The Faerie War

The Faerie
War

By Rachel Morgan

Copyright © 2013 Rachel Morgan

Cover Design by Morgan Media

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information please visit
www.rachel-morgan.com

Kindle Edition Licence Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Kindle Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9921863-7-1

Smashwords Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9921863-8-8

Print ISBN: 978-0-9921863-6-4

For Andrew and Ruth.

Best brother and sister ever.

PART

I

The forest is dead. Silence makes the air feel heavy. No movement stirs beneath the blackened leaves and twigs that litter the ground. The trees left standing are naked. Even the sunlight filtering through the skeletal branches is dull and weak.

I wish I could remember what it looked like before.

A month has passed since The Destruction, but Creepy Hollow forest shows no sign of healing itself. Everyone says it’s because the fire wasn’t natural. It was driven by magic. The kind of magic that knows nothing but devastation.

I take a step forward, my boot raising a small cloud of ash from the debris. I’m not here to lament the ruin of Creepy Hollow. I didn’t even know the name of this place until someone told me. I’m here in the hopes that I’ll see something to trigger a memory. Any memory. Anything that might tell me who I am or what happened to make me forget everything.

I continue moving forward, aware of the footsteps behind me. My companion won’t let me wander far from his sight. In the distance, I see some sort of mound. A mound that looks like more than torn branches and crippled bushes. As I get closer, I realize what I’m looking at. This mound of splintered furniture and broken belongings was once a home. An entire home concealed inside a tree. Powerful magic kept it hidden—until a fire more powerful swept through and shattered the spells keeping the home intact.

A hand touches my arm. “This is as far we go,” my companion says.

I pull my arm away and turn to face the brooding young man at my side. Like all reptiscillas, Jamon’s eyes are black and his body is covered in pale, blue-green scales that shimmer where the light touches them. His hair, dark as midnight, brushes his shoulders.

“But I haven’t seen anything I remember yet. We haven’t gone far enough.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, revealing incisors like small knives. “I don’t trust you. I’m not taking you any closer to the Guild than this.”

Jamon was the first to try and kill me after I woke up Underground in Farah’s home. He wasn’t the last. Reptiscillas don’t look too kindly upon guardians, and apparently that’s what I am. It seems a little unfair to hate me for being something I don’t remember, but Jamon didn’t see it that way. Ten minutes after I woke up and realized I couldn’t remember a thing about myself, he walked into the room, took one look at the strange markings on my wrists, and tried to crack my head open with a candlestick. Fortunately Farah stepped in before he could do any damage.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t you get it yet? I’m not some brainwashed faerie desperate to do Draven’s bidding. I’m not about to run off and tell him everything I know about the local reptiscilla community.”

Jamon tilts his head to the side and watches me closely. “Every other faerie who survived is brainwashed. Why should I believe you’re any different?”

I step closer to him, making sure to get right in his face. “Do I look brainwashed, idiot?”

His eyes dart down. I follow his gaze and see purple sparks jump from my clenched fists and disappear into the air. I raise my eyes and meet his. He doesn’t step away from me. “There’s no need to lose your temper, Violet. You know I’m only looking out for the safety of my people.”

“And why would Draven give an ogre’s ass about finding you guys?”

“He won’t stop until he has control over every race. That includes us.”

“And I won’t stop until I get my memories back.” I glare at him until it becomes clear he won’t back down. I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to the sky. I stare at wisps of grey cloud between the naked branches. Maybe if I’m honest about how lost and confused I feel, Jamon will lighten up a little. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I say softly, “looking back at your life and seeing nothing but a gaping hole and a few pieces of random, unimportant information.”

“No. I don’t know what it’s like. I also don’t know what it’s like to trust a guardian.” He wraps his fingers around my upper arm. “Which is why we’re leaving now.”

Great. Attempting to open up to him was obviously a stupid idea. Back to the angry, argumentative Violet. I’m fine with that; hiding my true feelings seems to come more easily to me anyway.

Jamon attempts to direct me back the way we came, but instead of going with him, I grab onto a low branch with my free hand and refuse to move. “Stop it,” I say. “Stop treating me like a criminal. I can walk without your assistance, so
stop pushing me around
.”

He slowly releases his fingers. “Fine. But if you make a single move to—”

“I’m not going to—”

“Get down!” he hisses, pulling me to the ground before I have a chance to argue. “Something moved.”

With our shoulders pressed together and our backs against the tree, we listen. After almost a minute of silence, I begin to wonder if Jamon lied. But then I hear something. Footsteps moving closer. More than one pair.

“The sensor was set off somewhere near here,” a man’s voice says.

“
Somewhere near here?
” a woman repeats, frustration evident in her voice. “Can you be a little more specific than that?”

“No. I can’t remember exactly where the sensor is. Everything looks the same out here now.”

I look down at the hand I wrapped around the tree branch. Black soot marks my palm. I rub my hand slowly against my pants, wiping it clean as I listen.

“We can’t return with nothing,” the woman says. “Only
un
marked fae set the alarm off. That means a potential threat to Lord Draven.”

“I know,” the man growls.

Jamon makes a similar sound. I can guess what he’s thinking: something about it being my fault we’re in danger. Of course, if he’d consider letting me out of his sight for a few seconds, we could easily escape this situation. He could use his reptiscillan magic to vanish in less time than it takes to snap a twig in half, and I could open a faerie path at my feet and drop into it. If only Jamon hadn’t confiscated my stylus.

The footsteps grow louder as the man and woman approach the tree we’re hiding behind. Jamon places his hand over mine and whispers, “Don’t move.” Without warning, my clothes begin to change color. My boots and pants blend in with the leaves and dirt. My sleeveless top takes on the color and texture of the rough tree bark I’m leaning against. The camouflage spreads up my body and along my arms. The same thing happens to Jamon.

By the time the uniformed man and woman come into view, we’re practically transparent. Not exactly—I can see the outline of our bodies if I look carefully—but close enough. The two faeries wear dark blue uniforms with a shape I can’t see properly stitched to the top of their right sleeves. They scan their surroundings as they walk, barely pausing when their eyes brush over the area we’re sitting in. They look up, around, behind, but never back at us. We’re invisible to them.