Rachel turns in her seat, expecting the onlookers to eventually disperse, but the people don’t move. They just stand there, staring at the car.
“If that’s not a threat, I don’t know what is,” Mercia whispers.
“What do you think the Fae will do with them?”
“Let’s hope they don’t follow us, for one,” she says, turning off Main Road and opting to take a suburban route.
When they arrive at school, she parks in front of the main door.
“The area looks clear of any townies,” Rachel says as she climbs out of the car.
“Don’t jinx us.”
They head up the stairs and enter the school.
The interior of Ridge Crest High is laced with abandon and disuse. Classrooms are in disarray. Lockers are emptied onto the floor, the doors standing wide open. The metal is riddled with dents, deep scratches, and locks are broken open and tossed aside. Overturned desks and books litter the floors, while obscene words and phrases are scrawled on the whiteboards or scratched into other surfaces. A faint yet undeniable rotting smell wafts through the stagnant hallways. Bone carvings lie among the clutter, discarded and broken remnants of whatever fate befell the students they represent.
Until now, Rachel hasn’t taken the time to think about what had truly transpired while she was in the Fae Realm. Seeing the school like this, however, gives her an idea of the chaos she’s missed.
Mercia hiccups back a sob.
Dust motes swirl in the air as they move through the abandoned building.
“Be glad you weren’t here when everyone lost their minds,” Mercia says, her voice emotional. “Those few who were lucky enough not to fall under the Fae’s influence had to hole up in closets and bathrooms until the threat had passed. I almost got trampled in the process.”
Rachel places a hand on Mercia’s shoulder. “Who else, besides you, was left unaltered?”
“You mean who didn’t go crazy?” Mercia mumbles. “Logan Breyer, Sylvia Cross, Xavier Eckstein, Polly Winston, the new guy, the lunch lady, and a couple of teachers.”
Rachel frowns as she processes the information. “Why would they not be susceptible to the Fae’s influence?”
“The same reason it doesn’t work on me, I suppose.” Mercia shrugs. “Logan, I know for sure, isn’t entirely human.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What is he?”
“Heck if I know.” She hooks her curly blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not like I’m part of an exclusive club that gives out memberships to anyone classified as not entirely human. Besides, some of the non-humans I actually do know—”
A hinge squeals somewhere nearby, the sound deafening in the unnerving quiet. Both girls scuttle to the side of the hallway, searching the area. Mercia lifts her hand, ready to do some type of spell to deter an attack. Rachel bends down and picks up a discarded lacrosse stick, ready to defend them the only way she knows how.
With tentative steps, they move forward again, keeping close to the wall.
Mercia peers around the corner and her shoulders sag with relief.
“It’s only Orion.” Mercia lowers her hand.
Rachel peers around her to see Orion leaning against the lockers, arms crossed as he looks back at them.
“Just so you know, you both suck at sneaking around,” he says by way of greeting.
Rachel lowers her weapon and steps out from behind Mercia.
“Anyway, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. So, quick question,” Orion says. He pins his gaze on Mercia as they come closer. “Are any of those non-humans who fell under the Fae’s influence considered Fae, too?”
“Yes,” she answers.
Orion pushes off the locker. “Well, it’s more difficult to use influence on other magical beings, but other Fae and certain lower-level demons can be controlled by Intra-Canters almost as easily as humans.”
“Demons?” Rachel chimes in. Her eyes widen. “Do demons exist?”
“So, the Fae doing all of this is an Intra-Canter?” Mercia asks, ignoring Rachel.
“Without a doubt,” Orion says. “My brother could learn a thing or two from this guy, to be honest.”
“Rachel’s right about it being Golvath the Lonely then?”
“My sources agree on the possibility, yes,” Orion answers.
“Last question: Where’s he hiding?” Mercia asks as they continue through the hallway.
“That’s why I’m here, actually, to figure it out. What are you two doing here?”
“The dude’s holding Rachel’s mom hostage, so we’re looking for clues or something.”
“I seem to have missed a lot.”
As Mercia explains what’d happened during his absence, Rachel tries coming to grips with the whole “demons exist” bombshell he’d dropped. She takes up the rear, holding the lacrosse stick firmly by her side, unsure how these creatures have managed to make this world their home. How do you not realize your neighbor is a demon?
What else is real? Is the Loch Ness Monster real? Are there aliens doing probes on people? Do dragons exist?
You’re asking yourself the wrong questions. Focus on answering the one Golvath asked, the one that’ll get your mom back: Who are you?
The answer still eludes her.
“Apparently Golvath’s been at it for millennia,” Orion says, breaking through Rachel’s thoughts. “Every known realm has a story where Golvath’s tried his luck in finding a bride, and from what I’ve heard, he always fails. Unfortunately, his plans have become more elaborate as time has passed, and he’s become more vicious in his attempts.”
“How exactly has he evolved?” Rachel asks.
“Well, from the information I gathered, it seems Golvath used to only target the object of his affection. When that didn’t work, he adapted his tactics. He started using influence on the girl’s family members and friends in order to isolate her. That said, I don’t know why or when he graduated to targeting entire villages.”
“Ugh,” Mercia grunts. “Golvath’s behavior sounds similar to what elemental witches sometimes go through after a burn-out. It’s like an addiction to power or something, and can be very destructive.”
“Addiction is rare for Fae, in general, but it’s not a bad theory,” Orion says
Rachel puts together the puzzle pieces and slowly his mannerisms—how, since school had started, Cameron was
