Faetality |✓|

Chapter Seven, Part Two - Red Rum

As soon as Margot and I set foot on the school lawn, we noticed something was different. The world was... quieter. Students huddled together in small, tight-knit bunches, some whispering and others just looking sad. A girl raised her head when we passed and quickly elbowed the friend.

"Geez," said Margot. She gave a low whistle as we slipped inside the school. "Is it just me or are people staring at you more than usual?"

The stares I was used to. Being a brown girl in a white family definitely brought attention my way. But something about today was different. It was the way people stared that was throwing me off.

"No, you're right--something's definitely going on..." I said, slowing my stride to turn and watch a girl who burst into tears when we made eye contact.

Margot walked me to my locker, something we hadn't done together in a while. Not that I objected–it was nice to have company–but I knew her lingering presence was symptom of something more than boredom or friendliness. Margot wasn't just lonely–she was worried. I wasn't sure if that worry stemmed from the Fae, our father, or our mother, but it didn't matter. It just reaffirmed my conviction that my sister needed protecting.

"So, what d'ya think is in the box that could make the Sorcerer want it so bad?" asked Margot. She leaned against the bank of lockers, watching as I fiddled with my own.

I shrugged. "I'm not even gonna try to guess. All I know is that it's important. And now I have to figure out what to do with it..."

"Wait until after you've seen the Ice Queen," Margot pressed. "Give it to him now and you might find out he's a bad guy later."

I exhaled, but I knew Margot was right. Giving Westley complete trust was a stupid idea. He'd been on the Unseelie Queen's bad side for fifty years. Kinda made you wonder what he did to keep someone that angry for so long. "Just do me a favor, ok? Don't talk to Westley about the box. In fact, don't talk to him at all. We don't know how angry the Queen is with him, and I don't need her finding an excuse to drag you into their problem."

Margie stuck her tongue out. "Fun-sucker."

"Brace-face."

"Excuse me, Tamsyn?" I turned to see Ms. Lattimer, the school's new guidance counselor, standing behind me. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a bun, revealing eyes that were roughly the same color. She was far from ugly, but her mouth was too thin, even when she smiled. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm... fine." I exchanged puzzled looks with Margot. "I guess?"

"Wow, you are holding up so much better than I thought you would." Her voice was overly-kind, as was the lingering hand that she placed on my shoulder. It took every fiber of my being to resist shrugging it off.

"Well, Tamsyn, I'm here because we haven't had a chance to meet, and I'd really like to see you before Thanksgiving Break. So, how about today? I could write you a note for fourth period. I'd just like to discuss a few things; perhaps you might find it a good opportunity to express any feelings you might be having."

"Uh--okay?"

"Great, I'll see you soon. And... you have my condolences--for your loss."

"What the hell was that all about?" said Margot, staring after the counselor with a frown. "Condolences on what loss?" I could only shrug helplessly at Margot's question. "Something bad happened, didn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." I didn't say it out loud, but I didn't really believe something bad had happened–something bad had started.

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