The Last Changeling (4 page)

6

T
aylo
R

I was walking back from the pantry when I saw it. A flash of black streaked across the sky. Without even thinking, I hurried across the living room and peered out through the curtains.

This is what I saw:

On the garage, the window above my bed was open, and Lora was leaning out. Her long hair spilled over the sill, red on white. For a second I thought she was going to climb out again, in spite of the fact that she'd just promised she wouldn't. But then something stranger happened: the flash of black turned out to be a crow, and once it settled onto the windowsill, Lora started talking to it.

Um. What the hell?

I mean, okay, she was raised in the country, so talking to horses wouldn't have been that bad. But crows? That was a little too Demented-Disney-Princess for me. Still, long shadows draped across the windowsill, making it hard to see clearly. I wasn't a hundred percent sure what was happening.

I needed to get a better look.

I ran to the door. If I could get outside without Lora noticing, I could sneak across the yard and hide behind the tree. And yes, I knew I was snooping, and maybe it was an invasion of her privacy, but all of this
was
happening in my room, and it was too weird to ignore.

One. Two. Three
. I forced myself to count down as I turned the knob. My chest was aching and I had this terrible feeling that everything was about to change. For a minute, the world was too quiet as I peered out through the opening, and I thought Lora had spotted me. But no one called down from the window. No one looked down.

No one was sitting there.

When I got outside, both Lora and the crow were gone.

7

E
l
o
r
A

Taylor had been asleep for several hours when my telephone started to vibrate. Luckily, his snoring was loud enough to muffle the sound of me sneaking from the room. The world was quiet as I slipped out the door of the garage, too wary to risk late-night flight, and raced across the grass to the yard's only tree. Halfway up the trunk, I pushed the little green button on the telephone.

I pressed the phone against my ear, worried beyond rationality that my endeavor had failed, and when I heard the voice of my longtime friend I nearly sobbed with joy.

“What happens when the light touches darkness?” Illya whispered.

“The fractured fragments of Faerie become whole.” I
drew a shroud of mist around my body. Twirling my fingers in the air, I worked to muffle the sound of my voice. Across the yard, the house was dark, but I could not help but watch the curtains for signs of life. There was, of course, the chance that Taylor would awaken and look out his own window, but we would cross that bridge if we came to it.

“It's you!” Illya breathed. In my mind, I could see the marsh sprite struggling to levitate a telephone as big as she was. “I was afraid it would be not you.”

“I've hoarded this little gadget like a relic of old,” I replied, running my hand over the phone as if I could reach Illya's webbed fingers. “I am happy to see my endeavor was a success.”

“It might not have b
een, if your messenger had not led me to the border of the wasteland. It seems the magic of humans is limited to their world.”

“I am sorry for your troubles,” I said, a shiver tickling my spine at the thought of mortal magic. “Now, tell me what has befallen the Court since my departure.”

“The servants are acting on your orders, behaving as if nothing is amiss. Some of them are better than others,” Illya huffed. “But those who remain loyal to the crown are oblivious. They're too busy caring for the Queen.”

I narrowed my eyes, planting my feet against a branch. “What ails the Queen?”

“Her only daughter has disappeared from her court,” Illya shrieked. “Her beloved heir—”

“
Symbol
,” I corrected. “And I hardly thought she would notice. Is she being terrible to you?”

“You know the Dark Queen. Any dissatisfaction, and she lashes out.”

“I am sorry for that.”

“Don't be. It has strengthened our resolve to be free. Lady,” Illya's voice dropped away, as if she had t
urned her head to search for spies, “your followers are disquieted by your departure. They fear you have abandoned us.”

“I told them I was going on a quest. That should be enough for them.”

“You forget your origins—”

“I never forget.” I clenched the phone tightly in my hand. “I can never forget.”

Illya softened her tone. “It was difficult enough for them to trust the daughter of the Dark Court. The daughter of the Queen. And now, when you have finally gained their allegiance—”

“By working ceaselessly and tirelessly to unite servants from all corners of the Court—”

“You leave us with barely an explanation. How can you expect none to question your loyalties? If they knew you'd even set foot in the wasteland … ”

“They will know what they need to know, and so will you.”

“Lady—”

“Peace, sweetness,” I said, wary of my regal mannerisms returning. “They've trusted me this long. Can you not convince them to trust me a little longer?”

Illya's breath beat against the phone like wings. “I miss you,” she said finally.

“Don't,” I replied, a response born of nobility. All that power. No love. “You know how to contact me if anything goes awry.”

“It won't,” Illya said, and the clarity of her small voice was surprising. “Everything is going to happen the way you have planned. The Court will fall and we will be free.”

“Then you understand why you must do as I ask. No matter what the Queen or her hideous courtiers do, you must not succumb to their cruelty. Be brave, Illya, for all of us.”

“I will,” she promised, pausing a minute. I knew what she was going to ask before she gave life to the words. “Read me the riddle?”

“It isn't safe. Anyone could be listening.”

“Oh, who would be listening there? Even the Seelie fey are forbidden from entering the wasteland. I could help you decipher it.”

I sighed. Who could argue with that voice? Scanning the darkness for any possible spies, I pulled the curling leaf from the pouch I'd strung around my neck. The Bright Queen's writing glowed softly against the green:

“
Bane of the darkness, perfect for light,

Steal him away in the dead of the night.

Bind him with blood, this young leader of men,

And bring him to Court before Light's hallowed reign.
”

“
Light's hallowed reign
,” Illya hissed as I curled the leaf back into its hiding place. “But that's—”

“Beltane, I know. Three weeks away.”

“It isn't enough time!”

“It has to be.” I tucked the pouch into the collar of my nightgown, away from prying mortal eyes. “Now help me with the rest of it. What do you make of
bane of the darkness
?”

Illya was silent a moment. Then, in a low voice, she said, “The worst of humanity. Probably the one with the most power.”

“Explain.”

“The one with the most power will be the most corrupted.”

“That's what I thought,” I said, thinking of the two faerie queens. “And the riddle does ask for a
leader of men.
But how can that be
perfect for light
?”

“I am more interested in why the subject is male,” Illya mused.

“Perhaps the Bright Queen wants more than a toy … ” My gaze traveled to Taylor's window, and lingered.

Illya's gasp brought me back. “Lady! How can you speak of such things? I cannot imagine anything more vile. To think of faeries and mortals …
together
—”

“Forgive me.” I tore my eyes away from the window. “Consider it a slip of the tongue.”

“I will do my best. Now, tell me your plan to seek out this corrupted mortal.”

“I'm not going to seek him out. I'm going to make him come to me.”

“How?”

“How do you smoke out a tyrant?” I smiled, returning my gaze to the night. “You threaten his reign.”

8

T
aylo
R

Monday morning, I was supposed to meet Lora outside the school office at quarter to eight. We'd come up with some ridiculous story about my cell phone falling in a toilet to explain why I needed to use the office phone. But plans like this require more than perfect timing; they require luck, and mine had apparently run out.

First, Lora refused to ride in my car. Something about the metal frame made her feel sick. In the end, we decided she'd walk and I'd drive, to keep up appearances. I didn't want Mom stopping by my bedroom to ask if my car had broken down.

Then my car actually did break down—that is, it stalled twice before I made it out of the driveway.

Needless to say, all of our carefully laid plans went to hell before I even set foot in Unity High. But hey, that didn't stop me from sprinting down the halls (risking the dreaded referral) and almost yanking the office door off its hinges. Doris, the lavender-haired secretary of innumerable years, looked up at me like I'd lost my mind. My arm was aching from pulling the door. But none of that compared to the feeling of my heart dropping like an anvil at the sight of Brad Dickson touching Lora's arm.

You've got to be kidding me
.

She smiled up at him.

Please let me be dreaming.

But no, I was fully awake, and Brad was looking at Lora like she was a hot spring he couldn't wait to jump into.

“Hey, buddy,” he said to me, taking a piece of paper from Doris's hand. A schedule? “What's up? You wet your pants or something?”

“Yeah, and I was going to borrow a pair from Doris, but t
hen I remembered I don't like purple.”

Brad narrowed his eyes. “What?” Under normal circumstances, he'd have jumped at the chance to call me a “fairy,” but these weren't normal circumstances, were they? The fact that Lora hadn't socked him yet was proof enough of that.

“I thought I forgot something in here,” I mumbled, following them out of the office. Lora flashed me a grin. We'd managed to put together an outfit from my grandma's old '60s jeans and a shirt from my mom's Victorian phase. Lora had been very explicit about wanting to fit in.

She should have looked normal. I guess she would have if I didn't know otherwise. But since I did know, every glance reminded me of the secret we held between us. And that, for the moment, was enough to keep me from hating Brad. Looking at her, I couldn't hate anybody.

I didn't let myself consider what that meant.

“Sorry, man,” Brad said in a way that implied he was anything but sorry. “I'm being rude. This is Lora.” He said her name like he was running his tongue all over it. “I get to show her around.”

“I'm Taylor.” I held out a hand to her. It struck me as both odd and funny that I'd never actually shaken her bare hand. Sure, we'd slept in the same room for the past two nights, but still, the handshake felt intimate. It was like we were starting over from a different place.

I liked it.

“Hello, Taylor,” Lora said, holding my gaze. For a second, the locker-lined hallway faded. All I could see was a pool of white light surrounding her like a halo.

“Nice to meet you,” I said softly, taking a step closer. I wanted to bask in the glow, if only for a minute.

“The pleasure is mine.”

“We should get going,” an unwelcome voice chimed in. The hallway returned, the lights dimmed, and an arm slipped around Lora's waist.

She turned to Brad with a snarl in her voice. “Excuse me?”

He took his arm back, laughing nervously. “You don't want to be late for Matheson's class. The guy's a dick.”

“How nice of you to look out for me.” Her gaze softened just a little. She shot me a glance and her lips twitched.

“That's what I'm here for,” Brad said. But Lora, thankfully, was no longer listening. Returning her attention to
yours truly
, she touched my arm. “Goodbye, Taylor.”

“See you around.” I nodded casually, afraid to get sucked back into her eyes. Afraid, and wanting.

“See ya, Tay-tay,” Brad said, raising his eyebrows for only me to see. Laughing, he led her down the hall.

I didn't see her again until third period. By then I'd imagined all sorts of ridiculous scenarios: Brad had somehow managed to disarm her bullshit meter and they were making out right now. Brad had tried to grab her ass (his signature move) and she'd clawed his face off. She'd gotten expelled. They'd spent second period in the broom closet. She'd already been outed as a runaway and was on her way to the police station.

The bad possibilities were endless. The good ones? Practically nonexistent. So when I saw her saunter into English, free of any hickies or ankle monitors, I felt like I'd been granted an incredible gift. Like maybe luck was on my side after all.

Then she spoke. “Well, Brad sure is an interesting fellow.” She lowered herself into the desk next to mine.

“That's one way to describe him.”

“He asked me to accompany him to a movie.”

“Of course he did. Did you slap him?”

Say yes, say yes, say yes.

“No.” Suddenly she was coy. “I said I would go.”

“What?”

She tapped my arm. “I said I would go if he could bring me a flower that shone with the light of the stars.”

“You gave him a riddle?”

“He seemed to think so.”

“You gave him a riddle he can't solve?”

She giggled. It was adorable. God, my chest hurt.

“Why?” I asked.

“Nobody likes to be told no. And many enjoy a good challenge.”

The bell to start class rang, and she gripped the edges of her desk. I had to admit, for a newcomer the bell's shriek would probably be a pain. For the rest of us, following the schedule of the bells was second nature. We were like rats that way.

“You okay?” I glanced around, looking for something appealing that might distract her. All I managed to find were ivory-turned-yellow walls and a spattering of inspirational posters. In spite of the fact that I'd taken no part in decorating the school, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

This place is so ugly
.

“I think I would rather stand,” she said, eyeing the desk's metal poles with suspicion.

“You can't.”

“Will they force me to leave?”

“For that? Probably not.”

Before I could think of a way to stop her, she'd slid out of her seat. “Then I can, and I will.”

People were starting to look over at us.

“I thought you wanted to blend in,” I said. “I mean, considering … ”

“I very much want to blend in. And from what I have seen so far, the harder a student tries to mold herself to the standard, the more she is mocked by her peers. Obvious assimilation is seen as weakness.”

“You've been here
two hours
.”

“I'm perceptive. It is really quite—”

A loud snort came from the front of the classroom.

Ah, crap. Now Teach is involved
.

Mrs. Rosencart glared over what could only be described as spectacles. “Miss … Belfry, is it?”

Lora stretched her arms over her head. “You may call me Lora.”

“And you may call me Mrs. Rosencart,” came the irked reply. “Please take your seat.”

Lora scrunched up her nose. I tried not to think about how cute it looked. “Where would you have me take it?”

Mrs. Rosencart pushed her spectacles up her nose. “I don't appreciate a smart mouth in my class, Miss Belfry. You'll learn that very quickly.”

“Forgive my confusion, Mrs. Rosencart, but if providing education is the mission of Unity's teaching staff—and I believe it is, I read it on a plaque—I can't understand why you would experience a lack of appreciation for a smart anything.” Lora crossed her arms over her chest, as if satisfied that the misunderstanding had been cleared up.

Mrs. Rosencart's pale, wrinkled cheeks flooded with color. “Miss Belfry,” she said very slowly. “Sit.”

Lora started to laugh. I couldn't believe her nerve. Still, part of me thought she knew exactly what she was doing, and was goading our teacher for sport.

Can she
do
that?

“Delightful strangeness,” she murmured, touching a hand to her lips. “I saw a man speak to a well-groomed canine the very same way this morning. She didn't obey, and neither can I. This chair restricts my blood and cramps my limbs. I am much more comfortable standing.”

Mrs. Rosencart pulled out her infamous pink pad of paper and started scribbling fiercely. I thought the pen would push right through the paper. “Enchanting philosophy, Miss Belfry, but this is not your living room.” She finished filling out the referral and tore it from the pad.

Meanwhile, Lora was staring at an oak outside the window like it was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. For a minute, I thought she might start talking to it.

She doesn't talk to trees. She doesn't talk to crows. You imagined it.

“My living room?” she said. “Well, unless you believe every corporeal thing is in a constant state of decay, it's far from my
dying
room, now isn't it?”

Several people laughed.

Mrs. Rosencart waved the piece of paper in Lora's direction. It took me a minute to realize she was shaking. “I understand many girls your age are anxious to receive attention—”

“Just girls?”

“But I assure you this is not the way.” Mrs. Rosencart pressed her lips together, but she didn't look menacing. She looked like a fish. “Perhaps you'd like to inundate the principal's office with your clever little theories.”

Lora stepped up to the desk and took the paper merrily, like she was about to undergo some sacred rite of passage.

“Thank you,” she enunciated, then practically skipped toward the door, abandoning the old backpack I'd given her. “I would be happy to visit this office, if you could provide me with the slightest bit of information as to where I might find it.”

I jumped from my desk, knocking over my binder in the process. “I'll take her.”

–––––

Lunch period couldn't come soon enough, and by the time it did, I was convinced all the clocks in the school had been switched with trick clocks that moved twice as slowly. I'd come close to falling asleep in fourth-period French, but each time my head dropped, an image of Lora flashed through my mind and a team of goblins started clawing at my insides. Now the pain worsened as I hurried across the grounds, looking for signs of her existence. It took several minutes of panicked searching, but I finally caught sight of her vibrant hair under a maple tree. I wondered if she was alone.

She wasn't. Sitting beside Lora was Kylie Angelini, Queen of the Outcasts at Unity High. Maybe it was because she was the president of the Gay-Straight Alliance. I liked to think it wasn't because of her wheelchair. But I could still remember my first gym class at Unity, when Brad followed her around all period pointing out how
lame
everything was. Lame. Because of her legs.

Soon, other assholes followed suit.

Still, in spite of everything, Kylie managed to be sweeter than the vegan cupcakes she brought to lunch every day. When she saw me, she lifted her lunch pail in welcome—an antique tin box with Tinker Bell on the front—and shouted, “You're late!”

I smiled a little too big. I couldn't get over how different she looked since she'd changed her style over spring break. She'd replaced her tennis shoes with combat boots and started making her own skirts. Her once mousy brown hair was now jet-black and chopped at an angle. When she leaned forward to take a bite of her burrito, the hair swung down, framing her chin in two sharp points. I think she was trying to look tougher.

“Is that cheese?” I asked, staring down at her burrito.

“Vegan cheese.” She held the burrito out in offering. That's when I noticed the electric-pink fairy on her sweatshirt, hovering over the words
They Exist
.

“Tastes like plastic?” I teased.

“Cheese-flavored plastic,” said a snarky voice. Kylie's evil twin stepped out from behind the tree. Where Kylie was sweet, Keegan was sour. His lumpy body was the antithesis to her wiry frame.

Still, they shared the same warm brown eyes.

“I've got to start making my own lunches,” Keegan said, crouching down next to his sister. His blue jeans were faded and wrinkled; his velvet blazer impeccably pressed. Chestnut hair stuck up all over his head in perfect just-rolled-out-of-bed fashion.

I bet it takes him an hour to style it.

Kylie gave him a look. “It's not all about flavor. You have to make sacrifices for the things you believe in. If you don't, what's the point in believing in anything?”

“Kylie: one. Keegan: zero,” I said, pulling an obviously meat-filled sandwich out of my bag. “Any wisdom you'd like to share with the class?” I asked Lora.

She stared at me, considering the question. “The history teacher is full of shit.”

I choked on my first bite of sandwich.

“Figuratively speaking,” she added.

“You're swearing now?”

Lora wiggled in her spot. “I'm having a lot of fun. I find your idioms charming. Everyone speaks so properly where I'm from.”

“Where are you from?” Kylie asked.

“Jupiter,” said Lora, “according to a boy in my last class. Somebody in choir suggested Yugoslavia. That was pretty cool.” She examined the piece of pizza in her hand with mild interest.

“Very cool,” I said. I felt a little unnerved that she was assimilating so quickly.