Julie Kagawa - The Lost Prince

Another nod.

“Why—”

The piskie gave a terrified squeal and buzzed frantically about the room, nearly smacking into me as it careened around the walls. I ducked, covering my head, as it zipped across the room, babbling in its shrill, squeaking voice. “Okay, okay! Calm down! Sorry I asked.” It finally hovered in a corner, shaking its head, eyes bulging out of its skull. I eyed it warily.

Huh. That was … interesting . “What was that about?” I demanded. The piskie buzzed and hugged itself, wings trembling. “Something was after you tonight, wasn’t it? That thing in the locker room—it was chasing you. Piss off an Iron faery, then?” The fey of the Iron Queen’s court were the only creatures I could think of that could provoke such a reaction. I didn’t know what it was like in the Nevernever, but here, the old-world faeries and the Iron fey still didn’t get along very well. Generally, the two groups avoided each other, pretending the other didn’t exist. But faeries were fickle and destructive and violent, and fights still broke out between them, usually ending fatally.

But the piskie shook its head, squeaking and waving its thin arms. I frowned. “It wasn’t an Iron fey,” I guessed, and it shook its head again, vigorously. “What was it?”

“Ethan?” There was a knock, and Dad’s voice came through the door. “Are you in there? Who are you talking to?”

I winced. Unlike Mom, Dad had no problem invading my personal space. If it were up to him, I wouldn’t even have a door. “On the phone, Dad!” I called back.

“Oh. Well, dinner is ready. Tell your friend you’ll call back, okay?”

I grunted and heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. The piskie still hovered in the corner, watching me with big black eyes. It was terrified, and even though it was fey and had probably played a million nasty pranks on unsuspecting humans, I suddenly felt like a bully.

I sighed. “You know what?” I told it, moving to the window. “Forget it. This was stupid of me. I’m not getting involved with any of you, life debt or no.” Sweeping away the salt, I unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a blast of cool, rain-scented air. “Get out of here,” I told the piskie, who blinked in astonishment. “You want to repay me? Whatever you’re doing for that half-breed, stop it. I don’t want you hanging around him, or me, ever again. Now beat it.”

I jerked my head toward the window, and the piskie didn’t hesitate. It zipped past my head, seeming to go right through the screen, and vanished into the night.

Storms always made me moody. More so than usual, anyway.

Don’t know why; maybe they reminded me of my childhood, back in the swamps. We’d gotten a lot of rain on our small farm, and somehow the drumming of water on the tin roof always put me to sleep. Or maybe because, when I was very small, I would creep out of bed and into my sister’s room, and she would hold me as the thunder boomed and tell me stories until I fell asleep.

I didn’t want to remember those days. They just reminded me that she wasn’t here now, and she never would be again.

I loaded the last plate into the dishwasher and kicked it shut, wincing as a crash of thunder outside made the lights flicker. Hopefully, the power would stay on this time. Call me paranoid, but stumbling around in the dark with nothing but a candle made me positive that the fey were lurking in shadowy corners and darkened bathrooms, waiting to pounce.

I finished clearing the table, walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Dad had already gone to work, and Mom was upstairs, so the house was fairly still as I flipped on the television, turning up the volume to drown out the storm.

The doorbell rang.

I ignored it. It wasn’t for me, that was for certain. I didn’t have friends; no one ever came to my house to hang out with the weird, unfriendly freak. Most likely it was our neighbor, Mrs. Tully, who was friends with Mom and liked to glare at me through the slits in her venetian blinds. As if she was afraid I would throw eggs at her house or kick her yappy little dog. She liked to give Mom advice about what to do with me, claiming she knew a couple of good military schools that would straighten me right out. Most likely, she was huddled on our doorstep with an umbrella and a bag of extra candles, using the storm as an excuse to come in and gossip, probably about me. I snorted under my breath. Mom was too nice to tell her to take a hike, but I had no such convictions. She could just stay out there as far as I was concerned.

The doorbell rang again, and it sounded louder this time, more insistent.

“Ethan!” Mom called from somewhere upstairs, her voice sharp. “Will you get that, please? Don’t leave whoever it is standing there in the rain!”

Sighing, I dragged myself upright and went to the door, expecting to see a plump old woman glaring disapprovingly as I yanked it open. It wasn’t Mrs. Tully, however.

It was Todd.

At first, I didn’t recognize him. He had on a huge camouflage jacket that was two sizes too big, and the hood had fallen over his eyes. When he raised a hand and shoved it back, the porch light caught his pupils and made them glitter orange. His hair and furry ears were drenched, and he looked even smaller than normal, huddled in that enormous coat. A bike lay on its side in the grass behind him, wheels spinning in the rain.

“Oh, good, this is the right house.” Todd grinned at me, canines flashing in the dim light. A violet-skinned piskie peeked out of his hood, blinking huge black eyes, and I recoiled. “Hey, Ethan!” the half-breed said cheerfully, peering past me into the house. “Nasty weather, isn’t it? Uh, can I come in?”

I instantly shut the door in his face, leaving no more than a few inches open to glare at him through the crack. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. He flattened his ears at my tone, looking scared now.

“I need to talk to you,” he whispered, glancing back over his shoulder. “It’s important, and you’re the only one who might be able to help. Please, you gotta let me in.”

“No way.” I kept a firm foot on the edge of the door, refusing to budge an inch as he pushed forward. “If you’re in trouble with Them, that’s your problem for getting involved. I told you before—I want nothing to do with it.” I glared at the piskie who crouched beneath Todd’s hood, watching it carefully. “Get lost. Go home.”

“I can’t!” Todd leaned in frantically, eyes wide. “I can’t go home because They’re waiting for me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know! These weird, creepy, ghostly things . They’ve been hanging around my house since yesterday, watching me, and they keep getting closer.”

A chill spread through my stomach. I gazed past him into the rainy streets, searching for glimmers of movement, shadows of things not there. “What did you do?” I growled, glaring at the half-phouka, who cringed.

“I don’t know!” Todd made a desperate, helpless gesture, and his piskie friend squeaked. “I’ve never seen these type of fey before. But they keep following me, watching me. I think they’re after us,” he continued, gesturing to the fey on his shoulder. “Violet and Beetle are both terrified, and I can’t find Thistle anywhere.”

“So, you came here , to pull my family into this? Are you crazy?”

“Ethan?” Mom appeared behind me, peering over my shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one!” But it was too late; she’d already seen him.

Glancing past me, Todd gave a sheepish smile and a wave. “Um, hey, Ethan’s Mom,” he greeted, suddenly charming and polite. “I’m Todd. Ethan and I were supposed to trade notes this evening, but I sorta got caught in the rain on the way here. It’s nothing—I’m used to biking across town. In the rain. And the cold.” He sniffled and glanced mournfully at his bike, lying in the mud behind him. “Sorry for disturbing you,” he said, glancing up with the most pathetic puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen. “It’s late. I guess I’ll head on home now….”