She cocks her head to the side, a questioning smirk tilting her lips up as if to say, What’s wrong?
Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Belief is overrated.
I slip one leg over the windowsill and duck out. My knee throbs as I manage my dress and clamber down the fire escape. In moments, I’m standing before Euphoria, ready to storm Homecoming like a boss.
“You look…” She seems to be trying hard to catch her breath. Her eyes are that dark, intense sapphire blue, glowing, almost molten like…gold? “You look beautiful.”
“So do you,” I say shyly, shaking off the spell. Stupid Fae-sight.
Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is perfect.
The Homecoming dance is at the Nanci Raygun. I can hear the house music thumping from a block away. Our football team won, so the place is packed, people spilling out into the streets.
Euphoria guns it, and we roar past a bunch of juniors and seniors drinking mocktails on the makeshift sidewalk patio. They all turn to look. Smirking back at me, she pulls into the rear parking lot near the band’s entrance, and cuts the engine. With her easy grace, she puts down the kickstand and helps me off the bike.
Taking off the helmet, I smooth my hair back and cock a shy smile at her. “How do I look?”
Her eyes never leave mine. “Syl, you’re…” She blows out a breath, and holy cats, is that Euphoria blushing? “You’re gorgeous.”
My face feels as red-hot as my hair, and I have some trouble speaking. “You…you too.” I enjoy the excuse to look her up and down, from the tips of her New Rock boots to the tight leather pants with slits and stitches up the sides to the artfully torn long-sleeved black top and motorcycle jacket. She’s totally rocking the Goth-chic semiformal look. Her raven-dark hair cascades over her shoulders, and those eyes…
In the falling twilight, they’re a brilliant electric blue.
They pierce my soul.
“You might not be the girl from my dreams, but you’re definitely the girl of my dreams.” And holy cats…DID I JUST SAY THAT OUT LOUD? Hashtag: whatiswrongwithme.
She chuckles softly, fondly, and takes my hand. “Shall we sneak in the back or”—a mischievous smirk curls her lip—“are you brave enough to walk right in the front?”
She’s challenging me, the little minx.
While the idea of being surrounded by so many people, all of them staring at me, has my heart trying to Bruce Lee its way out of my chest, there’s no way I’m losing this challenge, not even to Euphoria.
I fold my hand into hers. “Come on.” My heart doesn’t stop kung-fu kicking me, but I stride through the back parking lot and toward the crowded front entrance, head held high. I meet her challenge head-on. “How’s this for brave?”
“Not bad,” she says, teasing with good nature. “But the night is young.”
“Challenge me again at your peril,” I retort playfully. She cocks a cheeky eyebrow in response, and I know she will. Later. The anticipation thrills through me. I can’t wait.
Euphoria and I walk in like we own the place. In a way, we do.
The instant we step foot into the club, the throbbing, bassy hum envelopes us, vibrating through the soles of my Docs and thrumming in my chest. We stop just inside the door. My eyes need time to adjust to the strobing light and darkness, and Euphoria seems to sense this. She waits patiently, though for some reason I’m sure she has no trouble seeing.
Soon enough, Euphoria tugs gently on my hand. My eyes still aren’t fully there, but she smiles gently. Trust me, that look seems to say.
I do. I trust her with my life.
Hand in hand, we enter the main room of the club. More than half the school is already here, milling about, sitting at tables, dancing. Banners and streamers cascade from the ceiling, and disco balls cast a parade of lights on a dance floor crammed with bodies.
My introvert instincts freak out. Too many voices, too much scent and sight and sound. The flashing lights—violet lightning, the disco ball—white flame.
White flame…like on the train tracks. My heartbeat ratchets up about a thousand notches. What’s wrong with me?
I feel faint, but Euphoria takes my arm.
Heads turn, people whisper, rumors fly.
“She’s with Euphoria.”
“What’s Euphoria doing with her?”
My face is so hot I feel like I’m going to burst into flame. White flame. I shake my head hard as Euphoria leads me through the crowd, shielding me from the worst of her personal paparazzi.
Get your act together, Syl. I raise my chin. At least the flashing lights keep my Fae-sight or whatever it is from going into overdrive. All these people…so much emotion. I shudder at the thought. Sometimes all the colors give me blinding headaches.
“Syl!” Lennon threads her way like a cat through the crowd, her Goth Lolita frimps and lace bobbing. She’s super-cute in a cocktail dress with skeletal animals all over it. She checks out my gown and squeals in glee. “You look amazing!”
“So do you.” I mean it too. Lennon is pretty, her long black hair perfectly straight and shining, her almond-shaped eyes fringed with long lashes and the perfect color of shadow.
We smile at each other, and then I introduce Euphoria.
Lennon nearly faints, all fangirl-like. “I know who you are.”
“We all do.” Fiann’s voice breaks in.
Ugh. Seriously? She keeps popping up like the killer in a cheesy slasher flick.
“Hi, Euphoria.” Fiann prowls up next to her, preening like a swan, her burgundy-red dress accentuating her fair skin and blonde updo. She displays herself like an alley cat in heat.
“Fiann.” Euphoria nods politely but doesn’t give her a second glance.
When we try to move past, Fiann’s princess posse flounces up in their stupidly expensive prom dresses. They tower over me, all MAC cosmetics, perfect updos, and high heels.
“Nice dress, Syl.” Jazz gives me a snotty once-over, pursing her lips.
“Nice duck face,” I shoot back. “Make sure they get a picture of that for the yearbook. It’s a winner.”
Red-faced, Jazz steps in, but Fiann stops her. Clearly Jazz’s hurt feelings aren’t Fiann’s main concern. She gets in Lennon’s face, using her height to bully. “Did you get lost on your way to hand those out?”
Now I notice that Lennon has a stack of photocopies. Fiann for Homecoming Queen! blares gaudily off the top one. I nearly choke. Campaigning for Homecoming queen is the height of lame.
“Something wrong, Syl?” Fiann’s really warming up the nasty now. “Oh, aren’t you supposed to be grounded?” She takes out her iPhone 1000 or whatever the newest model is. “Maybe I should text your mom a pic of you?”
Crap. If she tells my mom I went AWOL, there’ll be a citywide manhunt for me. I mentally scramble for a comeback.
Euphoria saves my bacon. “Come on, Fiann, that’s not cool.”
Fiann makes a show of thinking about it, but the cold steel in Euphoria’s eyes backs her down. “Whatever. If I call your mom and have your sorry butt hauled out of here, then you won’t witness me winning Homecoming queen.” She steps out of way and gestures.
I groan inwardly as I finally notice what’s on the banners—Heroic Teen Saves Friend! Real Life Supergirl! Local Girl Hero!—all of them blown-up pictures of the newspaper articles from last summer. And every one of them smeared with Fiann’s smiling face.
She saved me.
That night…on the tracks…
Or did she? Violet lightning and white flame light up the darkness in my mind’s eye. A shiver runs through me.
Fiann’s looking me up and down, expecting some kind of retort. Normally I have one, but… The train screeching, derailing, the two of us pitched out the window, train cars arcing up over us like a massive steel caterpillar, the smashing of metal and glass…
Sitting up, my leg screaming in pain, and then…
White flames bursting from my hands, from deep inside me.
“Wha
tever.” Fiann looks at me like I have ten heads. She reaches out and tugs at Euphoria’s hand. “Dance with me?”
Over my cold, dead body. I come out of my trance fast as a bullet train, but Euphoria politely pulls away.
“I’m here with Syl.”
She just said it aloud. With Syl. My poor heart!
Fiann looks like she’s just bitten into the sourest lemon on the planet. She purses her lips and pouts. I’m sure that works with her boy toys, but Euphoria only looks at her, one eyebrow raised.
Something dark moves behind Fiann’s eyes, and suddenly, the air is filled with tension, electric and wild and dangerous. I’m still fever-hot from whatever waking dream/nightmare I’m having, and I smell and taste burning iron. My gaze meets hers, and the truth is suddenly there between us. She sees it in my eyes, and I see it in hers.
That night on the tracks.
My mind flashes with half-remembered memories—violet lightning and dark figures hunting us, the train crashing, trying to run, agony slicing through my leg, the dark hunters closing in, and then my whole body burning up in fear and power and purpose.
White flame bursting from my hands.
And Fiann lying in the wreckage at my feet. Fiann. Unconscious.
I saved her.
The truth hits me like a bucket of cold water in my face.
She’s been lying all this time. The shrapnel in my leg aches.
Fiann smiles, but it’s twisted, wrong. She knows I know. “Fine, then.” She plays it off, but even her words sound forced, wooden. “’Don’t forget to watch me win.” She flounces away, her princess posse trailing her.
Euphoria puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”
“Euphoria, it’s time.”
From my periphery steps a massive guy, all masculine beauty and white hair. Agravaine. Rumor has it, he’s Norwegian royalty. Already the most popular guy in school, he’s got some kind of testosterone-fueled motorcycle fight club going on. I think he’s part of her crew, maybe even her manager. Whatever he is, the guys who hang out with him usually end up in the hospital, or worse—missing altogether.
He’s looking at Euphoria like she’s on the menu. He touches her hip, keeping his hand there even when she tries to move away.
Ummm…no means no, dude.
His gaze turns to me, his eyes dead black like a shark’s. Something about that look stops me cold. Violet lightning…the train heaving up, the boom of his voice. “Find her. Find the sleeper-princess.”
What in holy hell is happening to me?
Euphoria’s touch breaks my trance. “Syl, I have to play now. Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah…” I choke out. I don’t really want her to go, and she seems to sense it.
She hesitates, but Mr Impatient snaps, “Now.”
Her spine goes rigid, and a weird look comes over her face. “Stay back here, okay?” she says so low only I can hear. “Stay back, and when the crowd starts swaying, sway with them.”
Wait, what?
And then she’s gone, vanishing in the crowd, and I’m left standing there, the sudden knowledge that Fiann’s been lying, that I’m the teen Supergirl, the hero, swimming in my mind.
What is going on?
But the lights go down, and I’m in darkness.
Chapter Ten
Rouen
Run from me, my princess
Run far, far away
Where the music takes you
No magic can reach you
- Euphoria, “Run, Princess, Run”
I walk away from Syl without looking back. If I do, Agravaine will see. He’ll know I warned her. He’ll know my interest in her isn’t your standard dark Fae princess’s interest in the sleeper-princess of the fair Fae.
And he’ll force me to take her.
That’s his plan—for me to capture Syl while he captures Fiann. Two of them, two of us. That’s his logic. He’s been the Master of the Wild Hunt for a long time. He’s smart enough to cover all our bases.
But he’s not smart enough to suspect I’m already betraying him. I need to use that to maximum advantage. For my own sake, but primarily for Syl’s.
Syl. My footsteps are heavy with dread. Seeing those blasted posters made her memory jolt. I should be happy that she’ll eventually get that missing part of herself back—but it will only cause her pain.
If only Fiann were the sleeper-princess. But she’s not. No matter how much I want her to be.
One thing’s for sure, though—somehow Syl Awoke to her powers that night on the tracks and then went right back to sleep.
A blip of power on our dark Fae radar, only to vanish.
It makes no sense… No one Awakens and then goes back to sleep. Once you’re Awake, you stay Awake. And since it takes some kind of trauma for a sleeper-princess to Awaken to her powers, it doesn’t make sense.
I mean, she’d have to forget—
A chill rakes up my spine. Syl doesn’t remember what happened that night. Not yet.
“Rouen.” Agravaine’s cool facade is broken by his annoyance. It’s past time I was on stage, and I’m testing his patience.
Get used to it, buddy-boy. The night is young.
He seems to sense I’m full of snark and shade. He stares with those shark-black eyes. Don’t forget your place, his look says. I catch his meaning. I’m here to play, to flush out the true sleeper-princess. Nothing more.
I bow my head. Let him think I’m subservient. I won’t hurt Syl. No power on Earth or UnderHollow can make me.
Except the Contract, that unhelpful part of me whispers. My heart is in my throat as I take the stage under the hot, flashing lights.
The crowd’s shouts and cheers swell and then die down as Fiann steps to the mic to introduce me. Her hair looks like white flame under the stage lights, and I seize that one wild shred of hope that I’ve been wrong about Syl all this time, that Fiann is really the sleeper-princess.
“Hey, everyone! I’m Fiann Fee, running for Homecoming queen, but you all know that.”
Ugh. Is she seriously using this as a campaign platform?
“My good friend Euphoria is here to play for you, as a favor to me. When I told her you were all going to make me your queen, she got really excited…”
I roll my eyes. Apparently yes, yes, she is.
The dull roar of my blood muffles the rest of her little speech. When she’s done, I take the mic from her, set it back on its stand. The Nanci’s house band moves into place from the shadows, helpfully Glamouried by Agravaine. The Huntsman himself poises at the end of the stage, dressed all in black like one of the roadies. His posture is predatory as he studies the crowd, watching every little move.
If I know him—and I do—he’ll have the hounds of the Hunt, the cú sluagh, waiting in the wings. Or maybe in the alleyway. To make sure the sleeper-princess doesn’t escape.
I have my work cut out for me. Syl…
I see her in the crowd, in the way back like I asked. Good. Let’s hope she stays away. Let’s hope she sways with the crowd when they fall under the spell of my gramarye.
Seizing my frustration, I launch into the first song with passion, belting the lyrics, my voice soaring above the synth and blare of instruments. I’m just warming up. I haven’t loosed the full force of my gramarye yet. For that I need both my voice and my violin.
Agravaine indulges me. He lets me have my one song. After this, he’ll want me to weave my spell, the spiderweb gramarye that captures mortals and bewitches them with euphoria. The last time I cast such a wide web was…that night on the tracks. Everyone on the train that night died in peace. It was the one gift I could give them.
You could give the sleeper-princess that gift.
No.
Think of your people. The hearthstone needs her blood.
No! I won’t allow her to be harmed. There is another way to save my people.
The realization hits me like a thunderbolt. I just have to tell her…everything.
E
ven if I lose her.
The first song ends in cheering and clapping, the student body going crazy. I glimpse Syl. Bloody bones.
Our connection has drawn her to the front of the stage. She looks up at me, her face so open, so vulnerable it’s a blade across my heart. She’s beautiful, standing in the light, her red hair a halo, her grey eyes burning with passion as she loses herself in my music.
We never even got to dance. Regret washes over me as I pick up my violin and lift it to my chin. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the feel of my arms around her, her breath on my cheek as she leans in…
Why, in the midst of all this, am I thinking about kissing her?
A wry smile twists my lips. It might not be the best battle strategy, but hey, a girl needs something to fight for. Sway with them, Syl. Please.
“Do it.” Agravaine pitches his voice low in the lull of cheers and shouts.
His Command blazes through me, blood and bone, lacing my limbs with obedience. The Moribund circuitry in my right hand throbs with phantom pain. I bear down, bow on strings.
The first note is discordant, but I turn it right away and it becomes sweet. The sweet strains of my violin thread the air and fall on the crowd, entwining them, weaving them into my spell. The ones at the front are captured immediately. Their faces go slack with bliss, with euphoria. My strings hum with violet light, the Moribund spliced through my flesh throbbing in time with the music.
Agravaine’s gaze is on me. He watches my every move, every sweep of the bow on strings, every strand of my gramarye as it wends its way, capturing the students in its glittering web. One by one, they fall to my dark spell and begin to sway gently until the crowd is nothing more than an undulating wave of bodies.
Faestruck, all of them.
I scan their dazed faces. They are fresh and young, vibrant in their youth. But none of them shine as brightly as her.
Syl.
I feel her more than see her. Standing at the front of the stage, unmoving. She looks around. She wonders what’s happening.
Of all of them, she’s the only one who knows she’s caught in a trap.
The only one immune to my gramarye.
My heart aches as the last shreds of my hope go up in flames. Syl, why did it have to be you?
Moribund Page 8
