Taking a seat on the bench, I held my chin in my hands; the bony elbows of my sixteen-year-old form digging into my thighs. I let my hair fall over my face like my personal shield to keep out the world around me, while I tried to comprehend my new reality.
My mother wasn’t my mother, but a creature sent to guard me. My father wasn’t a murderer. He had spent ten long years in an insane asylum to protect me.
I felt guilty for all the nasty things I’d ever said or thought about him. He was willing to endure torture to ensure I was kept safe. And how had I repaid that kindness? By trying to avoid visiting him or by denying he was my father. And that monster that I’d thought was my mom? I’d spent hours and hours with her, playing games and watching movies, eating pints of ice cream and sharing my secrets and dreams with her.
I felt like I was going to puke.
I replayed yesterday’s visit with my father, now seeing it differently having gleaned this new information. I could see the desperation on his face as he struggled against whatever it was that had kept him from speaking all those years. I could feel where he’d held onto me, not to hurt me, rather to drive home his point that I was in danger. I heard “my mother’s” words about him, her complaints about his smell and condition, and grew even sicker.
A rustling from under one of the nearby lilac bushes had me jumping to my feet, already overly skittish that some sort of monster was going to pop out of the forest any moment and suck my blood. A small cat, its tail in the air regally, crawled out from beneath the bush. Purring, the fluffy feline pranced closer to entwi
ne itself around my legs.
“Hey, kitty,” I greeted, reaching down to pet it.
Before I could touch the silkiness of its fur, the cat stretched and altered itself. Wings sprouted from its back and its eyes grew wider. The fur fell off, revealing small human arms. The thing grew larger, until finally, Seatha lay on the ground between my feet.
“Hey, birdy!” she pronounced in a singsong voice, a wide smile on her face.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. Twisting myself quickly, I leaned over the bench and heaved the little amount of food I’d eaten onto the ground behind it. I gagged as a cool breeze blew over my back, providing a bit of relief. When I knew I had nothing left in my stomach, I turned back around on the bench. The breeze, I discovered, was being caused by Seatha batting her wings rapidly at me.
“It’s okay,” she consoled, her wings slowing down as she turned to me. “They always throw up when they find out.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, wiping my mouth on my shirt and wishing I had a toothbrush. As if she knew, Seatha opened her hand, a small box of mints in her palm held out in offering. I reached up and took them from her without saying anything.
The fairy sat next to me, but gave me the courtesy of not speaking about the mess behind the bench.
“When a human-based creature finally begins to see The Realm and the creatures that are a part of it, they often become sick. Many think it’s because of the years of belief that such things are impossible and the body needs to eliminate those beliefs from its self,” she explained.
“You guys can’t just, I don’t know, brainwash someone or wipe out their memories? We don’t all carry breath mints.” Seatha gave me a confused look, as if sarcasm were a foreign language to her. I waved my hand.
“Never mind,” I told her, popping three of the candies into my mouth. The tiny mints dissolved, helping to clear away the bitter taste as I looked around. The garden was filled with various flowers in all states of bloom. The night offered a breeze that let the aromas fill the world around me. A sweet and relaxing scent filled my nose.
“What is that?” I asked, more to myself, but getting an answer from Seatha.
“Lilac. Each of the fairy tribes are named for a particular plant or flower. We carry some of that plant’s aroma with us.”
“Does it mean anything, or did you guys just pick them randomly?” I hoped I wasn’t offending her with my question. Seatha smiled thoughtfully.
“Everything means something,” she answered. “The lilac symbolizes those of a hardy character. Just like my tribe, the lilac is known to survive most conditions and live a long life. These are traits we were bestowed with many centuries ago when our race was created. There are as many different types of fae as there are different races of humans.”
Seatha leaned closer to me and whispered, “I would avoid the Iris clan, though. Sure, they symbolize a rainbow and their wings have so many variations of color, but they tend to be pretty full of themselves.”
I laughed with Seatha. Her wings fluttered when she smiled, and I couldn’t help but reach out, wanting to touch them. She saw this, and turned her back slightly toward me.
“I won’t hurt them, will I?”
“They’re much stronger than one would think by looking at them,” she assured me.
I stroked the reds and blues in the intricate patterns of her wings. They were warm and smooth, like wet feathers. No matter what Seatha said about how strong the wings were, I could see the small hole in the left one. I remembered reading about how she’d come to have such a scar, and I pulled my hand away.
At my expression, Seatha said softly, “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I failed my queen, and I have served my punishment for it.”
“Seatha,” I responded just as softly. I was disgusted with the idea of this delicate girl being chained or imprisoned for merely acting on orders.
“I wasn’t put in jail or anything,” Seatha explained, sounding ashamed as she hung her head. “My wing would have healed fine, if healers had been allowed to mend the wound. However, the king was so enraged, he had a guard brand the spot with a heated sword then forbade treatment. He wished me to carry the scar of my betrayal for all time.”
“That’s,” I paused, searching for the right word, “cruel.”
“No crueler than what those beasts did to my queen.” A haunted glaze passed over her face. I knew she was reliving the whole episode in her mind, but instead of pressing her, I felt it better to give her the moment to herself. I stood, kicking some of the gravel with my toes before stepping back onto the grass.
I heard Seatha as she stood and followed me. She reached out and took my hand in hers. “Maggie, I know how scared you must be feeling, the confusion of it all.”
“That’s not the half of it,” I muttered.
She responded thoughtfully, “I cannot find the words to share with you to make this any easier. If I could, I would. Perhaps Autumn has some spell she could weave to help?”
I chuckled, looking at the fairy again. “I think I’ve had enough chocolate for one lifetime.” Seatha and I laughed heartily at my words, and she gave my hand a squeeze.
“She wants you to be happy. We all want that for you,” the fairy reassured, our laughter dying down a bit.
“I do, too,” I agreed, looking back at my feet. I wiggled my toes in the grass. “I just … don’t know what to do from here.”
“Then we’ll help you and stand by you through this,” another voice whispered, prompting Seatha and I to turn. Autumn stood, dressed in a long scarlet shawl, the hood drawn over her head. “That is what friends do, right?”
I looked at Autumn, and then to Seatha, who squeezed my hand, jiggling it as a show of solidarity. I’d only just met the two girls, yet felt a connection with them I’d never felt before, not even with Stephanie. In my heart, I knew there was nothing they wouldn’t do for me.
“It is,” I agreed, reaching out to the witch. She smiled and took my other hand before stretching her free one to the fae, who responded in kind.
The three of us stood in a circle, smiling at each other as we held hands. For the first time in a very long time, since Stephanie as a toddler, I’d found friends.
Fifteen
Seatha thought the best way for us girls to get to know each other would be an impromptu slumber party. Autumn seemed as excited for the event as I was. I’d never had a real slumber party, one where friends got together, painted their nails, and made prank calls to see if the neighbor’s refrigerators were running.
As the room I’d slept in was the largest, we agreed it would be the place to hold our little chick-fest. Seatha excused herself when we returned inside the house, saying something about not letting Autumn make the food, much to the witch’s chagrin. I swatted Seatha on the arm and was rewarded with the raspberry she blew as she flitted toward the kitchen.
I noticed a light on in the library and peeked around the corner. My grandfather—it still felt weird calling him that—was sitting at the desk with a feather in his hand and a bottle of ink to his left; a piece of parchment spread out on the desk before him. I let Autumn know I’d meet her upstairs as I made my way toward Liam, vaguely hearing the young witch saying something about red nail polish and curling irons.
“Hey there, Gramps,” I said, teasingly. I was startled to realize how happy and comfortable I was actually beginning to feel in this house.
He replied in a half serious tone, “Never call me ‘Gramps’ again.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, until a smile slowly made its way onto his face. I smiled in return and walked behind him.
“What’s doin’?”
“Doin’?” he asked, shaking his head at my verbiage and keeping his eyes on what he was working on. “I was writing to the king, but think now I shall write to the US President, encouraging him to address the current state of human education when a child doesn’t speak proper language.”
“Okay, and I’m sure he would read that let
ter,” I drawled out.
Liam spoke matter-of-factly, glancing up to me, “I would hope so, or I will never let him beat me on the basketball court again.”
I contemplated my grandfather’s serious tone and wondered if this was another jest, but by the creased forehead and stone set expression of his eyes, I was pretty sure he wasn’t kidding.
“The king?” I asked, trying to make out the shapes on the parchment. They were similar to the ones in the history book and I found myself wanting to run my hands over them to watch as they shifted to letters I would recognize, but thought better of reading what could be personal correspondence.
Liam’s attention was drawn back to the parchment. He dipped the quill in the bottle, tapping on its side to remove excess ink before he continued to draw the shapes. His hands moved quickly as he was forming the designs, as quickly as my well-practiced fingers did when I typed a text message to Stephanie.
“Steph,” I sighed aloud, not meaning to.
“A friend of yours?” Liam asked, not looking up.
“My best friend,” I told him. He nodded, seeming to understand that particular teenage acronym. “She must be worried about me. We do everything together, and she hasn’t heard from me in a day. She’ll be pulling her hair out.”
“For that, I am sorry, Margaret,” he replied, setting the feather into the bottle and sitting back in his chair to look up at me. “However, I hope you realize the revenants, like us, can sense that your power is beginning to bloom. If you value your friend’s life, it would serve her better to avoid her than draw attention to her. It is a weakness that could cost you both dearly. Revenants will prey on whatever they can, taking advantage of the love for your friend and twisting it for use against you.”
His words stung, but that sting came from me realizing it was the truth. He was right. If I cared for Steph, I needed to avoid her to keep her safe.
“They won’t go after her or her family, will they? I mean, if I’ve been guarded by one for ten years, then they’re already aware of our friendship.”
