The Last Changeling (7 page)

I never could tell, with girls.

I decided to risk it.

“I hate Mr. Gantoni!” I growled, knocking my history book to the floor.

Lora looked over, her lips curling. “Hate seems a bit strong.”

“Okay, I don't
hate
him. But why am I taking AP History if it's still going to put me to sleep? These are college level classes. You'd think a course on Medieval History would be interesting.”

“And yet … ”

“And yet he makes the Middle Ages so
boring
.”

“An amazing feat.”

“I used to think it was this wonderful era, you know? Like something I'd want to be a part of. Knights fighting honorably. Monarchs looking after their people. Chivalry.” I turned onto my side. “It's all bullshit. These fat, disgusting kings gorged themselves to death while the rest of the world starved.”

Wait, how is that different from today?

“It was a very dark period of time,” Lora agreed, tucking her pages into her binder. “But there were other things.”

“What things? The search for the Holy Grail was a bloody crusade. People spent all their time thinking about an afterlife because they were poor and miserable. Tell me one good thing about the Middle Ages.”

“Faeries.”

Okay, so she did want to talk.

“Faeries?” I repeated, feeling more than a little weird saying it. But it wasn't like I cared about
faeries
. I just liked the sound of her voice.

That's all.

“I thought you were going to tell me about yourself,” I teased, looking away so she didn't feel embarrassed.

“I am.” She looked up. I could
feel
her eyes on me and I turned, letting her catch me in her gaze. Letting her hold me. “I will,” she added.

“When?” I said without missing a beat.

“Possibly tonight.”

“Is that a promise?” I pressed.

“Yes.” She paused. “Possibly.”

I smiled. I couldn't help it. She looked so vulnerable right then; I needed her to know I'd never take advantage of that. “But first … the Middle Ages!” I announced, like the ringleader of a circus. “And, you know,
faeries
,” I said with less enthusiasm.

Lora laughed. “The Middle Ages are teeming with fantastically devilish fables about faerie kind. Poets warned of them, priests scorned them, and for the most part, humanity feared them.”

She patted the spot beside her. I couldn't get over there fast enough.

“Let me guess,” I said, reclining on my elbows, hoping she'd get comfortable beside me. “The history book got it all wrong and faeries were the heroes of the Middle Ages.
”

She smiled slyly, lying back on the bed. “Oh, it would be nice to say the faeries were benevolent. Surely, they did not kill babies or dance with a red devil on moonless nights. But they were not innocent, not by the time the green world had been taken over by stone and steel. Maybe they got a little angry watching humanity gnaw away at the fabric of their world. The truth is,” she said, pointing a finger at me, “they bit back.
”

I made a biting sound and she laughed. I wished I could take her finger between my teeth. I'd never wanted to taste someone so badly.

“It started with one faerie,” she said, switching off the lamp on the bedside table.

A little mood lighting
?

With the moonlight filtering in, and the breeze playing with her sleeve, the room felt romantic. Before I met Lora, I hadn't given much thought to romance. But she made me want to do all the cheesy things guys did in movies: sprinkle rose petals, sweep her off her feet, literally. Now that she was lying so close, my desire to feel her skin was stronger than ever.

“Her name was Virayla, and she lingered on the edges of the human world, studying humanity.” Lora touched a strand of my hair.

More. Now. Yes
. One touch and I wanted her more than anything. But satisfaction doesn't work that way, does it? We have to wait until we're aching for it.

“Why did she study humanity?” I asked.

“Because humanity had to be dealt with,” she said, and smiled wickedly.

My blood rushed down, down, down. “Dealt with?”

“Well, the humans were dealing with them. It was kill or be killed, and the faeries didn't want to die. Would you?” Even in the dim light, her eyes were bright. Her skin looked so soft. I wanted to touch every part of her, and that just made me ache even more.

“I, um … no.”

“Neither do I.” She lowered her eyes. It was shocking, how she could sound playful one instant and devastated the next. I wanted to hold her, just to show her it was going to be all right.

“Hey,” I murmured.

“Neither did they,” she continued, and the sadness slipped off of her like rain. But this time, her smile didn't fool me. I knew she was building up walls around her, and I was determined to get inside.

Figuratively speaking.

“She killed the humans, didn't she?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as she did. “Virayla, I mean.”

Lora shook her head. “She could not simply take their lives. To do so would have gone against her nature.”

“What exactly does that mean?” I wanted to keep her talking, to watch her tongue as it flicked against her lips. I could almost feel that tongue sliding up my neck, lips circling my earlobe, though I'd never actually been kissed that way. She invoked all kinds of fantasies that, one week ago, would have embarrassed me. With Lora it felt safe, like she wouldn't hate me if she knew what I was thinking.

When her lips started to move again, my body stood at attention. I shifted onto my stomach to hide any indecency, but the movement caused her to roll closer to me.

“It means that, because the faeries are spirits of the earth, and the earth is their body, to malevolently harm any of the earth's creatures would be to harm themselves. Therefore, to exact physical violence against humankind would be akin to taking a knife and cutting out a piece of one's heart.”

“So, even if humans killed them, they couldn't fight back?”

“Quite literally put, they could not forcibly take unwilling lives. But if a mortal entered into battle willingly … ”

“All bets were off.”

“Exactly.” She grinned, leaning into me. “Though it rarely came to that. For soon Virayla realized something startling: because of the poor quality of the average human life, a great number of them were willing to risk death to experience the ecstasies of Faerie.”

“Risk death?”

Keep talking. Keep looking at me like that.

“Happily,” she said. “It seems that plummeting to one's death was agreeable to a mortal if preceded by a rapturous kiss from a tree-dwelling nymph. The rocks strewn about the river didn't seem so bad when one was mesmerized by the voice of a singing naiad. When given the opportunity, long-suffering humans tripped all over themselves to get a taste of Faerie. In Faerie, for one lovely night, they could fill themselves with earthly delights.

“One by one, the faeries joined Virayla's cause. Wood nymphs, beguiled by the promises of mortal knights but horrified by their inclinations toward violence, began luring them away from their homes and into the forest to revel in one joyous night. And these ensorcelled knights, sick with the memory of their faerie lovers, forgot their families, forgot their kings. They withered away
.
”

I know the feeling,
I thought. And maybe she knew, because she caught my eye when she said, “Kelpies and naiads rose from rivers and lakes, appearing to fishermen and sailors under the deceptive cover of the waning moon. They came draped in sea plants, their skin glistening green and blue, and led the men who dared intrude upon their homes into watery graves.”

“What about Virayla?” I asked, turning onto my side again. One quick movement and her leg would be hooked through mine. And we wouldn't even have to do anything; we could just lie like that. Linked. Close.

“Oh, Virayla was the worst of them,” she said, and her gaze traveled down. For a second, I thought she'd figured out what I was thinking. Then I realized she was avoiding me.

“Lora?”

“She'd lure them with music,” she said. “Make them dance until their limbs were broken and bloodied. She'd craft furniture from their bones and invite their families to a tea party in the woods. It wasn't until the party was over that they would realize they'd been sitting upon the remnants of their loved ones' bodies, drinking blood from little cups. She called it Tea Party Justice.”

“Good God.” I slapped my hand over my mouth, not sure if I should laugh or throw up. “That's … demented.”

“Indeed. But you have to understand: the more humans she killed, the more likely she was to survive. And, for a time, it seemed she might succeed.”

“But she didn't?”

“No, she did not. You see, another group of faeries was rising, a group determined to thwart Virayla's plans.”

“Why?” I was hanging on her every word. Hell, I was hanging on her every movement.

“They thought she was wrong. You see, all faeries believe the earth has to be protected. The earth is their body; without it, they would cease to be. But while the faeries of the burgeoning Dark Court believed humans should be eradicated because they were destroying the earth, the soon-to-be Bright Court believed that, because humans were
part of
the earth, they had to be protected.”

“Complicated.”

“Wars always are.”

Her words had turned bitter, and I couldn't help but wonder at her attachment to this story. Was it sentimentality, or was she trying to tell me something?
Maybe the story was her religion. That could explain the whole talking-to-animals thing. Wait—did she think the crow was a faerie?

“So they went to war?” I asked, my mind spinning with possibilities. But my body was heavy, and it was trying to pull me down into sleep.

“Oh yes,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “For many years, the Dark Court battled with the Bright. But as the Middle Ages came to a close, something happened that changed the course of faerie history forever. Deep in the mountains of Greenland, a faerie baby had been born. Immediately, both courts pulled back, traveling alongside one another to visit the child they thought might be the last faerie ever born. But while the rest of the Folk fawned over the babe, Virayla befriended his mother, hoping to gain her favor.”

My eyes drooped as I said, “She wanted the baby?”

“She did. Virayla believed the child would serve as a symbol of the Dark Court, a reminder of all that was at stake for the fey. And the baby's mother, both terrified of humanity and eager to help the Folk survive, offered the child willingly. And so the boy was whisked down the mountain, cradled happily in Virayla's arms, to be raised as an honorary prince of her court. His name was Naeve, and he had black hair and golden eyes.”

11

E
l
o
r
A

During my first week at Unity High, Brad Dickson made six spirited attempts to bring me flowers that shone with the light of the stars. By the following Monday, he appeared less hopeful, and he left ingenuity behind.

“Take your pick,” he said, cornering me outside my history class. He held out a bouquet of white flowers: daisies and roses mingled with lilies and baby's breath. “I got every kind they had. Plus some I found in the grass.” He pointed to the daisies proudly. “I know I got it this time.”

I touched a daisy's petal, smiling in amusement. “They're very pretty. Though … uprooted unnecessarily, I'm afraid.”

Brad's face hardened. “Look.” He dropped the bouquet to his side. “I'm going to do you a favor since you're new here, and so obviously choice.”

Choice?
I thought back to the previous Saturday, when Taylor had led me from the electric jungle of the grocery outlet to the springtime Farmers Market. One memory stood out among the rest: the piles of animal flesh laid out in a bin, stamped with phrases like
New York Sirloin
and
Choice FDA Beef
. Had Brad just likened me to a slab of cow meat?

He continued to watch me, yet I had the distinct feeling he was not seeing me at all. “A girl like you can have it all.” He tilted his chin with practiced knowing. “But you've got to stop hanging out with rejects. It's going to kill your rep.”

“Let me see if I understand you correctly.” I spoke in the voice often used by Mrs. Rosencart, drawing out my words for maximum comprehension. “Within my physical frame, I contain the ability to rise to great power, but if I continue to spend my days in the company of those I deem most worthy, my reputation shall suffer an untimely death?”

“Uh, right.” Brad crossed his arms over his chest. “And maybe tone down that intellectual crap. Guys aren't into that.”

“Really?”

Brad nodded.

I brought my fingers to my lips. “Oh dear.”

“More than anything”—he touched my shoulder—“get the hell out of that gay club. I know you just feel sorry for them, but don't, because they bring it on themselves.”

“But Brad,” I pleaded, giving the impression that I wanted his permission, “I've already inspired them to change the name.”

“To what, Fags R Us?”

“The Merry-Straight Alliance.” My stoic expression slipped, revealing a hint of a smile. “Cute, isn't it?”

He gripped my shoulder. I imagined the ease with which I could tear his fingers off his hand. “What do you even do in there?” he snarled, leaning closer, his breath carrying the scent of fowl. “Do you guys, like, make out?”

For a moment I just stared, pulling him into the oceans of my eyes. Allowing him to drown. “We learn things,” I said finally.

“Like . . .”

Like human distinctions of sexuality don't exist in Faerie, but if they did, I would probably identify as polysexual.

But I didn't tell him that. The fluidity of faerie sexuality was not his business, and besides, this meeting had a purpose. “I learned that, because Kylie refrains from eating the flesh of animals, she has to find clever ways to keep iron in her blood.”

“That's what you talk about?”

“Oh, we talk about all manner of things,” I said slowly, to make it sound enticing. “But don't you find it fascinating, iron and blood and all that?”

Pay attention, now. This is important
.

He shrugged. “I guess, if you're into that goth shit.”

“Everything's a label with you.” I plucked the blossoms from his hand. “Thank you for the flowers.”

Brad frowned at the bouquet. “These are the brightest ones I could find. I figured … ” He let his voice trail away, his eyes still draping over my body, as if all it would take to seduce me was an empty stare and suggestive silence.

“Not to worry,” I said. “I have faith in you.”

Very little faith. But faith nonetheless.

I turned and walked away. The conversation was over, and the seed had been planted. Still, I thought about him all day.