“Sure,” Vinesh says. He hands over a bone white carving to Dougal. “They’re kinda creepy, but sorta cool. We don’t know who sent them or how they got into our lockers, but we’re not the only ones who got one.”
Her blood turns to ice as she looks at the two carvings. The one is a figurine of Brandon in his practice gear—lying face-down, sprawled out. The other totem depicts Vinesh dressed in much the same manner, lying flat on his back, his neck twisted at an awkward angle.
“Ye’re seein’ this?” he asks her in a whisper, so nobody nearby can overhear them.
“Yes.”
“Who else got one?” Dougal asks the others.
“I overheard Bianca Novak calling hers disgusting, and then there’s Rebecca Franklin,” Brandon answers.
“Don’t forget Ashley Benson,” Vinesh says.
“Oh, yeah. She got one, too.”
“All right.” He hands their totems back. “I’ll see ye in a wee bit then,” Dougal says to his friends. He turns to face Rachel. “We have History first period?”
She stares at him blankly. “Yes, but—”
“Let’s go.”
Rachel waves halfheartedly to Cam as she turns on her heels. They walk quietly through the crowded hallway, side-by-side. Most of the students make way for Dougal, who towers above everyone at school—staff included. The freshmen give him wide-eyed looks of wonder. Girls flutter their eyelashes at him, lick their lips, giggle together and whisper about his good looks.
Yes, he’s easy on the eyes, but wow. Have some dignity already.
“The warning bell is about to ring.”
“Ye can skip the class today. This is more important than learnin’ about Napoleon’s defeat at the Battle of Waterloo.”
“We’re not even studying that, Dougal,” she says in a higher than normal pitch.
“Fine, Nixon’s Watergate thin’. Same diffs.” He waves his mistake off as inconsequential.
Technically, the history curriculum is trivial in comparison to the looming horrors awaiting Ridge Crest High’s students, especially if those totems are, in fact, signifiers of their imminent future. There’s no question about what matter takes precedence, but it’s difficult for Rachel to get her head out of school mode when she’s physically at school. Besides, who in their right minds can get mixed up with Napoleon and Nixon? They’re in the same class, for heaven’s sake! She doesn’t have the energy to call him out on his ignorance—or laziness—this time, though. Not with everything that’s going on.
Rachel leads him through the labyrinth of corridors, past the lockers and classes and dawdling students. The first bell rings and students scurry, hoping to avoid a detention slip for tardiness. The hallway slowly clears. By the time the second bell rings, they’re heading into the old school’s wing, where hardly anyone wanders at any time of day.
“Here,” she says, indicating the girls’ bathroom. Rachel looks over her shoulder to make sure nobody’s spying on them before she turns her attention back to him. “Do you want to go inside?”
His eyes pin on the door leading to the girls’ bathroom. “No,” Dougal says. “And ye found th’ second one on Nan’s side-table?”
“Yes.”
His gaze shifts to study the hallway, which ends in a T-junction. Dougal points ahead and says, “Where does this go?”
“Old schoolhouse,” she says.
He walks past her without another word, heading into the seldom-explored bowels of Ridge Crest High. Rachel follows. What else can she do?
“If you want to hunt for ghosts, perhaps we should come back tonight when they’re active?”
“Ye and I both know this ain’t no wraith’s doin’.” He slows his pace so she can catch up. “There’s another Fae in town, Rach, and the bastard’s gone and hurt my Nan. This is personal, yeah?”
“I get it, Dougal, I really do. But what do you expect us to find by wandering into the old schoolhouse? We are defenseless, and wholly unprepared to take on another Miser Fae by ourselves,” Rachel says. “Your grandmother and Orion both insinuated that the Night Weaver is one of the weaker Miser Fae. We don’t know what else is out there and we definitely don’t know how strong they are.”
“Go back then,” he says. “I don’t need yer help.”
Rachel stops in her tracks, her eyes wide and forehead creasing. “Real mature.”
When he doesn’t respond, she hurries back to his side and continues down the corridor. There’s no way she’s going to let him go after a Miser Fae alone. She’ll never forgive herself if he winds up dead all because she didn’t want to miss a class.
The hallway branches off. The old bell tower is to the right. To the left lie some classrooms, which’d fallen into disuse decades earlier.
“Let’s start at the old classrooms and work our way back here,” she suggests. Rachel gestures to the left, indicating where they should begin.
Dougal nods, turns left, and continues forward.
After a while, she says, “I know you’re angry with me because you think I want to go into the Fae Realm and find Orion.”
He exhales through his nose. “Why couldn’t ye have preoccupied yer time with Greg, huh? Greg’s a bahookie, aye, but at least I could’ve kept him in line. I can’t keep a Fae prince from hurtin’ ye, Rach.”
“Damn it, I don’t need you protecting me,” she says, unable to keep the frustration from her tone. “Also, what in heaven’s name is a bahookie?”
He crosses his arms, closing himself off. “Somethin’ ye’re too good for anyways.”
Asking him to change his nature, to disregard one of the fundamental elements of who he is, isn’t fair. Still, it’s exasperating to have a part-time bodyguard, watching her every move so he can keep her safe, especially when she’d been doing perfectly fine on her own for the majority of her life. Besides, he can’t just show up and play the big brother when it suits him.
Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt halfway to the end of the hallway. The white paint is yellowed, cracked and peeling away from the walls. The doors are located closer together and scratched-up
