Emerson’s Story E-Book

Rachel Morgan

• Herausgeber: Rachel Morgan
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Serie: Creepy Hollow
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 1473

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Nearly eighteen years after the events of A Faerie’s Curse, a thrilling new adventure begins ...

Emerson Clarke: Sarcastic. Independent. Possibly losing her mind

Because that’s the only explanation for why she occasionally sees things that aren’t there, right? But one night, an impossible power erupts from her, and Em realizes the truth is crazier than she ever thought: she isn’t losing her mind; she’s magical.

Thrown into an entirely new world of faeries, enchantments—and the annoying guy from down the road who, it turns out, isn’t human either—Em barely has time to learn even the most basic of magic before another startling truth reveals itself: she has a Griffin Ability. A special kind of magic feared by most fae. Now she’s at the top of everyone’s most-wanted list—including the mysterious glass faerie carrying out random attacks on fae.

In this magical and terrifying world that she’s entirely unprepared for, Em must try to figure out who she really is, whom to trust, and how to stay alive long enough to get back to her normal life.

Meet a new heroine and catch up with old favorite characters in this thrilling adventure packed with enchanting magic, unexpected twists, and a dash of romance.

Includes the following THREE Creepy Hollow books:

Glass Faerie

Shadow Faerie

Rebel Faerie

____________________

THE COMPLETE CREEPY HOLLOW SERIES CONSISTS OF THE FOLLOWING BOOKS:

Violet's Story

1. The Faerie Guardian

2. The Faerie Prince

3. The Faerie War

Calla's Story

4. A Faerie's Secret

5. A Faerie's Revenge

6. A Faerie's Curse

Emerson's Story

7. Glass Faerie

8. Shadow Faerie

9. Rebel Faerie

Leseprobe

Emerson’s Story

CREEPY HOLLOW 7, 8 & 9

RACHEL MORGAN

Creepy Hollow: Emerson’s Story

By Rachel Morgan

Copyright © 2018 Rachel Morgan

Glass Faerie | Copyright © 2017 Rachel Morgan

Shadow Faerie | Copyright © 2017 Rachel Morgan

Rebel Faerie | Copyright © 2017 Rachel Morgan

Intrigue, action and romance in a glittering magical world hidden from human sight.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information please contact the author.

v2024.10.03

Epub ISBN: 978-0-9947154-8-7

Glass Faerie

DESCRIPTION

Emerson Clarke: Sarcastic. Independent. Possibly losing her mind.

Because that’s the only explanation for why she occasionally sees things that aren’t there, right? But one night, an impossible power erupts from her, and Em realizes the truth is crazier than she ever thought: she isn’t losing her mind; she’s magical.

Thrown into an entirely new world of faeries, enchantments, and the annoying guy from down the road—who, it turns out, isn’t human either—Em barely has time to learn even the most basic of magic before another startling truth reveals itself: she has a Griffin Ability. A special kind of magic feared by most fae. Now she’s at the top of everyone’s most-wanted list—including the mysterious glass faerie carrying out random attacks on fae.

In this magical and terrifying world that she’s entirely unprepared for, Em must try to figure out who she really is, who to trust, and how to stay alive long enough to get back to her normal life.

PartOne

ChapterOne

In the dirty alley between Tygo’s Diner and the abandoned library, the stench of rotting garbage provokes my gag reflex. I focus on breathing through my mouth as I remove the crumpled brown paper package from my messenger bag and hold it up. “You know the price, Slade.” I wave the package at him. “Take it or leave it.”

Slade raises an eyebrow. He breathes out a painfully long sigh before turning to the wad of notes in his hand. He flicks lazily through them, counting out the right amount. But instead of handing the money over, he leans one shoulder against the wall and watches me with a smirk. “You drive a hard bargain, Emerson Clarke.”

“Stop being an idiot. The price is exactly the same as last time. Do you want it or not?”

“Course I want it. Lighten up, Em.” He shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against the giant yellow X graffitied across the bricks. “Just trying to make this exchange more entertaining.”

I shove the bag against his chest and remove the cash from his hand. “I don’t need any more entertainment in my life.”

“Hey, you seriously need to chill out,” he calls after me as I turn away.

“Thanks for the advice.” I don’t bother to look over my shoulder at him as I stride away, my sneakers crunching against the damp, dirty ground. I’m almost at the end of the alley when the back door of Tygo’s Diner swings open. I dodge out of the way to avoid being hit in the face. “Jeez, Marty.”

“Oh, great, you’re still here.” He holds a trash bag out toward me. “You forgot this one.”

I consider telling him my shift ended five minutes ago, but it isn’t worth the argument. I press my lips together, push Slade’s money into my jeans pocket, and take the bag. Marty lets the door slam shut without another word. Grumbling beneath my breath, I walk the few steps back toward the dumpster. Slade, still slouching at the other end of the alley, ignores me as I hold my breath, lift the dumpster lid, and heft the trash bag up and over the edge.

I’m about to lower the lid when I hear rustling from within the dumpster. Just a rat, I tell myself, knowing I should close the lid. But that part of my brain that always wants to know if the things I see and hear are actually real keeps my arm frozen in place. The scratching, rustling sound moves up the side of the dumpster. A scaly arm appears, clawing its way over the edge with blue talons and glowing yellow liquid dripping from⁠—

I drop the lid and jump back, swearing out loud.

“Scared of something, Em?” Slade sniggers as he walks past me.

“No,” I snap back. But as he rounds the corner and disappears, I swallow, my heart thudding way too fast. I peek around the side of the dumpster, looking for a half-squashed reptilian arm protruding from beneath the lid. But there’s nothing there. “Overactive imagination,” I mutter to myself as I hurry away, which is the same lie I always use.

I feel easier once I’m out on the main street. Hooking my thumb beneath the strap of my messenger bag, I slow my steps, no longer feeling as though I’m running from something. My fear evaporates as I remind myself that with Slade’s money added to my savings, I finally have enough for a bus trip.

“Hey, Em!”

I swing around in the direction of the shout and find Val perched atop the wall surrounding Stanmeade Elementary School. “Hey.” I wave at her as I change direction and cross the grassy area outside the school. I dump my bag on the ground, then run straight at the wall. My right foot strikes the bricks and launches me upward. With my palms flat on top of the wall, it’s easy to pull my legs up.

“Nice one,” Val says as I walk deftly along the top of the wall toward her.

“Thanks.” I sit beside her and dust my hands on my jeans. “It’s an easy wall, though. Not as high as some of the others we’ve tried.”

“I know. Hey, check this out.” She pushes her dark frizzy hair out of her face and holds her phone in front of me. “Latest Top Ten video from ParkourForLife.”

Looking past the crack on Val’s cellphone screen, I watch a guy leap from one building, somersault through the air, and land on the next building, followed by nine more spectacular moves. “Awesome,” I murmur. “I’d love to be able to do all that.”

“Totally,” Val agrees. “I kinda feel like we’ll have to go somewhere else to stretch our skills though. The urban playground here is just too limiting.”

“The urban playground?” I repeat with a laugh.

“Yeah. People call it that, right?”

“Um …”

“Well, I call it that.” She spreads her arms out, almost smacking me in the face with her elbow. “I present to you the Stanmeade urban playground. It’s ugly, but it’s where we started.”

I shake my head, still smiling. “You got the ugly part right. And the limiting part. We know this place and its obstacles too well now.”

“Yeah. Anyway, how was your shift?”

I shrug. “Slightly above average. I sold another one of Chelsea’s homemade concoctions. Slade Murphy again.”

“Again? Ooh, do tell. What secret recurring ailment is Slade Murphy suffering from? Anything super embarrassing we should warn his girlfriend about?”

“It was actually for his girlfriend. A contraceptive tea of some sort.”

Val tilts her head back and laughs. “Well, let’s hope that works.”

“I guess it must be working, since this is the second pack I sold him. Anyway, that’s not important.” I pull my sleeves down to cover my thumbs. “What’s important is that I’ve finally saved enough for another bus ride.”

Val straightens. “To visit your mom?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Cool,” she says, though her voice lacks enthusiasm.

“What?”

“It’s just …” She shifts a little. “Are you sure you want to do that? It really upset you last time you visited her.”

I chew on my lower lip before answering. “I know, but I’m hoping it’ll be different this time. She might be better. Besides, it’ll be worth it to get out of this place for a little bit. I’m counting the days until I don’t have to share a house with pain-in-the-ass people anymore.”

“I hear ya,” Val says, her curls bouncing as she nods. I know she doesn’t entirely mean it, though. Our family situations are both tough, but in completely different ways. While I’m stuck with an aunt who hates me and a prima donna cousin, Val has four younger siblings her mom expects her to help take care of. And I know Val loves them, despite all her complaining. So in a few months’ time when we’re finally done with school, I have a feeling I’ll be leaving on my own.

“Hey! Get off there!” We look over our shoulders into the school yard where Mrs. Pringleton is shaking her bony finger at us.

“But we’re not doing anything wrong,” Val shouts back.

Her gnarled hands form fists, and the pink birthmarks across one side of her face turn pinker. “I’m calling the police if you don’t get off there in the next ten seconds!”

“Cool,” Val says. “Tell Uncle Pete I say hi.”

“Val.” I nudge her arm while trying to keep from laughing. “Let’s not give the old woman a heart attack, okay? We can climb right back up once she leaves.”

“Fiiiiine.” Val shuffles her butt to the edge of the wall and jumps down. I follow a moment later. “I guess I should go home to the mini monsters anyway,” she adds. “But I’m giving myself another five minutes of freedom first.” She sits on the grass and crosses her legs.

“Fine by me.” I remain standing but lean back against the wall and play with the edge of my sleeve. “You’re probably already in trouble for being late, so what’s an extra five minutes?”

“Exactly.”

A car rumbles by, and on the other side of the road I notice a person who wasn’t there a minute ago. A guy with an annoyingly familiar swagger to his step. “Wonderful,” I mutter. “What’s Dash doing back here?”

“Hmm?” Val looks up. “Oh. Probably going to the party.”

“What party?”

She twists her head to the side and looks up at me. “You know, the one at the Mason farmhouse.”

“I didn’t know, actually. Is Jade’s older brother home again?”

“Yeah. Supposedly looking after Jade and the other Mason kid while their parents are away.”

“And instead he’s throwing another party,” I say with a sigh.

“Yeah. Lucky for us lowly high-schoolers.”

“Sure. If that’s your thing.” I look back across the road at Dash. As always, he’s highlighted his honey-blond hair with streaks of bright green. All I can do is shake my head at the odd color combination. “His hair is so weird. I don’t know how they let him get away with it at whatever preppy school he goes to.”

“You don’t know how they let him get away with amazing hair?” Val asks with a laugh.

“No, I mean the color.”

She laughs harder and shakes her head. “I don’t know what you could possibly find offensive about that boy’s beautiful hair, but okay. I won’t argue with you.”

I look down at her with a frown. “Beautiful hair? Really?”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I find him attractive.”

I groan and look up once more, and Dash chooses that moment to glance across the street, give us a charming grin, and wink. “Seriously?” I mutter. “Who the hell winks at people?”

“Dash, apparently, although probably only at you.” Val smacks my ankle. “You know he loves to irritate you. Anyway, you should come to the party. If Dash came all the way home for it, you know it’s gonna be good.”

“Please. Dash is probably bored out of his mind at whatever uptight, snooty private school he goes to. No doubt he jumps at the chance to go to any party.”

“So … does that mean you’ll come?”

I shake my head as I watch Dash continue on down the street. “Not my scene, Val. You know that.”

“You know you can still come to parties even if you don’t want to drink, right?”

“So I can stand there totally sober and watch the rest of you get hammered? No thanks.”

“Or you could just have a little bit.” She pats my sneaker. “You need to chill out more, Em.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Remember how my uncle died of alcohol poisoning? And how my mom tried to drown out her delusions by drinking? Yeah. I’m trying to avoid situations like that.”

Val is quiet as she gets to her feet. “Come on, Em. You know that’s never going to happen to you.”

I blink away the memory of that scaly, glowing arm reaching out of the dumpster. “Okay, here’s a reason for you: Dash is going to be at that party, and I don’t feel like ruining my night.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re not coming to the party.” She loops an arm around my neck and hugs me. “Try to have a good evening anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We head in different directions, Val walking around the back of the school to cut across the field, while I continue along the road. Long shadows stretch across the pavement, and the washed-out orangey brown haze of sunset fills the sky. I turn just after the post office⁠—

—and see a figure in a silver hooded cloak standing in the middle of the road. In front of him or her is a man with pointed ears. The cloaked figure touches the man, and the man becomes a solid statue of gleaming, faceted crystal.

With a gasp, I duck back behind the building, my heart thundering. I press my back against the warm brick wall and slap both hands over my eyes. I count to ten while forcing myself to breathe slowly. “There’s nothing there,” I whisper to myself. I start counting again, and this time I keep going. I reach eighty before I’m brave enough to lower my hands from my face. Slowly, I peek around the edge of the building—and of course, there’s no sign that a hooded figure and a person made of crystal were ever there. Because they weren’t, I tell myself. I press my back against the wall once more. “You didn’t see anything,” I whisper. “There was nothing there. You didn’t see anything strange. You are not losing your mind.”

But as I hurry along the main road, choosing to take the longer route home, I can’t help thinking of all the times weird things like this have happened. The unidentifiable creature sitting on the park swing one day. That man with the pointed ears who came to the diner one afternoon. And that time I looked in the bathroom mirror and for just a moment, my hair was blue. “I’m not losing my mind,” I repeat quietly, almost desperately. This is probably related to something I saw on TV. Or something I read. My brain is processing something fictional and regurgitating it more vividly than I expected. This is what people mean when they talk about an overactive imagination, right? “Yeah, that must be it,” I murmur. “That must be it.”

It must be anything except the obvious: that I’m turning out just like my mother.

I try to keep my gaze focused on the ground at my feet the rest of the way home, not wanting to see anything I shouldn’t be seeing. It’s a much longer journey than if I’d used the street I was supposed to use. The street the cloaked figure was on. It’s dark by the time I reach our driveway, and I almost run up it and around the side of Chelsea’s house. I’m never this eager to get home, but I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’ll be safe once I get inside. I let myself in through the kitchen door and take a moment to breathe as the door clicks shut behind me.

A boiling pot containing something that smells like it could be pasta sits on the stove. Through the open door that leads to the garage salon, I hear Chelsea and Georgia chatting. My earlier fear begins to seem silly in comparison to the ordinariness around me.

I cross the kitchen without calling hello to Chelsea and Georgia. They won’t particularly care that I’m home, and I don’t particularly care to greet them. Instead, I head straight for my bedroom, removing the money from my pocket as I go. I force my door open, shoving it past yet another box of Chelsea’s salon supplies that seems to have found its way into this room since this morning. I let my messenger bag slip off my shoulder and onto the bed, my focus now on counting out my commission from the money Slade paid me. The rest, of course, goes to dear Aunt Chelsea. She’s the one who makes the weird herbal remedies.

I pull my ice cream tub of toiletries off the shelf above my bed and look inside it for the resealable plastic bag I keep my savings in. I’ll count it all now and make sure I have enough, then buy a bus ticket tomorrow. I riffle through the various bottles, my fingers feeling for the crumpled plastic bag.

It’s gone.

My stomach drops as I empty the tub’s contents onto my bed, just to be sure. I spread everything out, but the little zipper bag definitely isn’t there. My skin grows cold, then hot. That was months and months of savings, all so that I could visit Mom, and now it’s gone?

My hands become fists as I storm out of the room and head straight for the salon. I find Georgia lounging in one of the chairs, staring at herself in the mirror as she combs her hand through her sleek blonde hair. On the opposite side of the room, Chelsea stocks the shelves with more of her homemade herbal products.

“Where’s my money?” I demand.

Georgia jumps in fright and almost slips out of her chair, but Chelsea is still for a moment before turning to face me. “Your money, Emerson?” she says. “I think you mean my money.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been stealing from me for months.”

“Stealing from—I have never stolen a single thing from you. I always give you exactly what you’re due and only keep the percentage I’m allowed. You know that.”

“Right.” Chelsea crosses her arms and nods. “And then you go back to my bedroom afterwards and steal whatever you want. Money’s been going missing from my purse for months now. At first I thought I was imagining it, that it must be my mistake, but then I started keeping track of exactly how much was there.” She gives me a triumphant smile, as if she’s done something wonderfully clever. “And you know what I discovered? Small amounts of money started to disappear every week or so. And look where I found it.” She digs in her pocket and pulls out a plastic bag. My plastic bag.

“That is my hard-earned savings,” I tell her, feeling a knot of nausea forming in my stomach. “That is not yours.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know how you girls spend money. As if it grows on trees and you have no responsibilities in the world. What I want to know is where is the rest of it?” She shakes the bag in the air between us. “Because you’ve taken way more than what’s left here.”

“I didn’t steal from you!” I shout. I glance at Georgia, who’s watching the two of us with a small smile. My anger increases a level as I point at her. “You want to know where your money’s been going? That’s where you should be looking.”

“Don’t you dare pin this on Georgia. She would never steal from me.”

“Well it isn’t me, so that doesn’t leave anyone else, does it.”

Chelsea lets out an incredulous laugh. “I cannot believe you, Emerson. After everything I’ve done for you. I work so hard to take care of both of you, and this is how you repay me? You steal from me and then you run all over town doing that useless parkour nonsense.”

“Everything?” I repeat. “Did you say after everything you’ve done for me?” Normally I’d keep my mouth shut. I’d bite down my anger and let her try to convince herself how amazingly charitable she is. But not this time. Not when she’s taken my one chance at visiting Mom. “You mean giving me Georgia’s second-hand clothing, making me sleep in what is essentially your storeroom for five years, and using me as your live-in maid?”

“I gave you a home,” she shouts. “You should be grateful for the roof over your head. What would have happened to you if there’d been no one to take you in after they locked your mother up? Your father sure as hell didn’t want you. He seems to be covering all your mother’s medical bills in that fancy faraway hospital, but is he interested in supporting you? Nope. I’ve never even met the man.”

Chelsea’s used this tack before to try to hurt me, but it never works. I couldn’t care less about my father or the fact that he has no interest in me. I don’t even know what he looks like. “Please,” I say between clenched teeth. “Just give me back my money.”

“You’re not getting this money back, Emerson. End of story.” Chelsea tucks the plastic bag back into her pocket and turns to her shelves of herbal garbage. Georgia pushes herself out of her chair and leaves the room. I stand there feeling sick, my body shaking, finally realizing that the hope I’ve been holding onto for months—the hope of finally visiting Mom again—is gone. And I can’t even blame Chelsea for it. Not entirely. Not when someone else is responsible for this mess.

I stride out of the salon and head for Georgia’s room. She’s sitting on her bed with a magazine, smiling sweetly, knowingly.

“It was you,” I say, taking a few steps into her room. “You told her where my money was.”

She lowers the magazine. “What could you possibly need all that money for, Em? You know we need it to keep the household running. How could you be so selfish?”

“How could you be so selfish stealing from your own mother?”

“I need things,” she says. “Things you don’t need. Things you wouldn’t understand, and Mom doesn’t seem to understand either.”

I glare at her for another few moments, my anger so intense I could scream. But it would do no good. I still have to get through another few months here, and so I clamp my mouth shut, turn around, and aim for the door.

But that’s when I see it: Hanging from a knob on the wardrobe, the tag still attached to the hem, is a brand new dress. “This is the stuff you need?” I demand, grabbing the hanger, spinning around, and shaking the dress at her.

“Yes.” She sits a little straighter, as if I’ve finally got her attention now that I’m threatening her clothing. “I have a boyfriend and a social life and a future. That kind of stuff doesn’t come for free. You have to look good if you want to⁠—”

I fling the dress at her, and she yelps as it hits the side of her head. “You bought a dress?” I yell. “I’ve been saving for almost a year so I could visit my mother, and you took that away from me for a DRESS?”

Something flashes across the room. Light and heat and the sound of a sizzle. It vanishes as Georgia falls back against the pillows with a scream.

Fear cracks through my anger, drenching me in goosebumps. I rush over to Georgia. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She shoves me away with one hand, the other covering her cheek. “What the hell did you do to me?” she gasps, her eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them.

“I didn’t do⁠—”

“You threw something at me! Like a firecracker or something. You freak, what is wrong with⁠—”

“I didn’t throw anything!”

“Get off her!” Chelsea’s hands wrap around my shoulders and tug me backward.

In the quiet that follows, all I hear is my heavy breathing and Georgia’s whimpering. She lowers her hand, revealing blood seeping from a shallow gash across her cheek. She glares at me with renewed hatred. “Oh, my poor baby,” Chelsea gasps, grabbing a tissue from the box on the nightstand. She drops onto the bed beside Georgia and presses the tissue against her cheek before turning her scowl toward me. “I can’t do this anymore, Em. You have never shown any gratitude for the sacrifices I’ve had to make for you. You’ve stolen from me, and now you’ve physically assaulted Georgia. The police can deal with you.”

“The police?”

She stands and brushes past me. “You’re not my problem anymore.” I follow her into the kitchen where she picks up her phone from the table. When she taps a few numbers and brings the phone to her ear, I realize she isn’t joking.

Fear dissolves my anger. “Chelsea, wait. I’m sorry. Georgia provoked me, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It won’t happen again. You don’t have to bring the cops into this. Please.” I feel sick having to beg her, having to plead with this woman who’s made me scrub toilets, do Georgia’s laundry, lie to the various men she’s always stringing along, and then demand my gratitude for the privilege of doing all these things for her. But it’s only for a few more months. Then I’ll be eighteen, school will be done, and I can make a plan to get out of here. But if the police get involved, who knows where I’ll end up.

“No,” Chelsea says. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this, but I have no choice now. I have to protect my daughter.”

“Chelsea, please. Protect her from what?” I step closer, clasping my hands together beneath my chin. “I swear I’ll never⁠—”

“You’re going to end up as crazy as your mother,” she snaps, “and I don’t want you in this house when that happens.”

I reel back as if she slapped me.

“Hello?” she says into the phone, turning away from me. “Yes, um, please can you send someone to⁠—”

I bolt past her toward the back door.

“Hey, get back here!” she yells as I tug the door open and run.

But I don’t go back. And I don’t stop running.

ChapterTwo

I race across the backyard, scale the neighbor’s fence, and easily vault the low wall on the other side of their garden. I have no plan other than to get as far away from home as possible before the cops show up. My sneakers slam pavements and my body launches across several more obstacles before I realize I’m heading for Val’s house. I get about halfway there when I remember she won’t be home. I’m not sure what time that party was supposed to start, but things generally get going pretty early around here. It’s not like there’s much else to do. Besides, Val’s house is probably the first place Chelsea will send the cops.

I slow my steps and place my hands on my hips as I catch my breath. My heart is thrumming, my body almost vibrating. I force myself to take a long, slow breath. “What the hell are you doing?” I mutter to myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have run. Maybe I should have stayed and explained myself. What’s the worst that could have happened?

You’re going to end up as crazy as your mother.

If the cops believe Chelsea—if someone performs some kind of medical test on me and her words turn out to be true—then the worst that could happen isn’t a physical assault charge. It isn’t juvy or community service or whatever the local law enforcement decides is a suitable punishment for me. No, the worst thing would be ending up in a facility just like my mother’s. Locked away to keep me from hurting others. Drugged to keep me from seeing things that aren’t there.

Basically, my worst nightmare would come true.

I find myself running again, this time toward Jade Mason’s place on the outskirts of town. It’s further away than I remember, and I’m breathless by the time I get there. I slow down near the bottom of the long driveway so I’m not a sweaty, panting mess when I reach the party.

Outside the Masons’ house, I find people milling around beside a bonfire and others sitting on the porch. Music reaches my ears. Not seeing Val anywhere outside, I run up the porch steps and into the house.

“Yo, Em, you made it this time.” Eric, the idiot who sits next to me in English class, nods at me from where he’s leaning against the hallway wall with some of his friends. “Hey, did you bring any of that herbal stuff your aunt sells?” He makes a few thrusting motions with his pelvis while his friends laugh. “You know how it gets me⁠—”

“Is Val here?” I ask.

“Yeah, that way.” He jerks his head toward the living room at the other end of the hallway. “Want a drink first?”

I walk past him without answering, letting the howls and boos from his friends mingle with the thumping background music. In the dim, smoky living room, Dash is standing just inside the doorway, commanding an audience of several girls. His eyebrows twitch momentarily into a frown when he sees me, but it only lasts a moment. Then he shakes his head and smirks.

Ignoring him, I walk into the room and spot Val on a couch with a bunch of our classmates. She has a cup in each hand. “Val!” I hurry over to her.

“Hey, you came.” She beams at me as she shuffles over and nods her head toward the open spot on the couch. “Come sit here.”

“No, I’m—can I talk to you?”

She must hear the urgency in my voice—or perhaps see it on my face—because she pushes herself to her feet immediately. “Something wrong?” she asks, walking with me to the edge of the room. We stop beside a window. My body still feels like it’s humming, so I shake my hands, roll my shoulders, and force myself to breathe out slowly. Val frowns. “Em, what is it?”

“Chelsea found my stash of money. She freaked out and accused me of stealing from her.”

“What? No way. You would never steal from her.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. It was obviously Georgia, but there’s no point in telling Chelsea that. She would never believe her little angel capable of stealing. And then … I—I lost my temper, and Georgia and I were fighting, and I scratched her face.” I can’t tell Val it wasn’t me. I can’t tell her that something strange and inexplicable happened in that room. She’d probably look at me the same way Chelsea did in the kitchen. You’re going to end up as crazy as your mother. “And then she said she can’t deal with me anymore and called the cops.”

“Seriously?” Val looks at me as if she may not have heard correctly. “Chelsea called the cops because you scratched Georgia? That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. But …” I look around. “Is your cousin here? Lexi? If I can talk to her, then she can explain to her dad what actually happened, and he can tell the other cops, and then they won’t take me away.”

“Take you away?” Val starts laughing. “Em, you need to chill. Uncle Pete isn’t going to take this seriously. He knows you’re not, like, an actual criminal. Maybe he’ll make you pick up litter in the park or something, just to keep Chelsea happy, but he isn’t going to take you away.”

Suddenly I wonder if I’m being as silly as Val seems to think. It was just a scratch, after all. Well, a bit more than a scratch, but hardly life-threatening. “You think?” I run a hand through my hair, not willing to relax just yet.

“Yeah, come on. This is a small town. We all know each other. People don’t get locked up for something this stupid.”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean you guess?” She smiles and nudges me with one hand still grasping a cup. Cold liquid sloshes over the edge and splashes my arm. “Obviously I’m right about this. So just relax. Have fun. Get a drink.”

I sigh, trying to breathe out my panic and not fully succeeding. “You remember that this kind of setting isn’t exactly my idea of fun, right?”

“I know. But Jade’s brother’s friend Marcus is gonna be here soon, and I need backup. You know I get weird when I’m left alone with a hot guy. Please stay.”

I don’t exactly want to stay, but it’s probably the best option. Chelsea wasn’t joking about pressing charges—or attempting to, at least—but she’ll probably calm down if I give her a bit of space for the night. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yay.” Val grins. “Here, have a drink.” She holds one of her cups out toward me, then rolls her eyes at my raised eyebrow. “It’s non-alcoholic, I promise. Gotta stay hydrated, remember? Alcoholic—” she lifts the other cup “—and non-alcoholic.”

I hesitate, but I’m thirsty after working in the diner’s kitchen all afternoon, taking the extra-long route home, and then running across town to get here. I realize it’s been hours since I drank anything. “Thanks.” I survey the room over the top of the cup as I take a gulp, expecting something sweet and fizzy. But the drink burns like fire all the way down my throat. I cough and splutter and shove the cup back toward Val.

“What’s wrong?”

“Val, this is awful,” I manage to say. “What’s in it?”

With a confused expression, she takes the cup from me and sips. Then she raises the other cup, sniffs, and tastes it. “Hmm.” Her frown deepens. “I guess they both have alcohol. I must have finished the soda already.” She shrugs. “Oh well. At least you only had a little.”

“Val!”

“What? I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose. And one sip isn’t going to kill you.”

I cough again, trying to rid my throat of the burning sensation. “It was a bit more than a sip,” I mutter.

Val downs the remainder of one cup, then leaves it on the windowsill and grasps my hand. As she tugs me behind her, I hope we’re headed back to the couch I found her on. Instead, she pulls me into the next room where too many people are squished together, nodding their heads in time to the beat and yelling to each other over the music.

Val leans into me and says, “Ooh, Marcus is here already. See him over there in the corner? And you can snuggle up to that guy he’s with. Maybe we’ll both end up with someone by the end of the night, and then we’ll go double-dating and get married and live happily ever after.”

I shake my head at Val’s ridiculous daydreams. “Right, and then they’ll cheat on us, and we’ll both end up alone like our moms.”

“Hey!” Val smacks my arm, but her smile jumps back into place as she pulls me across the room toward Marcus and his friend. The friend’s name is Trent, and sure, he’s not bad to look at, but I’m way too distracted to enjoy his company. I lean against the wall, playing with the hairband around my wrist and occasionally nodding so the three of them think I’m paying attention to their conversation. Instead, my thoughts are far away, flitting continuously between Chelsea’s words—you’re going to end up as crazy as your mother—the cloaked person I imagined on the street, and the unexplained gash across Georgia’s cheek. Around and around my thoughts go, until nothing seems to make sense anymore.

I become aware that my body is still humming. Probably Val’s awful drink. That doesn’t make sense, my thoughts whisper at the back of my mind, but I’ve never drunk alcohol before, so how would I know? Maybe everyone starts to feel strange after one giant sip.

Val is looking at me, smiling and speaking, and I try to follow what she’s saying, but I can’t seem to focus anymore. Her words slip in one side of my head and out the other, and the room is somehow … tilting just the slightest. I look at the floor, but it seems normal. This feeling in my head isn’t normal, though. This hazy semi-awareness. The sensation that I’m cocooned in something soft that dampens the thump, thump, thump of the music and the sound of Val’s voice. Perhaps I should be concerned, but I can’t find the part of me that cares. The part of me that wants to fall into this soft cocoon and sleep is taking over.

I remember the couch in the next room. “I’m just … gonna …” I point to the door and start moving toward it. I’ve never had to concentrate on walking upright, but it’s strangely difficult right now. The floor keeps wanting to move up toward me.

The couch is packed with people. They wouldn’t like it if I lay down on them, so I manage to maneuver my way out of the room and into the hallway. I drag my hand along the wall, keeping myself upright as I make my way to the front door. The air outside is cooler, fresher. I stand on the porch for a while, leaning against the railing and breathing in deeply until I notice the air isn’t that fresh after all. It smells like smoke.

I need to get home. I need to walk and breathe and leave this weird haziness behind. I need to sleep. Everything will be clearer when I wake up in the morning.

The porch stairs are a challenge, but I manage to navigate them. I’m relieved to be on the grass and moving away from the house and the people, but the cotton-wool stuffiness in my brain seems to follow me.

“Hey, there you are.” Val appears at my side. “Are you leaving already?”

“Whatareyou … doingoutside?” I pause, open my mouth wider, and focus intently on not slurring my next words. “You should be in there with your hot guy.”

“Ugh, no, I just said the dumbest thing ever. Marcus looked at me like I was a kid. So embarrassing. I swear, I wish the earth had just split open and swallowed me whole.”

“So what?” I mumble, my voice resonating oddly in my ears as I sway on the spot. “Then let the earth split open and swallow you whole.”

A tremor rumbles beneath our feet. “What was that?” Val asks.

With a grinding screech, a jagged tear zigzags across the garden, tearing the earth open. Terror shreds through some of the cotton wool in my head, making everything a little clearer. I smother a scream and stumble backward.

But Val slips at the edge of the crack and slides into it.

“Val!” I fall onto my knees and scramble closer. She’s clinging to the edge, screaming. I can’t see how deep the crack is, but suddenly it begins narrowing. As I grab onto Val’s arms, dark earth closes in around her body. “Stop!” I gasp. “Stop, please stop! Help!” I give her arms a desperate tug, lose my grip on her, and fall backwards.

And darkness envelops everything.

ChapterThree

Waking up is like clawing my way through thick, sticky mud while someone whacks my head repeatedly with a hammer. When I finally manage to unglue my eyelids and blink several times, I squint at my blurry bedroom, trying to remember how I got home and into bed.

Except this isn’t my bedroom.

Alarm rushes through me, clearing the haze and causing my head to pound even more. Nausea crawls up my throat as recent events flood my brain. The blood on Georgia’s face—Chelsea calling the cops—the party—an earthquake splitting the ground open and—what the hell happened last night? That last bit can’t have been real. There must have been something weird in Val’s drink.

My pulse thumps in my ears as I take in the unfamiliar bedroom and its stylish furnishings. On the other side of the room, someone opens the door and walks in. “Oh, you’re awake,” he says. “Morning.”

“Dash? Where am … Did you abduct me? What the actual fu⁠—”

“Whoa, hold on there, Miss Potty Mouth.” He picks up a chair and moves it closer to the bed. “Mom’s nearby. She doesn’t appreciate language like that.”

I gape at him. “This is your house?” I had no idea rooms this nice existed in the crummy little town of Stanmeade. “What the hell am I doing here?”

“Well,” he says as he drops into the chair, “I had to rescue you from the mess you made.”

“The mess I made?” I press my hands over my face so I don’t have to look at him. The pounding ache behind my eyes intensifies and the nausea threatens to overwhelm me. “What was in that drink?” I mumble.

“Nothing sinister,” he says lightly. “Faeries don’t respond well to the alcohol humans manufacture, that’s all. I guess you’ve managed to stay away from it until now, otherwise you’d be familiar with the hangover effects.”

I lower my hands and push the duvet back. “You know what, Dash? You can make fun of me all you want. I don’t care, especially considering ‘faerie’ is probably the weakest taunt you’ve ever come up with.” I stand, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Just let me out of here so I can get home.”

Dash rises. “That’s going to be a little difficult.”

I place my hands on my hips and give him my fiercest glare—which probably isn’t that fierce, given my current state. “You’re not seriously going to try and stop me, are you?”

“No, I’m not going to stop you from doing anything. I just need to explain a few things first. Well, a lot of things, actually. So you should probably sit down.”

“I don’t think so.” I push past him, glancing at the mirror over the dresser, and— “What the—” I gasp, almost tripping over my own feet. I grip the edge of the dresser and stare for several horrified moments at the strands of bright color mixed in with my dark brown hair.

“Em?”

“My hair is blue!” I screech. I swing around, regretting it immediately when the room keeps spinning despite the fact that I’ve come to a stop.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot you couldn’t see that before.”

“Why is my hair blue?”

He sighs. “You were born that way.”

My voice is slow and shaky as I say, “I was not born with blue hair.”

“You were. You just haven’t been able to see it until now. It’s … well, it’s a faerie trait. You’re a magical being, but your magic is kind of … faulty. Sometimes it’s there—like the first time you saw me when I was actually hidden by a glamour—but most of the time it isn’t. Well,” he adds with a frown, “until last night when it exploded all over everything. It hasn’t disappeared since then, so I have a feeling it’s here to stay now.”

Silence fills the room for several seconds, until I become aware of the fact that my mouth is hanging open. “You’re insane,” I whisper.

“I’m not insane. I’m just not doing this part particularly well, it would seem. Which isn’t entirely my fault, I’d like to point out, seeing as you’re already strongly biased against me.”

“My strong bias exists for excellent reasons!” I yell. “Which now include the fact that you dyed parts of my hair blue!”

He blinks. “You need to get past the hair thing. It doesn’t come close to being the biggest revelation of the day.”

“This is complete crap.” I turn and head for the door—but he gets there first and blocks the way with his body.

“You need to hear me out, Em. You’re going to be horribly confused if you don’t let me explain everything.”

I swivel around and head for the opposite side of the room, to the glass double doors through which I can make out a balcony. I don’t particularly want to climb down the side of the building in my current state, but I’ll do it if it’s the only way out of this room. I tug the doors open, hurry outside, and freeze.

In the expansive garden below, which is washed in the pale light of dawn, the trees and rose bushes are glowing. Not due to artificial lighting, but as if the luminescence emanates from within the plants themselves. Blueish white roses, and luminous purple leaves. Silver water trickles over the rocks in the water feature at the garden’s center, where two tiny creatures that look like winged horses are drinking.

“Get me out of here,” I whisper. My hands rise to squeeze the sides of my face, as if this is a terrible dream I can force myself to wake from. “Take me back home.”

Above the thudding of my pulse in my ears, I hear Dash’s footsteps moving closer. “I can’t. Aside from all the things I still have to explain, you also need to tell me exactly what you did last night.”

“Take me back.”

“Emerson, you can’t hide from this. I know you didn’t expect everything to change, but now it has, so⁠—”

“Take me back!” I yell, grasping his T-shirt in both my hands and tugging him closer. “I want to wake up. In my own bedroom. Far away from you and your⁠—”

“Fine!” He removes my fists from his clothing. “If you insist on being so difficult. If you insist on ignoring what’s right in front of your eyes.” He holds his hand up, palm facing the bedroom, and something pen-shaped flies through the air—through the freaking air—and into his grasp. The blood drains from my face as my brain rejects what I’m seeing. Pinpricks of light slide across my vision as Dash writes on the wall beside the balcony door. His hand encircles my wrist and tugs me forward into the wall—into the wall—and when everything vanishes into darkness, I’m so relieved because I know the nightmare is coming to an end. I know I’ll wake up soon.

“Happy now?” Dash says.

The darkness melts away, and I’m standing on the road a few houses down from Chelsea’s. The kid from next door rides down the driveway on his older brother’s battered bicycle. “Morning, Em,” he says as he rides past, lifting his hand to wave at me, then returning it swiftly to the handlebars as he wobbles.

I blink. Without looking back, I start walking. Quickly, almost at a run, as my brain works furiously to come up with a logical explanation for what just happened. This is some kind of super vivid dream. Or maybe it was a vivid dream, and I’ve just woken up—on the street? Barefoot? I falter and throw a glance over my shoulder, but Dash is nowhere to be seen. Obviously, because I was never with him. I’ve been dreaming. Flip, there must have been something seriously weird in Val’s drink last night. Something more than just alcohol.

I come to a sudden halt as an image of Val tumbling into a crack in the earth flashes across my vision. “That never happened,” I whisper to myself. “Val is fine.” I press my hands over my face, breathing in slowly and pushing aside the single thought that keeps trying to force its way to the front of my mind: I’m mentally ill, just like my mother.

I shake my head and hurry up the driveway, feeling for my phone as I go. It isn’t in any of my pockets, though. Did I leave it at the party last night? I push the back door open and walk into the kitchen.

“Emerson!”

I flinch and look up. Chelsea rises from the table and takes a few fumbling steps backward, knocking a box of cereal off the counter in the process. Val’s Uncle Pete, his uniform buttons straining against the bulge of his stomach, gets to his feet. He keeps his wary gaze on me as Chelsea asks, “Where have you been?”

“Uh …” That’s a good question, actually. One I wish I knew the answer to. “I knew you were pissed off,” I explain carefully, “and I didn’t want to make things worse, so I stayed away. And I’m so sorry about fighting with Georgia. But you know we argue all the time.” My gaze flits to Pete before returning to Chelsea. “It isn’t something you need to get the cops involved for.”

I expect her to shout at me like she did last night, but her grip on the counter tightens as she swallows and looks at Pete. His fingers twitch, his right hand clenching and unclenching. “What happened at the Masons’ house last night, Emerson?”

“The—the Masons’ house?”

“Don’t pretend you know nothing,” Chelsea says, a slight wobble evident in her voice. “We’ve heard all about it. We saw the video.”

“What video? What are you talking about?”

Pete moves forward, places his cell phone on the table, and pushes it toward me. I take a step closer and look down at the grainy, shaky footage of a bonfire and people laughing. The fire moves out of view as the person holding the camera turns and almost bumps into Val. After a quick apology, Val walks away. More laughter, someone shouts, “Emerson’s drunk,” and then the camera follows Val. It gets close enough to pick up her voice as she says, “I swear, I wish the earth had just split open and swallowed me whole.”

My blood chills. I watch myself swaying, eyes half-closed. “So what? Then let the earth split open and swallow you whole.”

I know what’s coming before I see it. Goosebumps race across my skin as the footage wobbles again, then focuses on the ground. The earth rips itself open in one grinding, shuddering zigzag. Val slips and disappears. I hear screams and shouting, and then the video cuts off.

My brain wants to reject what I’ve just seen, but it can’t. It happened, I say silently to myself. It actually happened.

Chelsea begins swearing repeatedly beneath her breath, and for some reason, Dash’s voice resonates in my head: Mom’s nearby. She doesn’t appreciate language like that.

“What the hell was that?” Pete asks, his voice a whisper now.

I open my mouth, but I can’t come up with an answer.

“Holy heck, it’s like having flipping Carrie living under my own roof,” Chelsea wails. “You have to take her away, Pete. Please just get her out of here.”

“Wait! I … I didn’t do that. It must have been a coincidence. An earthquake happened at the same time I was talking. You don’t think I could actually make that happen, do you?” I’m trying to convince myself as much as them. “And what about Val? Did she⁠—”

“You don’t need to worry about Val,” Pete says. “But you do need to come with me.”

“Are you kidding? You—I mean—didn’t you see what else was happening there? Illegal underage drinking? You should be dealing with that, not this weird earthquake coincidence.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Em.” Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal, Pete comes toward me. I take a quick step backwards, moving beyond his reach. He frowns and hesitates. “Em, please. We don’t need to make this unpleasant. We just want to get you somewhere safe so you don’t hurt anyone.”

“But I’m not going to hurt anyone, I swear.”

Another two policemen move from the hallway into the kitchen, and I realize they must have been waiting there the whole time. They’re backup. Because I’m supposedly too dangerous for one cop to handle. I shake my head, barely able to believe this is happening, as I inch further away from them.

A pause.

No one speaks.

Then all three policemen lunge toward me. Chelsea screams, chairs are knocked aside, and moments later I’m being dragged outside. Rough paving grazes my feet, and pain shoots through my shoulders as my arms are almost yanked from their sockets.

“LET GO!” I yell.

Their hands spring away from me so fast that the momentum swings the three men around and dumps them on the ground. “What the hell?” Pete groans. He pushes himself onto his knees and dives for my legs.

I jump backwards out of reach. “Get away from me!”

As if kicked with superhuman strength, Pete slides across the grass, through the door, and into the kitchen table. Chelsea shrieks again. At the sound of a crackle, I look down and see sparks—sparks?—whizzing around my hands. Icy terror drenches me.

“Time to go,” a voice says behind me. Something grips my arm, and before I have time to tear myself away, I’m pulled into darkness, a silent scream on my lips.

ChapterFour

The darkness evaporates to reveal Dash at my side and a garden bathed in the golden glow of sunrise. The same garden I saw from the balcony minutes ago. I shove Dash away from me, drop onto my knees, and throw up on the grass.

“Lovely,” he says when I’m done. “Thank goodness I didn’t take you back inside the house.”

“What happened to … to Val?” I gasp, trying to swallow down the urge to throw up again and failing.

When my retching finally ends, Dash says, “She’s fine. One of my teammates got her out of the ground. She’s already forgotten the whole thing.”

“How could she have …” My words trail off as I look up and see one of those miniature winged horses soaring through the air behind Dash. I climb slowly to my feet and look around. The roses and leaves are still faintly glowing, but their luminescence is less obvious now with the sun’s golden light filtering through the trees. The little horse lands in a shallow part of the rock pool and begins frolicking, tossing droplets of silver water about as it plays. Wherever the water lands, a silver mushroom pops up.

My brain keeps repeating the same message: I must be dreaming. This is not possible. I’ve gone off the deep end and entirely lost my mind. But I don’t think my imagination is capable of coming up with this kind of fantastical detail. And everything seems so real. The fresh scent of flowers, the prickle of grass beneath my feet. The sour taste of puke in my mouth.

“Explain,” I whisper. “Make this make sense.”

Dash folds his arms over his chest. “Okay then. Once upon a time there lived a little girl whose name was⁠—”

I cut him off with a glare. “Don’t turn my life into some fairytale crap. Just give me the facts.” Something bright flies from the tip of my tongue, and my immediate thought is that I must be so angry I’m actually spitting saliva. But no. It’s a spark of light. The same kind that crackled around my hands after Pete was somehow thrown away from me. Fear slithers down my spine as I clamp my mouth shut.

“Okay, here are the bare-bone facts,” Dash says. “Magic is real, and it exists in a realm that overlaps with the world you grew up in. Fae live on this side; humans and all the other non-magical creatures you recognize live on the other side. I’m a faerie, like you. I’m also a guardian, which means I’m trained to fight dark magic, dangerous fae, that sort of thing. The day you and I first met, I had an assignment on your side of the veil.”

“The day you ruined everything,” I murmur, remembering my mother wailing, covering her head with her hands, shouting about things that weren’t real.

Dash looks annoyed that I’ve interrupted his story. “You have got to stop hating me for that. You know they would have taken her away anyway. Maybe not that day, but soon afterwards. She wasn’t in her right mind⁠—”

“Don’t you dare talk about her.”

“Anyway,” he continues loudly, “nobody was supposed to see me, but you did. And with that color in your hair, I knew you were a faerie. But then it kind of flickered and was gone, and you couldn’t see me anymore. It was as if everything magical about you was suddenly bottled up, inaccessible. Once we were done with the assignment, I mentioned you in my Guild report, and they⁠—”

“Your Guild report?” I say with a snort. “You were like twelve. Does this Guild of yours breed child soldiers or something?”

“No. We’re not soldiers, and by the time training is done, we’re not children anymore. And I was thirteen, not twelve. I’d just begun my training. It was a group assignment, but we were all in different areas of the park, and I was the only one who had any interaction with you. So yes, I reported it afterwards. Faeries with dodgy magic who think they’re human shouldn’t be ignored.”

“Oh, right, because I’m probably a danger to society or something like that,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“Potentially, yes.” Dash’s tone is deadly serious, and an image of the ground ripping open comes immediately to mind. I wrap my arms around myself and look away. “I don’t know if the Guild investigated you at all,” Dash continues, “because it was none of my business. I got on with my training, and it was about six months later when you showed up near another one of my assignments. Then a few months later you were there again.”

“I remember seeing you,” I murmur. “I figured you must live somewhere near Stanmeade. I thought it was weird, since it’s so far away from where I first saw you. In that park near where Mom and I used to live. But I was so mad at you that I didn’t focus too much on it being a weird coincidence.”

“Well, the Guild didn’t think it was a coincidence. They thought something else might be going on. That maybe your weird on-off magic was causing problems, or attracting trouble-makers or something, and that’s how I ended up with three assignments near you. But they couldn’t find any connection, and someone on the Council said you should be left alone. That the Guild shouldn’t interfere with you unless there was evidence that your magic really was breaking free and causing trouble. But the rest of the Council wanted someone to keep tabs on you, just in case. They complained about it being a waste of time and resources for a trained guardian to do it, though, so I volunteered.” His mouth pulls up one side in a half-grin. “We were encouraged to take on extra projects outside of training. It looks good on the resume. Shows initiative or something.”

I throw my hands up. “Wonderful. You’re my flipping babysitter.”

“Uh, I think detective might be a more accurate comparison.”

“Stalker, maybe?”