“You and I don’t have a squeaky clean beginning either, yet I still consider you a friend.”
“Even after the Sluaghs?”
“Yes.” Orion’s exasperation is evident in his sigh.
Regardless of the guilt she feels for causing so much heartache and hardship for the Halflings, she finds a way to smile at him.
“Truth be told, the Sluagh attack was bound to happen, whether you led them there or not. The army’s morale was not improving after losing two battles in as many days, so it was just a matter of time until the Sluaghs sniffed us out,” Orion says. He suddenly comes to a stop, tilts his head, closes his eyes, and seems to listen to something she can’t hear. “Mercia’s outside,” he says. His brow furrows in confusion. “It sounds like she’s somewhere above us, but she’s definitely outside. Where could she be?”
“She headed to the old schoolhouse, so it’s safe to assume she made her way to the bell tower.” Rachel changes course, heading back to the old schoolhouse, hoping Mercia doesn’t do anything stupid before they get there.
“You don’t look pleased,” he says. “Care to explain why?”
“Can you sense anyone nearby?”
“They’re all searching for us on the other side of the school. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I feel weird,” she mumbles. “More than that, though, I don’t understand why Mercia would go up the bell tower by herself. If the stories are correct—”
“What stories?” Orion asks.
“During orientation week, every new batch of freshmen are told the story of the boy who fell. The tale’s details change as to how he fell from the bell tower, but the rest essentially remains the same through every retelling.
“When Ridge Crest was still a three-classroom schoolhouse, and children of all ages attended, a fifteen-year old boy was tasked with ringing the school bell every morning and every afternoon. This chore was said to have been a great honor, because the schoolmaster at the time didn’t hand out the responsibility to just anyone.” She pauses as they turn the corner where Holland had waited for them. Once she’s sure they’re alone again, she continues, “One day, the boy walked up the rickety spiral steps to ring the afternoon bell. He shooed the nesting pigeons, and grabbed the rope to ring the bell. The bell tolled five times, and the children cleared out of the building. The boy, however, remained standing in the tower, staring at all of Shadow Grove.”
“I suppose this was when there wasn’t much of a town to look at?” Orion interrupts.
“Yup.”
“So, what did he see?”
“Nobody knows, but it couldn’t have been good. The story goes on to say he saw something so terrible it tore his mind apart and broke his will to live. When the bell stopped tolling, the boy screamed and screamed.” Rachel looks up at Orion. “And then, during this madness, the boy fell from the top of the bell tower. Some say he slipped, others believe he was pushed, but some think he jumped. Apparently, he landed face first at the bottom of the steps that led into the schoolhouse.”
Orion grimaces, an inquisitive eyebrow rising. “That’s grim even by Shadow Grove’s standards.”
“The story doesn’t end there, though. The tale does, however, always end the same way, ‘The boy still walks the halls of the old schoolhouse, so whatever you do, don’t approach him or you’ll be driven mad.’ The thing is, the so-called Ghost Boy walking around the school is probably Golvath.”
“Ah,” Orion says. “Well, if it helps, I can’t hear anyone else up there with her.”
“It helps.”
When they reach the T-junction in the hallway, she turns right, heading away from the boiler room and possible exit, moving deeper into the gloom of the old schoolhouse. The air feels thicker here, not alive or dead but something in-between.
“You would’ve made an excellent healer in my father’s army,” Orion breaks the silence. “The soldiers would’ve loved to hear your stories while they were losing their limbs or lives.”
“I have a terrible bedside manner when it comes to people,” Rachel mumbles.
“You weren’t half-bad when I got stabbed by the Night Weaver’s Fae light.”
She grumbles an affirmative, but doesn’t say more. A few steps later, they reach the stone archway. Beyond lies a small circular chamber with a questionable wooden spiral staircase that leads five stories up to the rusted bell.
“Mercia,” Orion calls up the tower.
“Do you want the entire town to know we’re here?” Rachel hisses.
“Look at those stairs.” He gestures at the rotting, thin wooden slats that are already broken in some places, as well as the rickety handrail leaning precariously to the side. “No way am I climbing them.”
“I could ha—”
“Not while I still have a breath in my body,” he interrupts her. “Mercia.”
“I’m sorry, but since when do you get to decide what I may or may not do?” Rachel crosses her arms.
“Since I gave up my entire existence in the Fae Realm just to make sure my brother didn’t kill you,” he snaps back. “Mercia!”
“Almost done,” Mercia shouts back.
“Nova wouldn’t have hurt me,” Rachel scoffs.
Orion holds up his hands in a trickle of sunlight, showing off the crisscrossing scars that cover his fingers and palms. He turns his hands to show the rest of the ridges marring his skin. “I’ve seen those almost imperceptible flinches when you look at my hands, wondering what happened, what I did to deserve these scars. Well, let me tell you, my brother—the same one you think so highly of—did this to me when I was still a Faeling. Are you certain he wouldn’t have done worse to you if he had the chance—a choice in the matter?”
“If he wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity.”
Orion squares his jaw, shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.”
“Oh, now I’m Rachel again.”
“If I need to drive my point home, yes, then you’re just Rachel.”
“Well, Orion, that still doesn’t give you the right to dictate my life
