Again, I was braced for the onslaught but never really felt anything come, while others reacted strongly. No one stood or tried to dance this time around, but there were more tears, and a few awkwardly timed laughs. It made me feel a little better to see that Vivian’s eyes were shiny with tears, clearly affected by the beauty of what she was hearing. I had no reaction whatsoever to Summer’s song, having been exposed to it hundreds of times by now. I was shedding the songs like water, able to withstand their effects better than almost anyone in the class.

  And then the professor opened the final jar, letting Autumn’s song spill into the room. And, suddenly, it felt as though I was hearing the music through my chest rather than my ears.

  The notes of the song cascaded and built, intricate crescendos filling incensed air. I didn’t hear or see anything I normally associated with Autumn. Instead, I was lulled by the minor tones and dim room. I was catapulted back to my youth, the notes dredging up a half-remembered memory or dream.

  My small, pudgy hands were buried in a leaf pile, happily scooping them up and flinging them into the air with peals of delighted laughter. They caught in my hair, disappeared down my ruffled shirt, and landed in my lap. Undeterred, I did it again.

  “We can’t keep doing this, Fennec,” a soft female voice said from behind me. It was my mother, but she was talking to someone else. I wasn’t paying too much attention, too fascinated by the appearance of a red fox and the tiny faerie riding on its back to listen in.

  “If we keep going like this, I’ll have another child.”

  “Would that be so bad?” a rumbling male voice asked. “We have two beautiful children already. What’s one more?”

  “A risk,” Mother hissed back.

  “How so?”

  “Maverick is a warlock, and Astrid is taking after you more than she is me.”

  The words seemed to flow through my head, caught as they were by the sweetness of the song. And I was so caught by them, I couldn’t even wonder over their meaning. It was as though the meaning of words was nothing to me. As if all I could do was listen to the melody of the voices and revel in it.

  “If we have another, who knows what will come of it?” Mother continued. “I need to keep the children I have happy and healthy. My son is already in danger from my sister. She’ll try to turn him. I won’t risk putting another boy in jeopardy.”

  Like taking control of a lucid dream, I willed myself to turn in the memory, to identify the speaker. Because, I realized with a jolt, this had to be my father. I wanted to get a look at the man who’d been responsible for half my DNA. But this was a memory, and I hadn’t turned then and that meant I couldn’t make myself turn now, in the memory. All I could see in my periphery was a flash of red-gold hair, precisely the same color as the curling aspen leaves on the ground.

  “Then let me take them home,” he insisted. “My brother and I can protect them there.”

  “And deny them the chance to ever learn magic? No. They need to stay with me. I’ll take care of things...” Mother’s voice had been hollow, almost threatening tears. “For now… I think we should stop seeing each other.”

  “Tabitha—”

  “I can’t,” she said in a choked whisper. “I can’t have all three of you and I know that. So, I have to… I have to choose my children. You must understand.”

  “I do,” the man said with a sigh. A tall, lean shape then leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

  Then footsteps crunched over to me, and warm lips pressed to the top of my head. I laughed when around a dozen other faeries dogpiled us both, peppering my face with butterfly kisses.

  “Your father loves you too, Astrid,” he whispered in my ear. “Never forget that.”

  And then it was over. Just as quickly as it had come.

  The song died in my ears and I was jolted back into reality. The gravity of the song lingered, pressing into my ears like a brand, even though the melody was now quiet. My chest ached, and tears were flowing freely down my cheeks. But more than that, there was a fine coating of golden dust on my lap and in a semicircle around where I sat. I smelled pumpkins and tasted cider. But strangest of all, I had a handful of the curling red-gold aspen leaves I’d seen in my vision. I let them slip to my fingers, too shocked by their appearance to do more than stare at them.

  Had I just... pulled leaves out of my memory and made them real? That wasn’t possible, was it? Oh, Goddess, I didn’t think that was possible.

  When I looked up, I found Professor Lavant staring at me with unnerving intensity. I cringed back into my pillow, sure I was about to be reprimanded for completely spacing out during the lesson, and for making a mess of the classroom.

  Instead, he cleared his throat, forced a genial smile, and then said, “There you have it. All four songs. You all held up exceptionally well, even under indirect exposure. Next time I’ll have a guest from Winter in to demonstrate what active faerie compulsion looks and feels like. Representatives from the other courts have agreed to make appearances sometime before Yule. I think that’s where we’ll end things today. Why don’t all of you pack up and get some rest before your next lecture? Resisting faerie song can be taxing.”

  As the students packed up their bags to leave, I moved to do the same. But before I could climb to my feet, Professor Lavant’s voice rang out.

  “Ms. Depraysie, would you mind staying behind? I’d like to have a word with you.”

  I heard a distinctive snicker from Vivian’s end of the room and sank even lower. Apparently, she’d gotten over the moment of weakness and had resumed regularly scheduled programming. I fidgeted nervously with the fringe on my cushion as she and the others trooped by, praying they wouldn’t notice whatever I’d done. Thankfully, they barely glanced my way.

  The air stirred, bunched, and then coalesced as Professor Lavant gathered the songs and shoved them back into their respective jars. I wasn’t sure how he managed it, but it was mesmerizing to watch. I waited until he’d screwed the tops on the jars to approach him.

  “You wanted to see me, Professor Lavant?” I asked nervously.

  “Call me Basil, please,” he said with an amused twist of his lips. “‘Professor Lavant’ is so stuffy.”

  That was weird but whatever. “Okay.”

  Basil leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at me. He didn’t look angry, just curious.

  “Did you know?” he asked.

  “Know what?”

  “That you’re part Fae?”

  I blinked in shock, then stared down at my hands, still coated in golden dust and bits of leaves. Faerie? Was he saying that... that my other half wasn’t human at all? I’d always assumed the man who’d fathered me was a faceless, nameless man Mother had met at a gala or on a trip abroad. Someone who was well past his fifties by now. I’d only begun to suspect otherwise when my zoolingualism had started manifesting. But of all the things that I’d have guessed, Fae wasn’t one of them. I mean, where were the pointy ears? The attraction to colors of a particular court, the desire to do mischief?

  Okay, well that one had always been there. Maybe it wasn’t all that far-fetched after all.

  Basil laughed, the sound low and appealing. “I’ll take your silence as a ‘no’. I suppose that’s to be expected. In my experience, most witches don’t know their fathers.”

  “No,” I admitted. “I didn’t. But I guess it makes sense. My brother is a warlock, and I’m...” I jabbed a finger at my hair. “This.”

  Basil’s eyes twinkled with good humor. “Yes, a powerful Fae parent would augment a child’s gifts. Have you noticed any non-witch like abilities manifesting lately? Aside from what you just did, I mean.”

  I nodded and couldn’t hold his gaze. I had begun noticing new gifts, but I thought they were a part of my witch legacy, not some kind of weird Fae puberty revealing itself. This was just too strange. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod thoughtfully to himself.

  “Yes, I’d say you’re definitely part-Fae. Autumn, from the looks of it.” He picked a bit of crushed leaf from my palm with a wistful smile. “Me too.” He looked at the leaf fondly for another few seconds before he returned his attention to me. “Has it always been your favorite season?”

  Yes. I loved it. I’d always loved it, but that hadn’t seemed so odd because Autumn was a time for revelry. It was a time of parties and festivities. I got to dress up with Wanda and drink mead. Who didn’t love All Hallow’s Eve? I couldn’t find my voice, so I nodded again.

  “Chin up. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s completely understandable you didn’t know. Though I think you ought to skip class the day the Autumn guest speaker arrives. You withstood the others well, but your reaction to Autumn song is a dead giveaway. I’ve been inured to it after years as a servitor to the Lords of Autumn. Come to me for private lessons, and we’ll see if we can increase your tolerance over time.”

  “Thank you, Professor… I mean... Basil.”

  “Not a problem, Astrid. I recommend you spend the time between classes to do a little research about your court. It could come in handy.” He paused a moment and the smirk returned to his mouth. “And… the ability to create elements from your court is quite impressive. Your parent must have been one of the higher levels of Fae—royalty, I’d wager.”

  My voice failed me again as I nodded, turned my back on him, and took the stairs two at a time, trying to scrub faerie dust off my hands as I went.

  Chapter Twelve

  The library was located at the end of a marble hallway, looking up at a ceiling that must have been several stories tall.

  The ceiling was domed and painted with incredible murals, hosting an array of carved fantastical and mundane creatures: mermaids, fawns, wolves, and eagles. Doors, nearly as large as those at the entrance, lined either side of the hall.

  At the very end, beneath an equally great stained-glass window, was a desk. My wonder quickly turned to dread when I realized who sat behind it, minding the visitor’s log. The light from the window enhanced the ineffable quality of her smooth, ivory skin. It was one of Vivian’s cronies, who only shared half her schedule with her idol. I was pretty sure her name was Reed. She looked up from a book casually, face creasing with dislike when she saw me.

  “Ah, if it isn’t the little backwoods blood whore,” she said in an undertone, making sure only she and I could hear. “I didn’t realize you could read.”

  “You know, I’m more offended by your lack of originality. I’ve met mundane high school bullies that can outdo you and your gymnastics coach on their worst day.”

  “Gymnastics?” she repeated, frowning in confusion. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

  “You’re part of the elite brown-nosing gymnastics team. Vivian says jump, you say how high, and on what pole? Honestly, I’d rather be a blood whore than a brainless sheep. At least I have a little more dignity.”

  Reed half-rose from her seat, two fingers poised in a beckoning gesture. Power coalesced in the air between us, crackling with malice. I tensed, ready to defend myself against whatever hex she was about to throw at me, but it never came. The power died away when someone poked their head out of the library doors and cleared their throat. Reed’s spine went ramrod straight, and she turned her head to face the intruder.

  It was the older, come-hither witch that Oleander had been meeting up with. Going to the library hadn’t been a lie, after all. He just hadn’t gone alone.

  “Sign her in, Reed,” the woman said. Her voice was throaty and suggestive, even when addressing another woman. “I would hate to have to report you to my aunt for not doing your job.”

  “Stay out of this, Morgana,” Reed hissed back. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  I felt my heart speed up at the mention of the woman’s name.

  “It has everything to do with me,” Morgana countered. “Auntie made it my business when she decided to scapegoat me, instead of one of her precious daughters. Sign Astrid in, or I will crack open your skull to see how empty it really is.” Then she blinked sweetly, and I almost laughed.

  Reed lowered herself into her chair, face pale. I wasn’t sure what Morgana had done to Vivian and her crew to make them react this way, and I didn’t care. Watching them lose their bravado around this woman was worth every second of torment they’d put me through.

  “You’re signed in,” Reed muttered and refused to look at me.

  “Good,” Morgana said, turning away, somehow conveying that she’d dismissed the girl as she faced me. “Well, come on then.”

  I followed the mysterious Morgana inside.

  The library was immense, even larger than its outward appearance made it seem. What space wasn’t taken up by towering shelves and sliding ladders was occupied by large wooden tables with clawed feet. The floor was covered in ornate, red carpeting. Sunlight dappled the ground, pouring in through the immense windows and the gilded skylight above. The air itself was musty and stiff, the smell of a million aged pages all but demanding silence. Bright flakes of dust swam lazily around the beams. Only the gentle flutter of turning pages interrupted the hushed ambiance of the place.

  “This way,” Morgana directed, sashaying her way toward the back. Several men perked up, watching her go with undisguised interest. No one paid me much mind, which stung a little.

  Quite a few of the tables were occupied. I even recognized a few of the faces: the brown-haired boy from Verglas’ class, a girl with long, plaited red hair I’d seen on the quad the other day when I was chasing Oleander. And of course, the faerie in question was seated at a table near the back, bent over a stack of newspapers and yearbooks. He glanced up in surprise when he saw me trailing behind his study buddy.

  “Astrid, what are you doing here?” Oleander asked. “I thought there was at least a half hour left in Lavant’s class?”

  “There was,” I said, sliding in beside him. It put me opposite Morgana, which was more than a little intimidating. Though not as intimidating as sitting next to her would have been. “He let us out early. A few people had strong reactions to the songs… including me. He wants us to study and practice so we’re better equipped to deal with things next time.”

  “Was that before or after my gutless cousin tried to bespell the books I gave you?” Morgana asked, propping her heels on the table, using a nearby pillar to support her weight.

  “Wait,” I started. “The books came from you?”

  Morgana frowned. “Well, they didn’t come from Santa Claus.”

  “I mean, I knew that but,” I started, feeling stupid—like I should have already figured out they’d come from Morgana, which of course, was impossible. “Um… thank you.”

  She nodded and then inspected her nails. “I kept a few enchantments on my old things, just in case someone tried to steal them from you. It would be just like Aunt Aurea to try to swindle your only hope of staying in this school. Not that I’d blame you if you left. This place is a real hellhole, especially if you can’t leave.”

  Things finally clicked into place. Morgana Grimsbane. Oleander had mentioned her not long after we met. She was the Grimsbane hostage, kept under watch by the vampires and their lackeys to keep the Grimsbanes honest. The witches had a hostage too and now it dawned on me just whom that hostage was: Chesley Thorne.

  Better known as ‘Rook Thorne’ now.

  No wonder Rook hated me. I was a symbol of everything he despised but could never escape. It also explained why Professor Valserak had been sure Rook knew the layout of the west wing dormitories. As the hostage, he’d been living alongside witches in the day class dorms. Morgana must have slept in the night class dorms, which explained why she could come and go more freely. Vampires usually slept during the day.

  “That was before your gutless cousin tried to bespell the books you gave me,” I said. “And I’m so sorry about... your situation.”

  Morgana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. You being sorry doesn’t do anything for anyone. Instead, you can help us.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been trying to get Oleander to recruit you since you got here, but he and Chesley have said ‘no’ at every turn.”

  “Don’t call him Chesley, Mo,” Oleander said, frowning. “You know he hates that. And he’s going to be royally pissed you’re spilling this much. Stop while you’re ahead.”

  “I know he hates the name,” Morgana answered with little interest. “Why do you think I keep calling him by it?” she continued with a laugh. “The pointy-toothed prick needs to learn to loosen up. We’re hitting brick wall after brick wall, and your little shortcut can only take us around campus, not to the towns beyond.” Then she turned to face me. “You’re the only one who doesn’t have to shake an enemy tail every time she goes out. We need fresh blood, no pun intended. And thanks to my catty cousin, Depraysie even has an excuse to be out at night. I’ve seen her making food runs. If someone asks, she can just hold up brownies and a hall pass. It’s perfect.”

  “Rook’s going to kill us both when he hears about this,” Oleander answered.

  “Don’t get your pointy ears in a knot,” Morgana said, waving away his protests. “Besides, the lives of the missing Fae should outweigh the risk of pissing off one vampire, right?”

  “Missing Fae?” I echoed, looking between the pair of them. “What do you mean, missing Fae?”

  “Titania’s blood...” Oleander groaned. “Morgana, you can’t do this.”

  “I can and I am,” Morgana said. She folded her arms behind her head and gave me a smirk. “You want to help, don’t you? You’ve got that eager Labrador look about you.”

  I decided not to comment on the ‘Labrador’ bit, especially since the comparison was embarrassingly accurate. I did want to help, no matter what they were after. If I could do something good and annoy Vivian at the same time, it was worth doing.