The Last Changeling

by Chelsea Pitcher

  I lifted the pot, not bothering to use potholders to protect my hands. The searing heat helped distract me from the pain in my chest. I didn’t know how Mom expected me to react to this news. I wasn’t even sure how the conversation made me feel. Part of me had believed the room would always stay the way it was, but another part of me felt it would be the best possible thing for it to be redone.

  Emptied of memories.

  “Please don’t get upset,” Mom said, tiptoeing over eggshells I couldn’t see. “Nothing is official yet. That’s why I need you at dinner.” She scraped the spoon on the bottom of the saucepan. “You know how your father can get.”

  “You mean he’ll pry himself away from the idiot box long enough to have a conversation?”

  I shouldn’t have said that. I knew it would only embarrass her. But I was sick of her defending him: You know how your father can get. Give me a break. The man didn’t get a certain way. He was more consistent than any of us.

  “He’s been watching these programs about missing children,” Mom said, jumping right into her defense mode. “The kind where you call in if you recognize the perpetrator? I think it’s his way of coping … ”

  What could I say to that? For every bad mood my dad had, she had an explanation. I ran cold water over the pasta, trying not to think of the horrible dinner I’d now been sucked into.

  Then an idea came to me, a way to make the experience more bearable. What if I could bring a guest to dinner? Dad couldn’t really explode in front of company. And Lora would take it all in stride, the way she did with everything else.

  “I really do have plans this week,” I said. “But maybe my friend would be willing to come over here for dinner.”

  Mom considered the proposition in silence. She stood very still, frowning into the pan of sauce. For a second I wondered if she was afraid of losing her baby boy to this stranger, this mysterious temptress. Then I realized the flaw in my logic—I wasn’t her baby boy. Her baby boy was decaying under six feet of dirt at the Whittleton Cemetery.

  Then, wiping her hands on a towel, Mom smiled. “That sounds lovely. We’ll plan for Friday.”

  She glanced out the window. Pink and gold streaked the sky. The sun was starting to set, which could only mean one thing in her mind. “You’d better go work on your project. Your father will be home soon.”

  I left the house in a hurry.

  –––––

  “Are you all right?” Lora’s voice filtered over from across the room. It was late. She’d been sprawled across the bed doing homework for the past hour, and I’d been staring at the ceiling. Pretty soon my eyes would glaze over completely. Maybe I’d even sink into the furniture.

  In Futonland, your only problem is being folded in half.

  I could live with that.

  “Taylor?” she said, closing her math book. “What’s wrong?”

  What could I say?

  Coach acted like I was a terrible person just because I joined a school club.

  Or maybe:

  My parents are redoing the bedroom I used to share with my brother. My kid brother. The one who was supposed to outlive me.

  I shrugged. “Rough day.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Would you like to talk about something else?”

  I turned to look at her. “Would you?”

  Hint.

  “I would, actually.” She smiled, all teeth, and it looked dangerous. “I would like to talk about Brad Dickson. You two are friends, yes?”

  “Are you kidding?” I glanced at the bed, waiting for her to invite me over. Like maybe I was a vampire, and I needed permission. “Brad and I are the opposite of friends. He’s the bane of my existence.”

  “The bane?” She laughed, and then did the most wonderful thing. She patted the spot beside her.

  “He’s the literal worst,” I said, crawling onto the bed. I kept my distance, arms at my sides, just looking at her. Sometimes being the perfect gentleman sucked. But it was better than the alternative.

  “Tell me something, Mr. Alder,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you think the world would be better off without people like Brad?”

  “Are you offering to bump him off?”

  She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. “Consider me curious.”

  My body prickled with heat. I didn’t know if it was because I wanted to be close to her or because of what she was saying. “I think the school would be better off without him,” I said after a minute. “You know he’s getting me kicked off the soccer team? All because I joined the Merry-Straight Alliance—”

  “Oh, Taylor. I’m sorry.” She reached out, like she was going to touch my hand. But she didn’t, and it was so much worse than if she hadn’t even tried. “I should have warned you that this might happen.”

  “What do you mean? You knew—”

  “Not about the team,” she said. “But all social change meets resistance.”

  “The club doesn’t have anything to do with Brad.”

  “It has everything to do with him. We’re challenging his reign.”

  “By supporting a club?”

  “You can’t have rulers and equality, Taylor. It doesn’t work like that. Just ask Naeve.”

  “I—who?”

  “The last faerie baby, remember?” she said. “At least, at the time when he was born … ”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” I leaned in, showing that I was interested.

  She didn’t move away. “That depends. Have you grown tired of my little story?”

  “You can tell me any story you want.” A story about magic and warring faerie courts. A story about a runaway who falls in love with the boy who comes to her aid.

  Oh, sure. That’s not a fairy tale.

  Lora nodded and settled into the pillow behind her. “Young Naeve grew up under the watchful gaze of the Dark Lady, as pampered as any babe could be. When he’d grown into maturity, she took him as one of her many consorts.”

  “Whoa. Really?”

  What I meant was: That’s fucked up.

  “When life is never-ending, such things are not unheard of.”

  “I guess not.”

  She didn’t seem to catch my sarcasm, but that was okay. Her lips were moving again, and her eyes lit up when she talked. “For a time, the war between the courts calmed. No one wanted to risk harming the faerie that could be the last of their kind. And after much deliberation, an arrangement was made: the dark faeries would not attack humanity if the bright faeries would not seduce, befriend, or protect them in any way. The cost was high for both courts, but they were willing to make these sacrifices for peace.”

  “But something happened,” I said before Lora had the chance to go on.

  She grinned. “How did you know?”

  I shrugged. “If things don’t keep happening, the story ends.” Hint. Hint. Hint.

  She inhaled, and her arm pressed against mine. In that second, all my stupid problems went on vacation.

  How does she do that?

  “Something did happen,” she said, taking her arm away. She stared at it, like maybe it had touched me without her permission. “Several centuries after their agreement was made, Virayla made a startling discovery. She was pregnant.”

  “That, I did not expect.”

  She laughed. I couldn’t stop looking at the arm that had just been touching me. I wanted to slide my fingertips from her wrist to her shoulder, trailing every inch.

  Then I wanted to do the same with my lips.

  “How did the faeries react?” I asked. “Did it make them work harder for peace?”

  “Unfortunately, no. You see, their agreement had not really solved their problems; it had only masked them. And when th
e bright faeries learned the Dark Lady would soon have both Naeve and a child of her own, they weren’t exactly pleased. They began to whisper of war again—a war that would settle things once and for all.”

  “A battle to the death,” I said.

  “Yes. So when the daughter of the Dark Lady was born, she was born into a world on the brink of total devastation.” Lora paused, looking away. “And she was born into a family where one of the members wanted her dead.”

  “Who?” I touched her arm, just brushing the elbow.

  She turned back suddenly. I wondered if maybe I’d shocked her with my touch. But she always responded that way, I realized when I thought about it. As if the touch of my fingers brought her pain.

  When she spoke, it was almost a whisper. “Naeve,” she said. “You see, Naeve was supposed to be the last faerie ever born. But when the princess was born, all that glory and attention was transferred to her. By no fault of her own, she stole both his identity and the attention of his surrogate mother. And, like any spoiled child robbed of his birthright, Naeve took out all his anger on her.”

  “Sibling rivalry. With magic.” I whistled. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Naeve certainly wanted it to be. He did his best to harm the princess, but his efforts were never as effective as he would have liked. When he led her to the edge of a precarious cliff, she flew for the first time. When he lured her into the sea, she created a whirlpool that sucked him to the bottom. He tried many times to turn the beasts of the forest against her, but she had a way of connecting with them that he could not match. She slept amongst the wolves, swam beside sharks, and even borrowed venom from poisonous spiders and snakes, a skill she often used to keep Naeve at bay.”

  “Was he still … ” I paused when her head tipped to the side, almost resting on my shoulder. It felt so good I couldn’t believe it. It felt right.

  Did she feel it too?

  “What happened between Naeve and the Dark Lady?” I asked, whispering so that maybe she’d lean closer.

  She inched nearer and I turned, inhaling her scent.

  “After the princess was conceived, Virayla never touched Naeve again,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked, lips close to her forehead.

  “His love seemed to sicken her. She had seen the birth and death of all living things, had seen lovers live and die, for centuries. I believe it was too much for her to see the eternal nature of things. Behind love lies inevitable loss, and she could not afford the devastation.”

  “What about the princess? She must’ve loved her own daughter.”

  “No,” Lora said softly. “I don’t believe she did.”

  I don’t know why, but I could’ve sworn she was talking about herself.

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  She shrugged, lifting her head.

  Wait! Come back!

  “The princess knew not what she was missing,” Lora said in a low voice, like she was controlling it. “But Naeve did, and as the years went by, the traps he set for her grew more dangerous.”

  “But he couldn’t kill her flat out, right?”

  “Oh no, he had to be clever. He used Virayla’s own trick against her daughter. He tried to lure her to her death.”

  “In order to get the Queen all to himself? Didn’t he think she’d be a little pissed that he’d gotten her daughter killed?”

  She didn’t answer. Her breath was sharp and shallow, almost like she was crying.

  I slid my hand over the top of hers, my fingers slipping into the spaces between her fingers. I wanted her to know that she was safe with me. No matter what had happened to her before, I wouldn’t be like the people she’d run away from. The people I’d run away from.

  I would never hurt her.

  “The mind of a broken thing is easily corrupted,” she said finally. She hadn’t taken her hand away. She even opened her fingers a little, to let me in. “Perhaps Naeve thought he could convince the Queen her daughter’s death had been an accident.”

  “And then she’d turn to the messenger for comfort?” I squeezed her hand, the tiniest bit. “Seriously?”

  “He was not thinking. He was feeling, and with a broken heart. The princess had to find a way to escape him, to escape the life she’d been born into.”

  “What did she do?”

  Lora sighed softly, like she was getting ready to sleep. I didn’t mind. I hadn’t really expected anything to happen between us tonight. But if she’d let me, I’d stay close to her while she slept, in case she needed me. I’d had plenty of practice in dealing with bad dreams.

  “The princess came up with a plan to solve both of her problems at once,” she said, turning her hand around and lacing her fingers through mine. Warmth spread through my chest. “A plan that would strip Naeve of his power and restore peace to faeriekind.”

  13

  ElorA

  Midweek, I was lingering in the girls’ locker room, searching in vain for a way to escape the inane ritual of gym class, when I heard a noise. First, the strangled cry of an animal caught in a trap. Then, muffled sobbing. Creeping on the tips of my toes, I sought out the source of the sound.

  I found myself in the girls’ bathroom, standing before the end stall and straining my ears. The sound had tapered off the moment I’d entered the room. Still, I heard intermittent sniffling.

  Crouching down, I peered beneath the stall, just enough to see the wheelchair resting behind thick black boots.

  I took a step back. “Kylie?”

  “I’m fine,” came the high-pitched reply.

  “Are you certain?” I leaned against a sink, creating space Kylie could not see. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m, uh—” Kylie pushed out a laugh. “I’ll be out in a second.”

  I waited patiently. Several minutes passed.

  Kylie flushed the toilet and came out of the stall, covering her face with her hand. Feigning indifference to my presence, she shot glances at the mirror through her fingers. Then, as if she’d come to some conclusion, she turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face.

  It dribbled down to her shirt.

  “Damn it.”

  I ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and held it out. “Here.”

  Kylie’s hand shook as she took the towel. “Thanks.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Kylie stared at me in determined silence, her lips set in a firm line. She glanced through the doorway at the empty locker room. “Uh huh.” The words caught in her throat.

  One unexplained phenomenon of the human world: some humans are more comfortable lying than others.

  “Kylie,” I prompted, in a voice used to coax timid animals. “I am your friend.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I know. I just … I did something stupid this weekend.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Keep listening.” But she didn’t continue. Instead she traveled back and forth, pacing, while outside the bathroom our gym class was beginning.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “If you got asked out by someone you knew was a horrible person, would you go? I mean, would anyone go? Anyone with half a brain would have known he was bluffing—”

  “Just stop.” I didn’t tell her that she had more brains than most people I’d met in my life—she wouldn’t have believed such a compliment. Human teenagers had a knack for ignoring their positive attributes. So instead I said, “This is about Brad, isn’t it?”

  “You got that from ‘horrible person,’ huh?”

  “He’s very respected here.”

  It was an odd thing for me to say, and she frowned, playing with a cuticle.

  “One might even call him the leader of the school,” I continued. “But those who command with fear are rarely kindhearted … ”

  “I
didn’t go to his house because I was afraid of him. I went because I thought … it’s stupid.”

  “Please stop saying that.”

  “I thought if he got to know me, things would be different.”

  “If he had half a brain, that would be true,” I told her.

  “Therein lies the problem.” A hint of a smile played on her lips. “I guess a part of me knew, going in, that it was a trick. But I still thought maybe I could change things. Maybe I could get him to see our side.” She shook her head.

  I placed a hand on her arm when she fell silent. “What happened?”

  “He asked what I wanted to drink. I said soda. He acted all put out, like I was being a loser for not wanting to get wasted. But I wouldn’t back down. He had to meet me part way, you know? So he brought me the soda and even watched me drink it. I thought he was being attentive. Trying to make up for being a jerk at first.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “I started to feel sick,” she said, turning on the faucet again but making no move to use the water. For a moment, I was reminded of my first night in Taylor’s room, the way he’d used the flowing water to center himself. I almost smiled.

  Kylie glanced over. “I told him I wanted to go home,” she said. “But he started to freak out, like I was going to throw up in his car. He told me to wait it out. So I just closed my eyes. I guess I fell asleep.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she clenched her jaw to stop them. Still, they fell.

  “Kylie?”

  She swallowed, pressing her hands to her face. “I woke up and he was yelling at me to get up, even though I couldn’t move. Lora, I was in his room. I felt all heavy … ”

  I frowned, my blood boiling in an instant. For the better part of Kylie’s story, I hadn’t really understood. Now I understood too well. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing,” she said in a rush. “His parents had come home. That’s why he was yelling. The movie they were supposed to see was sold out, so he snuck me out through the back door. My aunt thought I was drunk. I’ve never even had a drink in my entire life.”

  I waited a beat. “You didn’t tell her—”