Mercia, who’s already waiting for her beneath the old willow tree, crosses her arms as she nears. “Took you long enough.”
“Some of us actually adhere to the speed limits,” Rachel says.
Mercia snorts, shakes her head.
“So, what’s up? Why did you drag me all the way out here?”
“My family fled Europe after witnessing the Pappenheimer family’s torture and executions for witchcraft in Munich.” She pitches her voice loud enough to be heard over the rushing water of the creek. “The Pappenheimer family were forced to endure heinous medieval persecution. I can’t even bring myself to repeat the story.” Her voice broke.
A breeze kicks up and ruffles the leaves of the willow while Mercia gathers her nerve to continue.
“So, my ancestors fled to England before they suffered a similar fate and eventual execution. Originally, they settled in Lancashire, England, which was a huge mistake, because in 1612, the Pendle Hill witch trials started. Again, they fled for their lives, and this time they had to cross an ocean to survive.” Mercia brushes her hair out of her face and hooks the windswept strands behind her ear. “In 1692, they uprooted from Salem, Massachusetts, and roamed New England until they finally settled here, in Shadow Grove.”
“Okay, but you could have told me all of this at the school,” Rachel says. “Also, why tell me any of this?”
“If someone other than you should figure out I’m a real witch, I’m dead. Don’t think this town is above building a pyre.” Mercia looks to the water, an array of emotions crossing her face. “As for your second question—Look, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you and Greg, but I was truly worried about you. Ever since he paid me to act like his girlfriend, I sensed something off about him. It’s not the regular Greg-Pearson-is-just-being-a-jerk off, it’s more along the lines of something-is-seriously-wrong off.”
“Yeah, I figured that out the hard way.” Rachel sighs. Later. She’ll help him later. “What do you want?”
“It’s not about what I want—it’s about what I need.” Mercia holds herself tighter. “I need goldmint to stop the damn seizures before they ruin my life.”
Rachel grimaces. “I don’t—”
“Cut the crap, Cleary. We both know that thing in Greg wouldn’t have thrown such a temper tantrum if it wasn’t obsessed with something it clearly can’t have. And I am not stupid enough to believe you and the Fae prince haven’t cozied up to one another.” Mercia releases her hold on herself and steps closer to Rachel. “For twenty goldmint pills, I get you into the town council’s archives for as long as you need. For fifty, I help you find Orion and keep Dougal alive while he’s running around here like a headless chicken.”
“Thirty,” Rachel blurts, though she doesn’t know how she feels about this. “Thirty goldmint pills and you help Dougal keep everyone safe from the Fae terrorizing the school.”
“Forty, and then I’ll help.”
“Thirty-five is my best offer. Take it or leave it.”
Mercia sneers, grits her teeth. “Damn it,” she says, putting her hand out. “This doesn’t make us friends.”
Rachel takes her hand and they shake.
Mercia brushes past Rachel as she walks back to her Volvo. “I’ll come to your house after school. You better have the goldmint pills by then.”
“Or what?”
Mercia snickers. “Fae are like mosquitos, a nuisance at best. Cross me and I’ll conjure up something much, much worse.”
Rachel sighs, watching the dainty girl walk away. “Fine,” she calls back.
Only when Mercia’s car is driving down Eerie Street does Rachel return to her Hyundai, keys in hand.
“Sorry, Orion, but I need all the help I can get,” she whispers, already feeling guilty for what she’s about to do next.
Seven
Fractured Sense of Self
There are so many things occupying Rachel’s thoughts that when she comes back to herself she’s already on the other side of Shadow Grove, driving past the abandoned train station, the steelworks, and closed down factories. Soon, she sees the sun-bleached sign hanging askew across the entrance to Pine Hill Trailer Park, where small houses and mobile homes stand alongside each other, stacked too closely together to be comfortable. A dog barks madly somewhere along the fence, while a few indignant shouts fill the otherwise quiet day.
The neglected, solitary apartment building—located at the very edge of Shadow Grove—rises out of the earth. Ashfall Heights is an eyesore the town council simply can’t get rid of—it’s a mistake made two generations earlier, when a promising baby boom had been interrupted by the Great Depression and World War II. Wilderness surrounds the unsightly H-shaped building, which has been left to crumble for close to two decades. Yet, for reasons she can’t begin to explain or understand, the more she visits, the fonder she grows of the place.
Rachel steers into the oversized abandoned parking lot, avoiding the deep potholes scarring the asphalt and construction debris littering the area. She parks at the entrance, across two spaces, and unclicks her seatbelt.
She reaches around the seat to find her bag. She slings her bag over her shoulder, climbs out of her car, closes the door behind her, and crosses the distance between the parking lot and the graffiti-riddled entrance of Ashfall Heights. She barely notices the grimy interior of the foyer anymore, hardly thinks twice about entering the elevator that sounds like it’ll crash back to earth if she breathes too loudly. The doors close and the gears feebly grind as the elevator ascends. She searches for Orion’s apartment keys on her keychain.
Six weeks earlier, Rachel had found the keys and a hastily written note in Orion’s handwriting lying on her pillow. The note simply read: Please check on my greenhouse. How it had gotten into her bedroom, she doesn’t know, but ever since then she’s spent most Saturdays in the quiet apartment—making sure
