Rachel pulls her shirt up over her nose and mouth as she reluctantly steps across the threshold. She tiptoes around the pulsing maggot-infested corpse, while kamikaze flies ricochet off her body.
Orion closes the door behind him, careful not to let it click, before he follows her deeper into the pantry.
It takes every iota of her strength not to give into the automatic bodily responses of being in an enclosed space with a decomposing corpse. Her stomach roils and her gag reflex contracts to the point of weakening her legs. She manages to walk to the farthest end of the pantry, passing rows and rows of metal shelves, where most of the dry goods and canned products remain undisturbed.
Rachel turns around, her back pressing up against the wall, as Orion nears.
He evaluates her with a quick glance before averting his gaze to the shelves.
Things haven’t been the same between them since the debacle in the Fae Realm. Yes, she screwed up big time. She’s the reason hundreds of Halflings are dead, but she didn’t even know what a Sluagh was before she’d come face-to-face with one. Surely he understands she didn’t mean to lead them to the Halfling camp? Everything toppled over like dominoes. There is coldness between them, a broken trust of some kind.
Granted, he wasn’t this guy in the Fae Realm—the kind, caring, somewhat rugged Fae prince. No, in the Fae Realm, he was a warrior, one who didn’t have time for a teenage human girl’s problems.
He reaches up to the top shelf near her head and wraps a hand around a small glass vial, full of purplish fluid.
“You don’t trust me anymore,” she whispers.
“It’s not a matter of trust,” he says in a low voice.
“Then what is it?”
“You’re unpredictable and sometimes reckless.”
Me, reckless? Ha! That’s a first, she thinks as Orion twists the top off and takes a step closer, but doesn’t say it out loud. He shows her the bottle’s label. Vanilla Essence.
“It’s better than nothing,” he whispers.
Rachel nods, uncovers her nose and mouth and accepts the bottle. She douses her shirt in the vanilla essence, and shifts the fabric back to cover the bottom half of her face and breathes somewhat easier.
Orion does the same for himself.
The whistling outside continues, the guy halfheartedly searching the kitchen for any trace of them, before seeming to travel back into the cafeteria. He shouts something unintelligible to the woman in the air duct and laughs loudly.
“What now?” Rachel whispers.
“We wait until they move on.”
Twenty-Two
The Ghost Boy
Time passes too slowly for Rachel’s liking.
She and Orion huddle in the pantry, often reapplying vanilla essence to their clothing to make their stay with the boneless corpse more bearable. Meanwhile, Orion listens for any movement in the cafeteria, whispering what’s happening outside of their hiding place. The minutes tick on and her anxiety increases. Eventually, just when Rachel is ready to hand herself over to Golvath and his cronies, Orion lets her know that the woman is climbing out of the air duct.
They can finally leave the pantry from hell, but the relentless stench of decay follows. The smell is in her hair, on her clothes, tainting her very olfactory receptors. It’s better than being in there with Golvath’s victim, of being reminded of what could happen if they don’t win this fight, but not by much.
“We need help,” Rachel says.
They make their way out of the kitchen and carefully walk into the cafeteria.
“Who’s going to help? There is nobody else. Everyone’s under Golvath’s control,” Orion’s voice is husky with fatigue. Not having magic to fight the bad guys has apparently taken its toll.
“We’ll see.” Rachel fishes her cell phone out of her pocket and dials Dougal’s number.
“What didn’t ye understand about stayin’ out of trouble?” Dougal answers on the second ring. No hello, no are you okay?—just pure worry and criticism.
Rachel exhales loudly, before she says, “Lecture me later. Are you in town by any chance?”
“Aye,” Dougal says. “Nan told me off for leavin’ ye and Mercia by yerselves. Said I needed to come back right away, so here I am at yer empty house.”
“Oh, good. That saves you a trip,” Rachel says. “Bring Ziggy to the school and stay out of sight.”
“Do I want to know what happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Just don’t actually come into the school,” Rachel explains.
“All right, see ye in ten,” Dougal says and ends the call.
She pushes her phone back into her pocket and regards Orion. “You were saying, Faerie Boy?”
Orion shakes his head as he makes his way back to the doors leading into the building. “We need to find Mercia before they do.”
A pang of irrational jealousy pushes to the forefront of her mind. An unfair thought pops into her mind: He wasn’t this worried about me in the Fae Realm. This green monster doesn’t feel like her, doesn’t usually rear its ugly head inside her, but for some reason it’s there. What makes Mercia so special?
Rachel tries ridding herself of the emotions. This isn’t me. I don’t care what he does with his time or who he does it with. She blinks, swallows down her envy.
Rachel carefully follows him, sidestepping shards of glass near the overturned counter to avoid any preventable accidents. They travel into the deserted hallway, both keeping an eye out for any surprises. There are none, though, just as there is no sign of Mercia.
“Do you know where she’ll hide?” Orion eventually asks.
Another bout of jealousy crawls through her body.
“I don’t know her any more than you do,” Rachel whispers back.
It’s true, but—
She frowns and wraps her hand around the umbrella pendant. What’s going on with me? Surely it’s not possible for Golvath to bypass the Ronamy Stone? No. She doesn’t feel anything weird rummaging through her mind. Rachel’s just tired, she isn’t her usual self. Stress can do that to a person.
Orion gives her an incredulous look. “I thought you two were friends.”
“I bribed Mercia to help me with drugs she
