The ward on the door changed color--someone had keyed it. Marco quickly doused his flame. In walked Faebercorn, outlined by wardlight. Nude and moving slowly. She--it--leaned against the doorjamb. Not an inch of Faebercorn was bound, though fresh scars wrapped about one of its forearms, sheening in the wardlight. Nothing like the fake burn scars had been. The broken arm it'd gotten while killing Madame Morley, instead. Now healed.
What had Dr. Morley sent it to do to Red-Eyes?
"May I turn the light on, dear?" Faebercorn asked into the dark. It sounded so calm. So kind. As if it weren't addressing someone--something--it had tormented. And probably planned to torment more.
"Here." Red-Eyes's voice.
"Yes, I'm here," Faebercorn answered. "I've brought the antidote to Broca Burn, so we can talk properly."
A lance of cold shot down Marco's spine, just at hearing those sheathed-knife pleasantries. What should he do? They needed that antidote, assuming it really was the antidote, and not the mind-control potion. And they needed to protect Red-Eyes from Faebercorn. Otherwise they would never be able to get more than a drawing to answer their questions about the mind control.
Marco stood.
Red-Eyes's voice came again. "No. Pe--"
Marco's hand lit aflame, and he got into the stance he'd learned in Evocation. Ready to throw. "Hand over the antidote, and don't come any closer."
"No." Red-Eyes's voice, strained with the effort of pushing words past the potion.
"Marco." Faebercorn's voice stripped of all the false pleasantness. "Let me give him the antidote, or I will kill you."
What caught Marco short was the pronoun. "You're not Ms. Abercorn."
A huff of breath, could be a sigh or could be a laugh. "There is no Ms. Abercorn."
"It's been you the whole time?"
"It has, yes."
"Th-then why did you do it? Th-the things you did to this... this faerie, here. I don't understand."
Faebercorn's--Abercorn's--face crumpled with pain.
It was a long moment before she--it--she answered. Voice distant and small.
"Madame Morley wanted it. I--I couldn't... there was too much security to get him out. If--if I let her have someone else do it... at--at least I would do my best not to hurt him--permanently. If. If I didn't keep being... she couldn't know who I was. She had to think I was loyal. Otherwise, we wouldn't have--that's what I thought I needed to do, for us to survive."
And Red-Eyes's labored voice behind him, "Yes."
Marco shivered, chilled from the inside by the thought of it. The whole idea seeming alien and distant, for all he had been there, had watched the torture himself, had taken notes on it. Unable to reconcile this pained confession with Ms. Abercorn's vicious vengeance, all the things she had said to him about her hatred of fae.
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?" Marco asked.
"You don't. But I promise you, if you let me give that faerie there a potion, what I'll give him is the antidote for Broca Burn. Once I do, he can tell you himself."
"I--" Marco's voice stuttering, "--I accept."
Marco stepped out of her way, weakening his flame until it was only light. He could turn the room light on now. But Michelle hadn't said a word, wasn't stepping near the flame or the wardlight, was near-invisible in the room's shadows. He didn't want to reveal her.
Abercorn knelt in front of Red-Eyes. "Here, dear." Carefully poured out a capful of the bottle she held and offered it to him.
Red-Eyes took it from her with no sign of distrust. Swallowed, and let out a relieved sigh. "Finally." Looked sharp at Abercorn. "There's another student here. Michelle."
A swift, piercing tune played from Abercorn's wings, sending a burst of light through the room. Unveiling where Michelle stood in the corner, wreathed in shadows. She raised her hands in surrender before Abercorn could decide she was a threat.
The ward changed color just as the light bled away. Marco extinguished his flame. A figure who reeked of blood stepped through, wearing a three-piece suit.
Mr. Morley.
"Two others here," Red-Eyes said, before Marco could so much as blink. "Students. They want to know about Lucía's potion."
"Jenna's friends," Abercorn added. Implying Mr. Morley had known. How long had he known?
"You two are safe?" Mr. Morley asked, instead of being shocked or surprised in any way.
"So far."
"On go the lights, then." Mr. Morley flicked on the light switch. He scanned the room. "Marco and Michelle. Interesting pair-up. Can't say I'm surprised to see you here, Michelle--my first thought on seeing this ward was that you could probably get through it in seconds."
"What are you trying to distract me from, Mr. Morley?"
"Oh, no, that was honesty. Really was my first thought. Can't blame you, though." His eyes flicked down to the two faeries. "How much have you two explained?"
"Lucía made the mind-control potion," Rhett said.
"Alanna has always been me, and I am not Rhett's enemy," was Abercorn's contribution.
"Then I suppose I should explain, a little." Mr. Morley twirled his wand-cane. "Madame Morley was fae, and she held my aunt oathbound. My not-so-dear faerie godmother was planning to kill and replace me, so my aunt found a loophole that let her hire Ms. Abercorn here to protect me... with the hope, of course, that Ms. Abercorn would notice something was up with Madame Morley along the way." A small bow to Abercorn, with a flourish. "Madame Morley was a rogue, you see. Playing both our sides against each other." A look of consternation, then. "I'm not sure how Rhett here got involved, but he managed to find the human Madame Morley originally replaced--the true head of my family. And, meanwhile, my dear cousin is stumbling around like a cartoon villain, trying to take over the world--or, at least this school."
Marco took the tale in. Most of this stuff wasn't about what they'd come here hoping to find out, but... but it answered what he'd wanted to know, so badly it could have driven him crazy. Some way to explain why Ms. Abercorn could have been a faerie all along.
"How long have you known?" Michelle asked, refusing to be distracted. "About Dr. Morley's potion. That she used it on Jenna."
A sad, conflicted expression crossed Mr. Morley's features. "I've... suspected something was strange for a while. That's why I've had Ms. Abercorn gathering information on Dr. Morley's activities. But we were only just able to confirm it right before the lab explosion today."
"Neither of us had connected the dots before today," Abercorn confirmed. "If it's any reassurance, Dr. Morley's told me there are no more doses. The lab explosion destroyed both potion and formula."
"What else did she tell you?" Mr. Morley asked. "I missed that little interlude, before she decided she'd rather cover you in chainmail."
"Chainmail?" Marco asked. Remembering all too well the class lesson. The effect it had had on Rhett.
Marco had taken notes.
Abercorn nodded, grim. "Mr. Morley took it off for me a few minutes ago. It's..." She squeezed her eyes shut at just naming it.
Rhett reached out, barely brushing her knee with his fingertips.
Which made Marco uncomfortably aware that they'd had this whole conversation with both faeries naked, but that was beside the point.
"Anyway," Abercorn said. "I confirmed a list of people she's dosed. There's the extra-credit class, of course--that's how she got Jenna. Dr. Morley's lab group. And she thought she'd dosed me, which I might be able to make use of..."
"She doesn't think that anymore," Marco said. "She and Jenna are the ones who locked you up. With the chainmail."
"Damn. I won't make a good infiltrator, then."
Mr. Morley considered this. "We'll have to rely on Gabriel's fighters, I guess. More brute-force than I'd like to go, but..."
Wait. "Fighters?" Marco asked.
"Oh, yes. We're staging a coup. Like I said, we found the real head of the family. He's going to help us take down Dr. Morley."
"'He'?" Michelle asked, voice skeptical. "You said this is the person Madame Morley replaced."
The faeries and Mr. Morley explained.
"Okay." Michelle's shadows trembled, but then she clenched her hands. Determined. "I'll infiltrate. Dr. Morley knows I'm not potioned, but she let me follow Jenna around earlier. So I don't think it'll look all that weird. I can gather any info you need."
Mr. Morley cocked his head and looked at her. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why--" Marco started.
Mr. Morley held up a hand, keeping his focus on Michelle. "You understand that you're representing the Kims, here? There will be trouble if you get tangled up in my family's little civil war. And technically, I'm supposed to be keeping you safe. Not recruiting you into this game. For all that my dear cousin has already done her own conscription."
"I want Jenna to be okay." Michelle squeezed her eyes shut. "If you don't have any intel, it's more likely you're going to have to kill the people who are mind-controlled, isn't it?"
"Perhaps. It's not a sure thing. Alanna, dear. Thoughts on defeating the mind potion?"
"I had your aunt get a message to the fae to ask about the potion ingredients. Lucía used a resonator rather than an imprinter--sorry, jargon. She tied the potion to her magic, so the victims wouldn't become loyal to just anyone they had positive interactions with right after a dose."
"So, killing Lucía might do the trick, is what you're telling me," Mr. Morley responded. Perfectly, eerily calm, for all he was talking about murdering a family member. "And if it doesn't, necromancy becomes an option."
"Exactly."
Mr. Morley considered this carefully. "Then yes, we're more likely to be able to pull off a clean assassination, sans collateral damage, if we have someone on the inside. And that smooths out the politics for us some. Michelle? Anything to add?"
Michelle shook her head. "If we're both trying to protect Dr. Morley's victims--especially Jenna--then that's what matters to me."
"Can I help?" Marco asked. "I don't want anyone to be mind-controlled. Or killed." Except Dr. Morley, he guessed. For all the thought turned his stomach.
"Are you planning to recruit Tricia?" Abercorn asked Mr. Morley.
"I sent Luke and Xavier to make some overtures."
"...I hate to criticize, Mickey, but you do realize we've thoroughly destroyed their reputations? She's like as not to think they're a threat."
"I had worried that might be a problem. But, they were the only non-Wingless I had on hand."
"She's my favorite teacher," Marco said. Which was probably what Abercorn had been getting at. "I can talk to her. I don't think she wants Dr. Morley taking people over any more than I do."
Mr. Morley had a smile on his face that reached all the way to his eyes. "Perfect. We'll figure out a way for you two to communicate with us."
"What about the faeries?" Michelle asked.
"I need healing," Rhett said. Letting the pain bleed into his voice for the first time in a while. "And I don't want an audience."
"We'll get you two into the hall and with someone who can talk logistics with you," Mr. Morley said to Marco and Michelle. "Rhett, do you want privacy, or do you want me here?"
"Here," Rhett said. "In case..." But he didn't finish that sentence.
The expression on Abercorn's face held so much pain that Marco couldn't stand to look.
The students left, and Mickey with them, to discuss logistics before he returned. Illa's pain was swift overcoming him, all the more now that the adrenaline of alertness in the presence of the students had begun to fade.
Thairn reached over to touch him, perhaps to comfort. Fear hit. He flinched. She pulled back her hand.
They sat together, still and silent, until Mickey finally came back.
"Do you want me to do any of the healing?" Mickey asked.
"I'd rather Thairn try first." Illa hissed in pain as he shifted. "But have you here just in case."
"Got it. I'll... go rummage in these drawers, see if our people left clothes for you here like they were supposed to."
"Thank you," Thairn said, voice soft. "Find a pin, also, if you could? My blouses should have some safety pins along the button panels."
"On it."
She gathered herself up, and turned her focus to Illa. Had him turn away from her, told him to stretch out his wings. He tried.
The agony hit, his head buried in his hands, his mind back in the classroom, feeling the violating glide of the iron rod through his cuticle--
Thairn's hand settled between his shoulder blades, between his wings, and just her touch made him feel sick, wrong inside. He was rocking, he realized. She released that touch.
"If you can't stretch them, I can't heal them. I'm sorry." And then, in a strained voice as if the question were being dragged raw from her throat, "May I pull them open?"
He shook his head, held them to his body. Rocked and tried to find some center, some place where he'd be okay. In his head, in his heart, here.
"May I sing you a Lullaby?" she asked. A spell, to force him asleep.
He hadn't slept, had he? Not since before he'd left the Wingless. He was so tired, so in pain, and none of it was good anymore, or endurable.
He nodded.
"May I heal you while you sleep?" she asked. Careful of his consent.
Illa nodded again. Mickey wasn't even making jokes at them. Illa really had to look like hell.
"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little dear one..." she sang.
His eyes slowly slid shut, and he fell into slumber. Nightmares awaited him.
Illa fell unconscious almost sooner than the Lullaby should have done to him. How much had he slept, these last weeks? Certainly not last night, with the steel veil on him.
Mickey passed a safety pin over, and Thairn held it in her hand, casting the spell like she might whisper a prayer. "See a pin and pick it up; all the day you'll have good luck." The luck spell she'd had to eschew for her entire stay with the Morleys. It was a small thing, but she would do anything to improve her chances of healing this properly.
She passed the pin over to Mickey. "Keep that out for afterwards."
"Will do."
Gently, Thairn turned Illa onto his side, listening for any disturbance, any sign the Lullaby hadn't taken. But it had, and she was able to pull open one wing, to assess the damage she'd done on Magdalena's orders.
Those holes. She felt sick to her stomach, looking at them. Heart twisting, to know she'd made them. She caught her hand shaking, made it stop. She had to be perfect, and steady, and not hurt him any further.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She knew Illa couldn't hear. She half-wondered if Mickey did, but Mickey said nothing.
The holes were inflamed, but there was no blackening around the edges, at least not on the red lower wings. The black upper wings, who could say? She started with the upper wings. Kissed each hole, pushed the healing magic into him. The cuticle knit, free of blemish. There was a purplish finish, now, to the healing magic. It left no stain on Illa's wings, but it lingered there for a second after every kiss, rejuvenating the cuticle further, seeping into the wing. By the end, the wings were healthier than they had been before the damage.
At the end, before she woke him, she leaned across him and held him, just to feel him close, to remind herself he was still there. She had to hold back tears, felt them prick her eyes and strain her throat. She couldn't bring her voice to whisper any more apologies. He knew she was sorry. That didn't make it better.
She'd told him she wouldn't let anyone take him, but what had she done? Tortured him for Magdalena. Given him into Magdalena's care. Nearly gotten him bread-and-milked into being Magdalena's thrall.
He felt so fragile, and so did the thread of time by which she'd saved him. A few minutes later, some missed turn or slowness of thought, and Magdalena would have taken him, had him, owned him. Perhaps Thairn could have stolen him back, but nothing would have been the same after that. Not that anything was much the same after this.
She let him go. Sat back on her heels, worked on suppressing the tears, recovering her voice. In the end, she had to put on her mask as Alanna, pull herself apart from her emotions.
"Donkey, donkey, old and gray, ope your mouth and gently bray. Lift your ears, and blow your horn, to wake the world this sleepy morn."
She let the mask fall again, after. She wouldn't wear that face in front of him, not behind these wards. She could be his Thairn again, openly.
"Thank you," she told Mickey. For it was his aid, the wards he'd ordered, that allowed for this. This was the second time he'd saved Illa. Even while Mickey's own clothes were ragged and bloodied by an impaling blade.
His heart beat warm in her chest, with every beat telling her she'd made the right decision.
"Any time," he said, and asked nothing in return.
Illa's wings fluttered a little, now that he was awake. She saw tension ease out of his shoulders at the lack of pain. He put a hand in the space between himself and Thairn, and after some uncertain hesitation, she moved to cover it with her own. It made him shudder, her touch, but he accepted it, and he didn't try to move away. He stretched his wings out further, let out a long breath like he'd been holding it.
"Thank you," he said to Thairn. Glanced over to where Mickey was laying out clothes. "You, too, Mickey."
"Just let me know when you want me to get you as drunk as I promised to," Mickey told Illa. "You, too, Thairn, we'll have a party."
"Promised to?" Thairn asked.
"If I made it through Magdalena's lesson plan," Illa said. His hand turned in hers, squeezed. It flooded her with unexpected, disproportionate relief, that squeeze.
"I think we could all use some after this," Thairn said.
"Maybe something lighter for Mickey, so he can keep up with you," Illa said.
"Oh, no." Mickey waggled his finger. "I could drink you both under the table. You build up your tolerance, in this family."
"I think he actually could," Thairn confided to Illa. "He took me to his bedroom on his fifth Scotch, and when we got there, it turned out he was only pretending to be drunk at all, just to take advantage of me."
"Advantage, she says." Mickey laughed.
"Advantage! Getting me all alone in a warded bedroom with an irresistible deviant. Terrible advantage."
"You weren't the only one all alone in a room with an irresistible deviant, darling," Mickey said. "And me on my fifth Scotch. I think we know who was taking advantage now."
Illa had his face pressed into his hand, his chest shaking with nearly-silent laughter.
Thairn wished there wasn't more left to do. She wished they could just forget this mission, just run off together, all three of them. This job broke people, had broken her before, was breaking Illa now, and though returning home to be their families' trinkets was a terrible option, she could fantasize for a second about some intermediate place, maybe somewhere here in Human. Her city of lovers, like she'd told Mickey. Mickey's fluffy puppy cabal. And Illa's... whatever it was in Illa's heart to want. Dungeons full of pleasant people who only hurt him how he wanted, and all the kitchens he could stand to cook in? Something like that.
Thairn asked the pin from Mickey again, handed it over to Illa so he could cast his own luck spell. And then she took it back, and turned to Mickey.
"I seem to have access to your magic," Thairn said. "Do you think you have access to mine?"
"My healing feels warm, now." A gentle smile. "Like your kisses."
That sparked fondness. "Good." She handed him the pin. "This is a minor luck spell. It only does so much, but it's worth doing once a day, if you have the chance behind good wards. Make sure you pick the pin up or hold it while you cast it, otherwise it becomes a hex."
"Gotcha."
He'd memorized the words, but she demonstrated the rhythm and pitch. He cast it, startling with a jolt partway through, but holding his voice steady.
"Something wrong?" Thairn asked.
"Not a sensation I've had before." He grinned. "Very cool."
That done, they went to inspect the clothing Mickey had laid out. Mickey'd had a full set of Alanna's clothing brought from her chambers, and some clothes of his own with brand-new wing holes, for Illa. To her surprise, Illa helped her dress. Got her bra into place and stuffed it with loose socks, fit her wings through the holes in the shirt, set her up with pants and underwear. His movements still practiced and fluid, still singing to her of those few months before their missions had split. Of home, with him.
The one slip she made was when she used their old phrase, "be a dear". Except now it neither set him aglow with delight nor hardened his resolve. Instead, it froze him in place, a tension expressed all the way out to his stiff-held wings.
"Sorry," she said. "I've ruined that, haven't I?"
He didn't answer. But, he didn't drop off dressing her, either. And when he was done, he bowed his head, let her pet him, press their foreheads together. He took her touch shakily, but did take it, even returned it. She breathed with him, ran her hand through his hair, everything... everything she hadn't been able to do, as Alanna.
Still hers. Still hers.
Lucía didn't have time to pay attention to her scry spells. She could send people around to take control of them--the students didn't have the skill, but her lab members did--but she... she didn't want to trust that information into someone else's hands. Losing Alanna had been a blow, one she couldn't get herself to shake. It rang in her head like an alarm bell--betrayal, betrayal, betrayal.
First to do was mass testing for the presence of fae among her loyalists. Jenna came up with an excellent suggestion there--a steel blade, cut along someone's back where the wing roots would be. The rest of the family would never put up with it, but the loyalists did. She had the doctor perform it, then bandage them all appropriately. She thought about having him use magic to heal the wounds, but the announcement of her ascent was soon, and that was the most likely time for violence. Best to keep his magical reserves topped up.
In the midst of all this, she got a report from the guards. Alanna had effected an escape from their original prison room and killed the guard assigned there. But another had caught them and had them secured. The efficiency was something of a relief. But the near-escape fed into her anxieties.
When Alanna had assassinated Magdalena, they'd made use of Vernon's wisp-infested pumpkins, hadn't they? And Vernon still hadn't taken care of the wisp problem, which had given the fae an entire zone difficult for humans to navigate. That posed a threat. Lucía needed to stop tolerating that entire situation and make use of her newfound power. The pesticides she'd made for taking care of the wisp problem--the ones Vernon had refused--still sat, unused, in the garden shed. Lucía assigned steel-tested loyalists to go make use of them, and burn the pumpkins to ashes, besides.
After that, her attention was pulled away by finalizing the details for the succession announcement. She loathed the theatre of it all. But, if she didn't persuade everyone to sit down, shut up and listen to her, then the official position she now held would be far more fragile, and the power brokers in the family would start nipping at her heels. So, she gritted her teeth through the empty-headed discussions about decorations (her dead godmother was one, now, and placement and presentation of her bier was key for the story Lucía needed to tell) and worked on her speech (someone had written one for her, and she not only had to memorize it, but also furiously edit the entire thing until it didn't sound like it was written by someone with half a brain).
But, for all the frustration, everything was finally going smoothly.
Marco got to the gardens to find Mrs. Vernon, who had Mr. Morley's two teachers' assistants--bodyguards, it turned out--tied up in grabber vines, even as she sniped a ragtag band of lab assistants with strategic pollination. Using some of the hardier plants to shield himself, Marco came around close enough to get Mrs. Vernon's attention. She waved him over, bringing him under the cover of an ivy trellis.
First thing, Marco explained to Mrs. Vernon that he was here to help and so were the two bodyguards, and that the rumors about the bodyguards were wrong. He blamed the rumors that they were traitors on Dr. Morley, for all he wasn't comfortable lying. There wasn't time to explain the whole truth. Mr. Morley could tell her all about it later.
She had the grabber vines drag the guards over to check Marco's story. Shit. But fortunately, they didn't say who'd ruined their reputations, they just said Mr. Morley had sent them here as allies to help stop Dr. Morley.
Some planning later, and Marco was pretending to try to sneak up on the lab assistants, only to get caught. He slipped a queen bee into the assistant's coat, then got away by stomping on her foot and grabbing the helpful tentacle of a Merry-Go-Roundup, which tossed him back Mrs. Vernon's way.
"Volley one!"
The other bees, which, when buzzing in unison created a field of lightning magic, swarmed for the lab assistant carrying the queen, creating a buzzing electrical storm that battered the whole knot of lab assistants in that area.
"It's working!" Marco shouted.
"Come take my heirloom flowers now, cabbageworms!" Mrs. Vernon shook her fist at the lab assistants. Those villains wanted to harvest all her useful potion plants and dump poison all over her pumpkins. Over her dead body, or that was what she told Marco.
The four of them wore down most of the lab assistants, by quantity. By quality, however, they'd just selected for the most skilled ones, the ones with shielding and healing potions and ways to nullify some of the bodyguards' magic. And those skilled ones were regrouping.
"I didn't want to do this," Mrs. Vernon said, "but we have no choice. We're going to have to use the parasitic mint."
"Parasitic mint?" Marco asked.
"You'll see." She handed Xavier a bag. "Fit the seed cannon with these. Make sure to only. Hit. The enemy. Don't get it on anything else mammalian, if you can help it. And don't let any of it touch your skin."
"Why?"
"Because getting rid of mint is already nearly impossible when you're pulling it out of the ground. When it's rooted itself in your skin? Might as well consign yourself to being half-mint forever."
Xavier emptied the bag into the seed cannon with a steady hand. The lab assistants were closing in.
"Well," Luke said, and aimed the cannon, drew a bead on the nearest lab assistant. "Here goes nothing."
The ballroom was set up for mourning and celebration all at once, glossy black curtains and stark white funeral lilies near the bier where Madame Morley lay in state, brightening into celebratory red decorations around a podium, spiked with sword lilies.
Jenna was there helping out alongside most of the rest of the lab section, setting up for the succession announcement, when Michelle finally came back from locking up the red-winged faerie.
"Michelle!" Jenna greeted her with all her enthusiasm. It was a relief just to see Michelle here--and to have someone to focus on other than Dr. Morley, whose movements had gone sharp and whose voice had gone. Extremely. Precise. And all while there wasn't anything Jenna could do to help Dr. Morley anymore, since Dr. Morley had been swept off to be made up and decorated just as thoroughly as the ballroom itself.
"Jenna. It's so good to see you."
They traded a shaky hug--Michelle had been worried about Jenna, and that did make sense. Faeries were dangerous. Jenna quickly updated Michelle on everything that had happened, and Michelle confirmed she'd seen a guard secure Ms. Abercorn. Jenna reported that to Dr. Lynwood, since Dr. Morley was busy.
"What can I do to help?" Michelle asked, once that was done.
"I'm not sure."
"Why don't we ask around, then?"
"I sort of have already? I've been picking up odd tasks here and there, but there's not a lot left for the students to do..."
"Maybe we could ask more general stuff about the announcement planning? If we know more about the overall program, we'll be able to figure out something to help."
Michelle was showing signs of nervousness, but it wasn't a bad idea. And of course she was nervous. Even if it weren't for everything else going on, a big, confusing social situation like this was Michelle's personal hell.
"That's a great idea," Jenna said, taking her hand. "Let's ask."
Michelle passed her a grateful smile, for all her shadow curled up to hide around her feet. Jenna couldn't help but smile back.
She felt better, having Michelle here.
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