Emerson’s Story

Chapter 6

Six

We arrive at an embellished metal gate separating us from a garden of manicured maroon grass and bushes adorned in the colors of autumn. A chilly breeze raises goosebumps along the exposed part of my arms. “Is this anywhere near the house we were just in?” I ask. It doesn’t feel like it, but with the faerie trails—faerie paths?—making travel so quick, it’s impossible to tell.

“No,” Dash says. “We’re in a completely different part of the world in the foothills of a mountain range.”

I peer between the metal-shaped leaves of the gate, and on the other side of the enormous house, I see snow-capped mountain peaks. The elf—I assume the pointed ears means he’s an elf—opens the gate and lets us into the garden. We walk along the paved path, up the few steps to the front door, and inside. A crackling fire and a cozy atmosphere greets us in the large open entrance hall of Chevalier House.

“I’ll get the professor,” the elf says, heading toward the stairs.

I cross the room, my feet sinking into the thick rug as I look around. A table stands in the middle of the room, with a beautifully painted vase at its center filled with flowers I don’t recognize. Richly embroidered curtains frame the windows, and painted portraits in gilded frames decorate the walls. I think about staying here, even for just a few days, and I can’t quite believe it. It’s a million times fancier than any other house I’ve ever lived in. “Of course it is,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“What?” Dash asks.

“The Guild, your parents’ home, this place … I guess when you live in a world of magic, everyone can have whatever fancy, schmancy house they like.”

“Well, not really.” Dash pushes his hands into his pockets. “Most faeries live in regular tree houses. That’s how we lived until Mom got lucky with her fashion design and clothes casting. She won an award, and then this celebrity hired her to make a dress for some important event. Word started spreading about her work, and she ended up with more high-society clients. Even some of the Seelies—the fae royalty—have worn her dresses. So, yeah.” He shrugs. “Now we have a fancy, schmancy house.”

“Interesting. Must have been hard for you whenever you were in my world, having to pretend you lived in some crappy part of Stanmeade.”

“So hard,” he jokes, though his voice lacks humor.

“No wonder you still live at home with your parents. Why rush to move out and be independent when you can lounge around in a mansion for years?”

He doesn’t respond, and I continue to examine the portraits on the wall. In the corner of my vision, I see someone walk into the room and out another door, but I ignore whoever it is. “So, you and Jewel aren’t together, but you have matching tattoos,” I say to cover the growing silence. Silence leaves space for thoughts of Mom to sneak in, and I’m not ready to deal with that. “Seems pretty serious to me. I mean, there’s no going back from that, right?”

“Matching tattoos? Oh.” Dash starts laughing. “You mean these?” He holds his hands up, displaying his tattooed wrists, then doubles over as laughter consumes him. I fold my arms and pointedly ignore him until he’s recovered enough to say, “These are guardian markings. We get them once we’ve graduated.”

“Wow, you actually managed to graduate? How surprising.”

“Yep.” He smiles proudly. “Less than a year ago.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes before turning back to the portrait of a young woman. I read the ridiculous name on the polished bronze plaque beneath the painting: Azure Plumehof. Seriously? Azure, Dash, Jewel … Don’t these magical people know anything about normal names? My gaze slides to the date below the name, which tells me this painting is over three hundred years old. Flip. I wonder if the house is also that old.

I hear laughter behind me and look over my shoulder to see a young boy grinning while Dash writes on the boy’s arm with the same pen he uses to open magic doorways. I make out a spark of light before the boy says, “Thanks, Dash!” and runs off.

I look away, pretending to examine the crystal-embellished tassels hanging from one of the curtain tie-backs. “Will they give me one of those magic pens here?”

“What magic pens?” Dash asks.

“You know.” I glance back at him, nodding toward the pen in his hand. “The pens you guys use to open doorways.”

“Oh.” Dash snickers. “That isn’t a pen. It’s a stylus.”

“It looks like a pen. And from what I’ve seen, it acts like a pen.”

“Well, it isn’t. It has no ink. It’s essentially just a stick that channels magic.”

“So … it’s a magic wand?”

“Pretty much. And you’ll have to prove you can safely use your magic before you’ll get one.”

“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms and wandering over to the table. I lean closer to the vase and examine the oddly shaped flowers.

“Dash, Emerson!” exclaims a female voice from the direction of the stairs. “How lovely to see the two of you.”

I straighten and step back as a woman with pink in her blonde hair and miniature banana earrings dangling from her ears descends the stairs. A woman I’d guess to be in her twenties, maybe early thirties. The same woman, I realize with a lurch, from the portrait. “Emerson,” she says as reaches the bottom of the stairs. “So lovely to meet you. I’m Professor Azure Plumehof, but please call me Azzy.” She holds her hand toward me. I stare at it, then back up at her face.

“Azure Plumehof?” I look over my shoulder at the portrait, then back. “You can’t be. The woman in that painting would be over three hundred years old. She’d be a shriveled-up old prune.”

Azzy laughs as she lowers her hand, apparently unperturbed that I didn’t bother to shake it. “Dash didn’t explain that part?”

“I guess it didn’t come up,” Dash says. “She was too fixated on the fact that her hair is blue.”

I glance down at the pastel blue strands hanging over my shoulder that I’d somehow managed to forget about. With a blink, I return my attention to the most recent earth-shattering revelation. “Wait. You’re telling me you people are immortal or something?”

“Is that so hard to believe,” Dash asks, “given every other so-called ‘impossible’ thing you’ve discovered so far this morning?”

“It’s—just—”

“We’re not immortal, dear,” Azzy says with a brief frown in Dash’s direction. She clasps her hands together over her layers of loose, floaty clothing. “We live several centuries, which is a far cry from immortality.”

“Several … centuries …” I murmur.

“Don’t worry,” Azzy says, smiling kindly. “We’ll give you plenty of time to absorb all this new information. That’s why Chevalier House exists—to give you a safe place to learn more about yourself and the world you’re now part of. There will be history lessons, magic lessons—all the basics that young faeries learn in junior school—and interviews so you can give us information that will assist in finding your real family.”

“My—what?” Real family? I hadn’t given the idea a moment’s thought.

“But we can begin all that tomorrow. For now, let me show you to your room. I’m sure you’ve had a trying day so far, and you probably need to rest. You’ll find everything you could possibly need in your room: clothes, toiletries, makeup—if that’s your thing. If you need something else that I’ve forgotten, or if the clothes are the wrong size, just let me know.” She pauses, as if she might be expecting me to say something, but I’m a bit too overwhelmed to form words. “And if your brain is too fired up for you to rest right now,” she continues, “you can explore the house and the gardens. Meet the other fae who are staying with us at the moment.”

“And if you need me,” Dash adds, “just tell Azzy. She knows how to get hold of me.”

I blink. “Need you?” Now there’s a ridiculous notion. “You don’t have to babysit me anymore, Dash. I can get through the rest of this without you.”

“I’m sure you can. Just tell Azzy everything that happened last night, okay?” He exchanges a glance with Azzy, then returns his gaze to me. “Everything. So she can help you.”

I frown at him. “Obviously. What did you think I was gonna do? Pretend the whole thing didn’t happen? I’ve tried that already, and it didn’t make any of this craziness go away.”

“We’ll have a good chat, don’t worry,” Azzy says, patting Dash’s arm before taking my hand and steering me toward the stairs. “Let’s get you settled in, Em. Can I call you Em, or do you prefer Emerson?”

“She likes Emmy,” Dash tells her. I twist my head over my shoulder and imagine sparks flying out of my eyes straight at him. Unfortunately, magic doesn’t seem to work that way, and I’m left simply glaring at his smiling face. “Have fun,” he says with a small wave before turning and heading for the door. And despite the fact that I want to slap him—despite telling him I don’t need him—I have the sudden panicked urge to call out, “Wait, don’t leave me here!” Because even though I’ve always hated him, he’s the last tie to my normal life, and he’s about to disappear through that door.

But I swallow my panic and don’t say a word. I face forward and let Azzy lead me up the stairs. Because I’ve survived everything life has ever thrown at me on my own, and this will be no different.