Then the music of the Fae realm starts. The melody is unmistakable as it surrounds her, consumes her. A beautiful call that forces her to her feet. She searches the room for a sign of an unwelcome presence—whether corporeal or ethereal, it doesn’t matter—but there is nothing. Nobody else seems to hear the music; they hardly notice her anymore as Mrs. Crenshaw attempts her escape from the hospital bed.
The music grows louder, more desperate.
“Orion,” she exhales his name, looking toward the closed window. Blue, cloudless skies lie beyond the horizontal blinds, nothing more.
An elbow shoves her out of the way and the real world spills back into the quiet. She catches herself before she can fall into her seat, unable to discern individual words amongst the argument. Rachel blinks a few times, clearing the fog from her mind, and realizes an oversized orderly has joined them. He’s the least of her concerns, though. Her attention moves to the nurse who stands at the foot of the bed—an older woman dressed in navy scrubs. She points to the open door. The nurse’s hawkish eyes pin Rachel in place for a few tense seconds, before she moves her gaze to the other side of the room.
“Out. Now,” the woman’s voice booms over the rest of the commotion, the no-nonsense attitude commanding enough to make Rachel’s feet move without her permission.
Still dazed, Rachel finds herself exiting the hospital room with Dougal in tow. The door slams shut behind them, the heated argument dissolving into a mere whisper. She turns to stare at the closed door before taking a solemn step back.
“Ye need to find Orion. Nan isn’t gonna be any help right now,” Dougal says. He wipes the sweat from his brow. “I’ll make sure Nan doesn’t bolt the first chance she gets, and try to keep people from gettin’ killed as much as I can.”
“I can stay with you. We can figure this out together.”
Dougal’s shoulders slump, the energy seeming to drain out of him. “Rach, we need help. If Nan didn’t see this Fae comin’, what chance do we have by ourselves? Ye need to go find him. Find any help.” He slides down the wall to the floor and pushes his hands into his hair.
Rachel must’ve missed a lot of what had transpired in the hospital room when she’d zoned out, which is probably for the best, judging by Dougal’s expression.
She leaves him there, in front of his grandmother’s room. Whether this decision is the right one—the most humane one—she can’t be certain, but she has a bone to pick with a Miser Fae, and that can’t wait.
Six
A Real Pain in the Patella
Rachel sneaks into the old schoolhouse the way she and Dougal had left, through the double doors that have been left ajar. Her footsteps echo as she cautiously makes her way back to the boiler room, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Every creak from the rotting wood makes her jump; every rattle from the rusting pipes gives her pause. She surveys the area, takes a step forward, listens.
The skeleton key that had been left in the boiler room’s door earlier is now missing. Maybe Dougal had pocketed it? She doesn’t know. Rachel takes a deep, shaky breath, looks around a final time to ensure she’s alone, before she drudges up the courage to open the door. She waits for the smell of death to assault her senses, but—
Rachel sniffs tentatively.
How is the stench inexplicably gone?
This doesn’t make sense.
She walks down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, and ventures to where she and Dougal had seen the boneless corpse.
Nothing.
It’s not like a corpse can stand up and walk away. What the hell?
She studies the undisturbed dust where the body had lain no more than an hour ago, searching for a sign of the Miser Fae, anything that could possibly explain what she’s seeing—or not seeing. There isn’t even a drag mark to indicate a direction someone or something could’ve gone. And the boneless corpse can’t be hidden with a glamour, because she would’ve tripped over it. Fae influence was also impossible thanks to the Ronamy stone she wears around her neck.
Rachel places her palm against her forehead as she tries to come up with a logical explanation. Nothing makes sense when it comes to Miser Fae, though. She can’t begin to explain their motives for doing half of the things they do. But this is a whole new level of weird.
Her arm drops to her side and she retreats to the stairs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the corpse didn’t magically reappear.
Nada. Zilch. Nothing.
Once she’s back in the hallway, she closes the door and leans with her back against the wooden partition. Rachel allows her mind to wander, hoping to find answers in the crevices of her subconscious—perhaps something her father or Mrs. Crenshaw or Orion had said could lead her to a solution.
“Miss Cleary, why aren’t you in class?” the authoritative voice says.
Rachel opens her eyes, only to find Mr. Davenport, her English teacher, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed. He reaches up to push his black-rimmed spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose, before he snaps his fingers and gestures for her to move.
She drags herself away from the door and walks in the direction he’d indicated.
When she passes him by, he says, “You’ve been acting odd lately.”
“It’s an odd town,” Rachel answers.
Mr. Davenport doesn’t respond.
They walk together through the hallways of the old schoolhouse, toward the newer additions.
“What were you doing there?” Rachel asks.
Everything about Mr. Davenport’s face looks sharp—straight nose, pointy chin, pronounced cheekbones, hawkish gaze. And he always wears black turtlenecks and chino pants, contrasting against his pale skin.
“I saw
