“They’re still alive?” I asked.

  “Looks that way.”

  “But they’ve been missing for so long!”

  “Wait…” he said as he scanned the notes. “Looks like one of them died,” he continued, skimming the file again. “A Spring faerie named Weigela. The rest are alive and...” He stuttered over the words, looking faintly green. “Successfully transitioned.”

  “Transitioned?” I echoed. “What does that mean?”

  “Turned,” Rook said quietly. “Witch magic doesn’t survive the transformation from witch to vampire, but apparently faerie magic does. It means that this entire time, Valserak and whoever he’s working with have been trying to create vampire foot soldiers that can go toe-to-toe with witches and win.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “The letter to Desmond says they’re ready to start phase two.”

  “What’s phase two?”

  “Mass turning and training,” Rook said grimly as he grew quiet for a few seconds. Then he looked over at me again. “We can’t wait for the dance, Astrid. We need to rescue these people tonight, before Desmond and his brethren can start using them as templates. Judging by these photos, I think Shasta is being held in Location B.”

  “Location B? Where in spell is that?”

  Rook shrugged. “I’d say you should try to find it in one of the villages.”

  “I can’t materialize all four of us—especially that far!” I protested.

  “Take Oleander and go,” Rook said, shoving the folder back where he’d found it. “Morgana and I will search the dungeon. It’s the only place in the castle we haven’t looked for the missing students.”

  “But if he finds you here—”

  “I’ll distract him. He was my friend once upon a time, which means I might have a reason to be here, but you don’t. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it out and find Morgana before Desmond gets back. Now go!”

  I cast one last fearful glance around the room before screwing my eyes shut, finding the rapidly shrinking calm at my center. Then I stepped backward into Autumn, leaving Rook to face the possibility of dealing with the professor alone.

  ***

  “Are you going to be alright?” Oleander asked, kneeling by my side.

  The rain had come down hard the night before, so the ground was slick in places. I’d leaned against the base of a pine tree to keep the seat of my pants out of the mud. Oleander had loaned me his coat to keep the chill off and to disguise my scent. With any luck, it’d take the townspeople a little while to realize I wasn’t just a faerie.

  I nodded wearily. “Just... give me a second. That took a lot out of me.”

  By some miracle, I’d been able to make the jump from the castle to Oleander’s hometown in one go, carrying him on my metaphorical back. We were now outside the school’s grounds, nestled in the foothills at the base of the soaring Herz mountain peaks that surrounded Blood Rose. It was a stark contrast to the richness and decadence of the school.

  Overall, the students were discouraged from entering the town. It was considered a sort of slum, so most witches didn’t bother. Still, some of the more subversive (often night class) students had been known to sneak into town to drink or gamble. It would have resulted in a demerit if discovered, but legacy students were rarely penalized further.

  “You’re sure you don’t know where Location B is?” I asked him, the first words we’d spoken on this trip so far. “It’d save us the trouble of asking around. You know the professor and his cronies are going to be on the alert.”

  “If I knew, I’d give you directions, and we’d pop up right beside it. They have my cousin, and I wouldn’t waste time asking questions if I didn’t have to.” He took a breath. “Astrid, I don’t like this any more than you do, but pretending to be one of the spoiled rich kids coming to slum it in the village is going to be our best bet. So… just play along.”

  “Fine,” I sighed. “But I wish Morgana and Rook were here. They’d be better at this than me.”

  “Probably,” he said with a sigh. “But they’re busy searching the dungeon. With any luck, Location B is in the castle, and they’ll spring Shasta before we get back to school.” Looking at me, he frowned. “Will you just relax? You won’t be able to travel back to the castle if you’re too panicked to focus.”

  Relax? How the spell was I supposed to relax when I knew there was a vampire conspiracy to kidnap faeries and turn them into weapons? And even if we managed to find proof of what the vampires were doing, how could we make it public? The correspondences in Professor Valserak’s desk proved he was in contact with one of the founding families. If we revealed ourselves to the wrong family, we’d have targets on our backs. Well, Morgana and Rook would be killed—Oleander and I would become lab rats, with no one else the wiser. The witches would think I’d fled the castle after months of harassment, and by the time they knew better, it’d be too late. Professor Valserak’s allies would unleash their hybrids on the school and everyone who didn’t fall in line would die or turn into one of the undead. And when the school was conquered... well, then they’d go nuclear, declaring Blood War 3 on the rest of the world. Without prior warning, witches wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Someone outside of this school had to know, just in case. But how could I send a message to Haven Hollow without the traitor knowing? My mail was probably being checked by the Grimsbanes, just to be sure I wasn’t complaining about my situation in my letters home. If one or more Grimsbane witches had decided to ally with the vampires and discovered I was onto them, the consequences could be lethal. Why they’d want to ally with the vampires was another question entirely, but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility until I had to. So, no, emails or letters were out. And I didn’t have a cell phone because they weren’t allowed on campus.

  An idea came to me after a few minutes of thought, breathtaking in its simplicity. I reached for my school bag and shoved a hand in, groping for my book of shadows. It didn’t have the witchy panache of Wanda’s journals, or Betanya’s leather-bound tomes. I’d been forced to hide my spell materials alongside my mundane high school textbooks, so the easiest way to write down spell ideas had been in a spare notebook, and I’d never bothered to drop the ruse. Thus, my book of shadows was pink and dotted with smiling marshmallows on the cover. The inside pages had more marshmallows in the margins. I’d decided to commit myself to the pastel farce and used glitter gel pens when I wrote in it.

  It took another minute of groping to find a purple pen and scrawl my message on one of the pages. I had to leave things vague, just in case the message ended up in the wrong hands, but it was something at least.

  Trouble at Blood Rose Academy. Can’t explain in detail. If I don’t write back in a week, come looking for me. Morgana will know what happened and can fill you in. Love you all, -A

  I tore the page free from the notebook, folded it so the glittering letters were facing the outside world, and then concentrated. I’d never done something like this before, but it had to be simpler than transporting my body and Oleander’s. So, I focused all my attention on Wanda’s shop, recalling the long hours I’d spent inside her back room. I knew the smell of her shop and the feel of her fabrics by heart. I’d leave the message on her sewing table. If I just dropped it on the ground, there was a chance someone would pick it up and toss it in the trash before she had a chance to see it.

  Oleander cursed when the notebook paper disappeared in a flash of autumn leaves. His eyes darted up the road toward town, scanning each window to see if one of the townspeople had witnessed what I’d done.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed.

  “Sending an SOS, just in case,” I muttered. “We know whoever is behind this isn’t averse to killing people so what do you think happens if we get captured?”

  Oleander paused, eyes flying wide. Apparently, the thought we could become hybrids if the vampires subdued us hadn’t occurred to him. He crossed his arms over his lean chest, trying to disguise a shudder.

  “Okay, it wasn’t a bad idea,” he admitted grudgingly. “But you still should have warned me.”

  I inched my way up the tree, testing my legs. I felt a little shaky, but I could stand, which was more than I’d been able to manage five minutes ago.

  “Just look at it this way,” I said with a smirk. “At least now I smell like an Autumn faerie, not a witch. That should help us, don’t you think?”

  Oleander harumphed, which I took as assent, then he steadied me when I swayed on my feet and put a hand on the small of my back as we made our way toward town.

  “Where are we headed first?”

  “The Blind Horseman,” Oleander said in an undertone. “Loch delivers mail to this town and the next. He’s a notorious gambler. He spends every paycheck on a game of cards or dice. If anyone has seen something odd going on around town, it’ll be him. The fifty in your wallet will get us answers.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wasn’t sure that a man like Loch would be trustworthy, but I trusted Oleander.

  If he thought this Loch person could get us to the missing faeries, he was probably right. So, I leaned against Oleander, trying to sell the idea we’d snuck out for a little fun. The people we passed barely glanced up.

  The road we were on ran straight through town and began to widen in between the small homes that surrounded the town center. I couldn’t help but stare. It was like stepping back in time. The roofs were thatched. Smoke curled from very functional chimneys. The muddy roads were covered with crisscrossing wagon wheel tracks and peppered with animal manure. The smell was enough to make my eyes cross. As we continued on, the shops looked less and less well-maintained. Two mangey, emaciated dogs that were chained to a post barked at us as we strode past. A man with long, matted hair wobbled on the road, his trousers loose around his waist while he peed into the street. He raised a bottle in a brown paper sack in a mocking toast to us as he let out a drunken laugh, winking at me before giving his exposed parts a suggestive squeeze. I averted my gaze but couldn’t completely block out his raucous laugh.

  “Please tell me that wasn’t Loch,” I whispered.

  “No, that’s Percival. He’s not right in the head.”

  “That sounds safe.”

  “There’s no law and order around here unless the Grimsbanes or Thornes deign to get off their high and mighty assess to sort things out. And I probably don’t have to tell you, but they haven’t bothered for generations. As long as we don’t kill each other, they don’t care what we do.”

  Oleander hid me from sight as a wagon passed us, spattering our legs with mud. Several chickens clucked their way between alleys. Unfriendly eyes watched us from the windows of nearby homes, but no one came out to chase us off.

  In the distance, I could see the sign for The Blind Horseman hanging precariously above the tavern door. The hinges were rusty and squeaked in the wind which was pouring down the mountain. We started down the road, trying our best to stick to the parts that seem caked and dried. Every once in a while, I heard the familiar squish of an improperly placed foot from behind me, followed by some choice words.

  The skies opened up when we were a few feet from the door. Fat droplets pelted my face and hair, licking the red tendrils on either side of my face. The icy water rolled down my neck and soaked into the collar of my coat. When we finally made it to The Blind Horseman, we were wet and shivering.

  The building was small, with damp wood siding and a rotting porch. The peeling paint on the door signaled it might have been red a long time ago. Now only a few flecks remained, giving the impression that blood was oozing from wounded wood. The windows had been smashed in at some point, and the owner had boarded over them, rather than replace the glass panes.

  “Charming,” I muttered. “I can see why people come here.”

  “Are you here to mock or are you here to get answers?” Oleander asked.

  I sighed. He was right. I’d contemplate the depressing state of this town later, when lives didn’t hang in the balance.

  I pushed the door open, and the sound of coarse laughter and boisterous, drunken conversation met my ears. I worked hard not to gag when we set foot inside. Somehow the inside of the tavern smelled worse than the livestock pens we’d passed on our way into town. I didn’t look behind me, I could feel that Oleander had crowded in behind me and shut the door. He took my hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and then led me to the bar. I had to hop a little to reach one of the bar stools and came face-to-face with a wizened bartender. His apron, once white, was covered with grease, spilled beer, and grime. He wiped his hands on the stained apron, but I wasn’t sure if they came away any cleaner. He was almost entirely bald, the top of his head shining even though the room was dark but for two small fires in chimneys at either end.

  “Pitcher of ale,” Oleander said, sounding a lot more confident than I felt.

  The old man stared at Oleander, then turned his suspicious gaze to me. When he spoke, his voice barely carried over the jeers and shouts from the nearby tables.

  “You’re supposed to be up at the school, Greenfoot. Yer daddy gonna tan yer hide if he catches you down here.”

  Oleander tugged me a little closer with one hand and produced a wad of bills in the other. “I just wanted to show Astrid a good time. We’ll be gone before Dad could even guess I’m here.”

  The old man eyed us for another second before relenting with a grunt. He snatched the bills and returned a moment later carrying a pitcher and two tankards, pouring us each a generous measure before wandering further down the bar. Apparently, there were no health and safety inspections to worry about, because both the pitcher and tankards looked as filthy as the man who’d produced them.

  I turned my back to the bar, pretending to sip my drink. There was a game of dice in full swing at a nearby table. A lean, scarred man lifted a mug from the table, exposing the dice beneath with a triumphant smile. He had a pair of twos and sixes.

  “Empty yer pockets, lads!” he shouted gleefully.

  I nudged Oleander in the ribs, nodding at the winner. “Is that Loch?”

  Oleander took a swig of ale and grimaced. “Loch’s brother, Heath. But if he’s here, that means Loch can’t be far.”

  Heath gathered his winnings from his tablemates, stuffing bills and coins into the threadbare pockets of his pants. I was shocked they didn’t tumble out of a hidden hole and go spinning to the floor. He was still chuckling when the crowd of players dispersed, leaving him alone at the table. When he glanced up, he sobered, scowling at us.

  “What you lookin’ at, girl?”

  “You,” I answered honestly. “That game you’re playing looks fun. Do you mind if I play?”

  Heath’s eyes perused my body, lingering on the faerie dust and autumn leaves that stuck to my hair and eyelashes. I could tell by the shift in his body language that I’d gone from threat to mild amusement. He thought I was a faerie, just like Oleander, just from a different court. I slid off my barstool, curling Oleander’s coat around my shoulders, trying to look smaller and less threatening.

  Heath smiled after a moment. Lorcan would have had an apoplexy at the sight of his teeth. The ones that remained were yellow and crooked. The rest were simply gone, rotted right out of his head.

  “I doubt you know the rules.”

  “Teach me.”

  “You think you can learn just like that?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a silly dice game, so I’m sure it can’t be that hard to learn.”

  “An’ you got you money to play with?”

  I nodded. “But I don’t want money in return… if I win, that is.”

  “What you want?” Heath asked, eyeing me narrowly.

  I leaned in closer to him. “Oleander says your brother knows everything that goes on around here.” Heath nodded. “I want information.”

  Heath chewed his lip thoughtfully. It was revolting to watch. “And… if you lose?”

  “You earn fifty bucks and Oleander and I will leave you in peace.”

  Heath scratched his chin, and then raised his voice, addressing the men around him, “What you think, lads? Should we let the little autumn faerie play our ‘silly’ game?”

  The men laughed and cheered enthusiastically. That was clearly a ‘yes’.

  “We have a deal, milady,” he said, extending a grimy hand to shake mine. Once that formality was out of the way, he gave me a push towards the table. “No cheatin’.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, what are the rules?”

  “Ah, we’ll need a real master o’ the game to go over those,” he said before whispering something to the man behind him. The man sat down a moment later, facing us.

  While he was rough like the others, he wasn’t as repulsive as Heath. He was tall, with a wide-brimmed hat obscuring his face. All I could see beneath the tilt of his hat was a layer of dark stubble and a strong jaw. He wore a billowing, dirty white shirt that was unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest. He’d tucked his worn trousers into black work boots and had belted a dagger at his waist. When he removed his hat, I was surprised to find he was... handsome, albeit dirty and unwashed. He had long brown hair and eyes the color of moss. His nose was long and hooked, crooked at the bridge with a cut beneath his eye. He looked like a man who got into a fair number of bar fights. And won them.

  “The lady wants to learn how to play the game, Loch,” Heath told his brother with a conspiratorial smile. “Since you’ve taken more money from the men in here than their wives’ll ever know, who better to explain?”

  Loch smirked at the pair of us. “I don’t like to play games I know I can win—takes the fun outta it.”

  “Ah, sit down, ya cocky sonovabitch! You’ve yet to hear the lady’s terms.”

  Loch tilted his head. “Now why do I got the feelin’ those terms include gettin’ the shit beaten outta me by some Autumn lord’s guards when this is all over?” He pointed at me. “She’s clearly some noble’s daughter here to marvel at our misfortune.”