Will curled up on the end of the sofa in Violet’s hotel suite, watching her pack an astounding number of blouses, skirts, trousers, and shoes into an array of suitcases. It was bizarre to have
that much clothing
. “You really ought to have someone do that.”
She leveled an unfriendly look at him. “No.”
“I could hel—”
“No,” she cut him off. “You read. I sort. I don’t mess with your coping strategy. You don’t mess with mine.” She had one hand on her hip and the other upraised, pointing at him. “And don’t think that provoking me is going to get any questions answered. I’m wise to your tricks now.”
Unapologetically, Will shrugged. He didn’t need a whole lot of tricks to guess what was wrong. Both Roan and Vi were being prickly. The news had a bit on a
catastrophic tunnel fire, and the speculation that it was yet another attack by the Queen of Blood and Rage had been confirmed by one of her terse messages to a local news outlet.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Violet threw a boot at him. He caught it. Dealing with Violet’s temperamental nature was more of a game than a challenge.
“Don’t.”
“Roan doesn’t want to talk about it either,” Will continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He tossed the boot back toward her.
“It was horrible,” she admitted, her tense expression fading away for a moment.
“Isn’t it always?”
“Did you . . . were you given any work to do for
her
over the summer?” Very pointedly not looking at him, Violet tucked the boot into a bag with its match. “The movie has been . . . I should’ve checked in more.”
Will sighed. “I’m not
actually
your little brother, Vi. I’m just as capable as the rest of you.” He stared at her, looking for a sign that she understood. “I wear as many masks as you do. My mother’s dutiful son, the team’s quiet one, Roan’s supportive boyfriend.”
“But they’re all real . . . aren’t they?”
“They are, but I’m not just
one
of any of those things.” Will shook his head. “Don’t try to shelter me so much, okay? I know things are changing, but that doesn’t mean
I’m not as capable—or as much under threat as you are. The same classes, the fighting, the requisite sword and gun and . . . all of it, Vi. I’ve been there too.”
“But you haven’t had to k—”
“I have,” he interrupted. “Zeph knows. Kam too.”
Violet’s mouth gaped open, and Will wondered—not for the first time—if he should’ve told her when he’d had to do so. He knew her though. She would do as she had with Roan, as Zephyr had done for both Creed and Alkamy. She’d have taken his task as her own to protect him.
“If I’d have known . . .” Violet’s eyes filled with tears.
Will shrugged. “That’s why I didn’t tell either of you.”
“But . . .” Fierce moody Violet folded her arms over her chest as if to stop herself from shaking. It was, oddly, all the proof he needed that he’d made the right choice. She wanted to protect everyone around her, and as much as he loved her for it, he wasn’t going to ask it of her—or allow her to do it on her own if he could help it.
Will was sick of everyone trying to shield him.
When he came home
that
night, hands still shaking but holding it together more than he’d expected when he’d received the orders from Clara, he thought he had managed it all well enough.
The door fell shut behind him with an almost inaudible
snick
. It was the only sound in the townhouse, making it seem louder than it really was. He slipped his shoes off and was about to go up to his room, when a series of soft thuds drew his attention as someone stood and walked toward him.
“I can’t protect you,” his mother said from the darkness of the
foyer. “If you get in trouble, you’ll end up exposed for what you are. I can’t protect you then.”
“For what I am?”
“I know we don’t talk about things,” she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, “and I know that what I did in order to be your mother might not have been
right
, but I don’t regret it and I wouldn’t want to change it.”
Her arms were folded tightly, and as she turned the light on, her fluffy yellow bathrobe looked oddly cheerful despite the conversation. They weren’t talkers. They debated, and they discussed. That was different. It was mental exercise. This . . . this was bordering on emotional revelation, and Senator Parrish simply didn’t
do
that.
“If you get exposed for whatever you sneak out to do, they’ll test you. It’s standard for arrests now.”
“I was out late
once
and—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off. “I see your friends, Will. Do you honestly want to try to tell me that they aren’t fae-blood? That you aren’t
aware
of what they are?”
“So the anonymous donor . . .”
“There was no anonymous donor. There was an offer, a fae who offered me the one thing I wanted more than anything,” she said softly. “I couldn’t conceive, despite science. I didn’t have a partner either. When I was offered a chance to be a mother . . . I accepted.”
“You willingly slept with a fae-blood then.”
“No,” she corrected. “I slept with one of the true fae. The faery who fathered you was not able to pass as human. He had no desire to bed a woman—fae or human—but he wanted a child. We
both
wanted a child.”
Will nodded. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He had heard Zephyr explain that they were “modern changelings,” that instead of leaving behind sick faery babies in exchange for stealing healthy human children as the fae once had, the fae had left strong fae children behind in order to be raised in this world to fight for their
true
families. There was no way, though, that Zephyr’s explanation made sense. Will knew that his mother was truly his biological mother. That meant that it was likely that Zephyr was either lying to them or believing in a lie he’d been told. His mother had just given Will proof of his own suspicions about his heritage.
“Do you ever hear from him . . . my father, I mean . . .”
She shook her head, and then, in a very tentative tone, she asked, “Have you?”
Will shook his head.
“So you’re not out . . . doing things for him?”
“Things?” Will prompted.
“If you are a fae sympathizer, if you are out working for t—”
“Do you love me?” he interrupted. “Even though I’m not all human, do you love me?”
“Of course I do! I
chose
to have you. I knew exactly what that meant.” She scowled at him with the same ferocity he’d seen when she was arguing one of the causes she most loved. “You’re why I support all those eco-acts. It’s to give you a healthier world. That’s what fae need. The cooks who are instructed about your ‘allergies,’ the house with purified air, the trips . . . It’s not like there are books on ‘How to Raise Your Not Quite Human Child.’” Her voice lowered at the end, as if even here there could be someone
listening. “I’m trying to do what I can to take care of you because I love you.”
He nodded. It was good to hear.
“You made a bargain with a faery, Mom. That never comes without a price.” He paused and looked at her. “I pay the price.”
Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
He sighed. His mother was tough, fierce, implacable . . . all things that she didn’t appear to be tonight. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you too. Just . . . don’t ask questions, okay?”
“Are you hur—”
“I’m as fine as I can be,” he assured her. “Just stay you. Stay the way we’ve always been, and we will pretend that neither of us knows what was said here.”
She nodded.
Will let go and stepped away. He was halfway up the steps when she added, “I’m not sorry. No matter what, I’m not sorry I said yes to him that night. I’m proud to be your mom.”
And he wanted to say he understood, to say he forgave her, but the truth was that she wasn’t the one paying the cost of the deal she’d made. She wasn’t the one who had left bodies on the ground on the orders of the Queen of Blood and Rage. She wasn’t the one with bloodied hands.
She wouldn’t be the one to be imprisoned for life simply for existing.
He had to pay for simply being born. Murder, death, or imprisonment, those were the choices. As abhorrent as murder was, it was
the only option that let him have some semblance of a life.
The phone in Violet’s room trilled, pulling him out of his memories. The front desk called up to let them know that his ride to the airport was waiting.
“You know Creed talks to one of them,” Will said quietly, his mind still on his own biological father. “The true fae, I mean.”
“How?”
Violet shoved her suitcase aside forcefully. “We’re not to go there, have contact . . . what is he thinking?”
“Creed does what he wants, always has.” Will shrugged.
“I’m guessing Zephyr has no idea, then?”
Will gave her a look. Zephyr was a good guy, so was Creed, but the two had been at odds for years. Will couldn’t say he thought either of their approaches to dealing with the fae were exactly
wise
, but his answer—keep his own counsel and avoid the politics of any sort—wasn’t necessarily better. It just worked for
him
.
“It’s like they think we’re animals, you know? Mangy dogs they train and put in pits to fight . . . except
we
fight humans who don’t even know. It’s . . . argh.” Violet’s temper simmered enough that her skin was throwing sparks.
Will walked over to her. “We all cope in our own ways, Vi. That’s what you just said a few minutes ago, right? Creed does whatever it is that he’s doing. Zeph follows orders. We all find ways to be okay with being Sleepers.”
“Do you know what Creed’s
doing
though? Who he’s talk—”
“No. I just know that there is someone there that Creed meets, and if something happened to me . . . I wanted someone else to know too.” Will wasn’t sure why Creed spoke to them, or why he kept it from Zephyr, or anything beyond the simple truth: they might be a team, but every last one of them kept secrets from at least
some
of the others.
“You could tell Roan,” Violet suggested.
“I told you instead.” Will hugged Violet, kissed her cheek, and stepped back. “I’ll see you at school, okay?”
She nodded. “Don’t tell the others that I’m probably coming back early after all or—”
“Vi,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll see you when you get there.”
And then he left. She was okay, as okay as any of them were, and that’s what he’d needed to know. They kept their secrets to protect themselves and to protect each other. One of these days, though, one of their secrets was going to be too much.
After Lily had left the garden, and Creed, she walked back to the office where the headmistress was. Hector said nothing when she walked in, but he did reach out and pluck the bit of hedge that was caught in her hair. She’d left it there on purpose, a statement verifying where she was. It was a lesson her father had taught her: provide clues to prove the theory you
want
people to believe. It helped hide the truth. She had been in the garden. No one needed to know that she’d met Creed there. No one needed to know that she’d revealed her heritage or that they’d made fae vows that they meant no harm to each other.
Hector held the tiny piece of greenery out to her. “I see you found the gardens.”
She took the tiny branch. “They’re perfect.”
For all of his professional mannerisms when there were
witnesses, Hector did relax when they were alone. Lily watched as the tension in his shoulders eased, and he told her, “I’m glad for you.”
“Two sixteen,” the headmistress said, breaking into Lily’s quiet moment with her guard. “Your suite is two sixteen. It’s the end unit on the second floor of the East Tower. We are on the ground floor, so you’ll need to ascend two levels. That is the lowest of the dormitory floors.”
“Thank you,” Lily said. Two floors of stairs was much nicer than it could’ve been. She’d requested a low floor, but the dorms went up to the twelfth level in both towers.
“When the dorms are not open or after curfew, all student access is through this building. An enclosed airwalk connects each dormitory to the main hall on the second floor.” Mistress Cuthbert paused. “Your father mentioned an aversion to elevators.”
This time, Lily only nodded. She’d known that admitting some of her quirks to the staff was necessary, but she still didn’t like it.
Abernathy Commandment #6: Never confess your vulnerabilities if you can avoid it.
“I’m fine with the lifts when I must be,” Lily demurred.
“Well, in any matter, to reach the second floor you can use the staircases.” Mistress Cuthbert paused a heartbeat too long before adding, “I feel I should let you know that your suitemate is not representative of the majority of our student body. If you find that you need new accommodations, come see me, and we’ll find somewhere else.”
Having been dismissed with that mysterious statement, Lily walked out of the office.
Daidí had requested a single room, but for all of St. Columba’s indulgences, this was their one sticking point: everyone was assigned a suitemate.
Lily could only hope that hers was bland enough not to bother her overmuch. Living with someone who trailed glitter everywhere, for example, would surely bring out her less charming side. When she’d answered the questionnaire, she’d been very clear: studious, quiet, no smokers. There were a lot of traits she could learn to accept, in theory, but she required good sleep and clear air. Those were non-negotiable.
When she reached the lift, which looked about as modern as the rest of the building, Hector folded his meaty arms over his chest. “I can walk up the stairs and carry your bags to your suite, Lilywhite.”
“No. I can handle it.”
He titled his head in disbelief. Everyone on Daidí’s staff knew that she struggled with closed spaces. Lily had always had difficulty breathing if she wasn’t surrounded by moving air. This, too, was a reason that Daidí had kept her home for so long—her fae traits were hard to hide when she was younger.
She drew several deep breaths in preparation for her few moments in the small space and insisted, “I
can
do this. I need to be able to pass as . . . not
me
, Hector.”
Hector shook his head, but he didn’t argue. He knew
that she had to work to blend in when she could. Silently, he put all three of the bags into the narrow car. Before he stepped back for her to get inside it, he said, “Mr. Abernathy doesn’t want you to worry, but there were threats at home. You’re safer here. Just . . . keep your
accessories
in reach and try to follow the rules, okay? He worries.”
“I’ve been practicing with my
accessories
for years. Remind him . . . that I’m careful, okay?”
If she needed help, she’d tell Daidí, but right now, all she needed was space. Hopefully, she could tell Zephyr she wasn’t interested in whatever madness he thought she’d be into joining, and that would be the end of it.
“Tell Daidí I’m going to be fine here. Tell him . . .” Lily paused when her voice shook, but she steadied herself and continued, “Tell him that
he
needs to stay safe too.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Hector promised as he gestured for her to get into the lift car.
She paused, thinking about Abernathy Commandment #9.
Be kind to those who deserve it.
Briefly, she hugged Hector and nodded good-bye to him.
He watched her until the car started to ascend. It was only two floors, but she had to count her breathing in and out to cope with the narrow space.
When the lift stopped on the second floor, Lily all but leaped out. She shoved one suitcase forward with a foot and pulled another behind her. Once those were out, she yanked the third one clear of the doors.
Daidí had often said that trying the things that frighten us was how we got stronger. He’d also talked about how her mother was the strongest, bravest women he’d ever met. Iana Abernathy was a hard ideal to live up to.
Lily had tried. She did things that frightened her, strove to be like her mother, but that didn’t stop her from having moments of weakness. Today, she was smack in the middle of a day-long “moment,” so proving that she could handle the lifts was critical. Those were the tasks that stood out, the ones that were accomplished under duress, and now, she’d succeeded. She’d handled the enclosed space with no panic attacks. Earlier, she’d managed a conversation with the obscenely beautiful Zephyr Waters. All told, despite the downsides of both events, they were still victories of a sort.
With a brief smile, Lily lashed two of the suitcases together and then pulled the double bags with one hand and pushed the solo bag with the other. By the time she’d crossed the airwalk and reached the East Tower, Lily was ready to abandon one of the bags.
Not a snowflake!
she reminded herself. That was the point she had to prove to herself. She could be just like other people, not a fragile thing to be safeguarded from the world. Lily had to become stronger and braver, like her mother.
That resolve was enough to make her push on with her luggage.
By the time Lily found the door to her suite, her arms hurt, and she missed home. The suite was an end unit as promised, and Lily suspected that it would have everything
else Daidí had requested—a good view, wide windows, and as much space as allowed. Aside from the suitemate that waited inside the suite, it would be exactly as perfect as possible at St. Columba’s.
Lily paused at the door.
Abernathy Commandment #5: Be bold.
Bracing herself for whatever nightmare waited in the suite, Lily opened the door and strode into the room.
“Forget to knock?”
The girl in the room glared. Much like earlier with Zephyr, Lily recognized her instantly. Alkamy Adams. Her father was some legendary, drugged-out guitar player, and she was amazingly talented on her own merit—at least that had been the public verdict after her one and only tour.
“It didn’t occur to me since it’s
my
suite.” Lily shoved the first of her bags through the door to their common room, using it to prop the door open as she pulled the other two inside.
“You must have made a mistake,” Alkamy started.
“Two sixteen.” Lily pointed to the room number on the door. “East Tower. My suite as of now.”
Lily realized that Alkamy was staring, but she’d been sized up by criminals since she was old enough to be around Daidí’s colleagues. The mini diva was easy in comparison.
“Which room is mine?” she prompted.
“I’ve already dislodged my latest suitemate,” Alkamy announced evenly. It was obviously intended to be a challenge.
“Congratulations. I guess that makes me your consolation prize.” Lily gestured at the three closed doors. “Room?”
Alkamy pointed to the door on the right. “There. That’s the second bedroom. You won’t last though.”
“Great. I’m Lily.”
“Abernathy?” Alkamy blinked. It wasn’t much of a reaction, but it was enough. Her new suitemate recognized her enough to fill in the surname Lily hadn’t offered. She wondered whether that recognition was via her on-again, off-again boyfriend or through the sensational criminal allegations against Lily’s father.
After nodding at her, Lily dragged her three bags into the room. Alkamy watched the whole time. Although Lily suspected that her new suitemate was trying to be intimidating, her whole routine was a lot less scary than she intended.
Alkamy was one of the host of girls who had been in the tabloids with Zephyr. Lily tried to remember if they were supposed to be an item currently. It would be just her luck to share a suite with the girlfriend of the boy who had just kissed her.
She started to hang her clothes in the closet, not bothering to look at Alkamy, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, observing her.
“I’m Alkamy Adams,” she announced after several minutes.
“I know. I’ve seen you in magazines.” Lily withdrew a short blade that dangled in a holster and smiled. Shayla alternately sorted Lily’s weapons as clothing or jewelry,
depending on how she classified any particular item. This blade was one of the more functional ones, resembling a small scimitar, so Shayla steadfastly insisted that it was “not jewelry.”
Behind Lily, Alkamy made herself at home on the overstuffed chair in front of the window. “I don’t think I’ve seen
you
in any magazines.”
“That’s probably true.”
“So?” Alkamy prompted. “What’s your story?”
“I’m new here this year.”
“Obviously,” Alkamy said, dragging the word out into more syllables than necessary. She stretched her legs out in front of her. It made her robe gape open, and based on how much skin she’d just exposed, Lily was fairly certain she wasn’t wearing anything under the robe.
Lily arched her brow. “Are you aiming for intimidating or alluring?”
Abernathy Commandment #5: Be bold.
For several seconds, Alkamy stared at Lily incredulously, and then she laughed. For someone with the reputation of being a badass, she sounded like a little girl who’d been flying high on the park swings. When she stopped giggling, she said, “You’re unexpected, Lilywhite.”
“It’s just Lily.”
“Whatever.”
Lily hung several more of Shayla’s carefully labeled outfits in the closet and lined up a few boxes of accessories on the shelf above them. The pretty wooden chests mostly
contained daggers, but two held guns, one revolver and one semiautomatic, and ammunition. Some girls collected jewelry, and odds were that Shayla had packed that too, but these were the only items Lily had packed for herself. Every box was fingerprint pass-coded, so no one but Lily could access the weapons.
Without turning away from her closet, Lily said in a level voice, “Since you used my whole name, I’m guessing you’ve heard it before.”
“I’d heard you were coming here, but I couldn’t find any pictures of you.”
“Daidí dislikes it when my image gets out.”
Alkamy snorted. “My old man loves it. ‘No press is bad press, Kamy Girl.’ The paparazzi has always been . . . just
there
, you know? So what’s your father’s secret?”
“Hard to say. Maybe he kills photographers.” Lily met her eyes, testing her reaction.
Alkamy smiled and then without missing a beat said, “Messy.”
Lily nodded. Then she met Alkamy’s gaze head-on and said, “I don’t use. No drugs, no alcohol, no cigarettes. Nothing.”
“Not a problem.” Alkamy flashed her an odd look, but she didn’t come right out and ask if Lily was fae-blood. She was more subtle than Creed and Zephyr. All she did was hint: “So no chemicals. Are you a nature girl then?”
“Eh. I like being outside.” Lily shrugged.
Abernathy Commandment #6: Never confess your vulnerabilities if you can avoid it.
“Finish hanging your stuff, and I’ll show you the grounds. St. Columba’s bites sometimes, but the gardens are excellent.” Alkamy hopped to her feet. “Oh, and since you’re ‘Just Lily,’ you should call me ‘Kamy.’”
Lily only wanted her solitude. “That’s not . . . I’ve already . . .” She looked at her new suitemate, who was watching her and grinning. There was no graceful way to refuse Alkamy. Maybe her confrontational suitemate could be a potential friend . . . or at least an ally of sorts. Unlike Creed and Zephyr, Alkamy, at least, seemed to be offering friendship without strings.