Free Rise of the Fey by Alessa Ellefson Page A

reverberating around the church, “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the forces of evil descended from the heavenly places. Therefore you must not only prepare your bodies for this war, but your minds as well, that you may not fall into their traps and lose yourselves in their false promises.
    “It is with this in mind that I urge you to strike now, before the Fey have had the time to gather around Carman, before she herself has garnered her full strength back. Because, mark my words, if they do so, they will march upon the world and there will be no stopping them.”
    A long silence pregnant with fear follows his words. One of the pages lets out a muffled sob before being shushed down.
    I see Father Tristan’s somber face break into a small smile, as if satisfied with the result of his homily.
    “Boy am I glad I’m not in your shoes,” Keva says, pretending to be in earnest prayer next to me. “First Jennifer, then Father Tristan, and now you can add that woman to the list of people who bear a grudge against you.”
    She tilts her head towards the south transept where the professors sit, and my jaw clenches shut as I encounter Irene’s cold stare, her dark eyes fixed upon me like I’m a threat that needs to be obliterated.
    “She needs to take a pill,” I say, ignoring the chill spreading down my spine. “She always knew that I was…what I am,” I add, the word ‘Fey’ getting stuck in my throat. “It’s not like I chose to be this way.”
    “No, but you’ve made it public knowledge that her fiancé of the time had you out of betrothedom, so to speak,” Keva says. “Then you turned her son against her. Not to mention that her creepy lawyer turned out to be working for Carman and used you to free her. That’s like three strikes against her right there.”
    “Dean didn’t work
for
Carman,” I say more loudly, still finding it difficult to hear anyone criticize the man who cared for me in place of my parents. I lower my voice again, “He was her son. Besides, that has nothing to do with me. Why would she be angry at me for that?”
    Keva shrugs. “He’s Fey, you’re Fey.” She holds up her hands as if weighing both Dean and me. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
    “It’s
not
the same,” I say, getting more strident with every word. “I’ve never hurt anyone, which is more than I can say about most people here!”
    Heads turn our way, and the murmurs of whispered prayers hush. I hold my breath, only now realizing everyone must have heard what I’ve said. Any second now, people are going to dive for me, drag me outside and burn me at the stake like they burned all those Fomori!
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lance motion towards Father Tristan, and steel myself for what’s about to happen. But, an eternal second later, the priest’s comfortingly dull voice rings out, urging the congregation back to prayer, and I finally let myself breathe again.

    “Stay close to Arthur,” Keva says, the moment the last blessing has been given. “You’re now at his beck and call at all times, remember that.”
    “Believe you me, he won’t get out of my sight,” I grumble. Not until he’s told me all he knows about my father, I silently add.
    But I don’t have to worry about losing Arthur in the crowd for he grabs me by the arm and pulls me after him like an angry parent would his disobedient child.
    “Ouch, let me go!” I say, trying to pry his fingers off my wrist.
    Arthur only tightens his hold on me and I hear people snigger as we pass them on our way out. It isn’t until we reach the burned remains of the asylum that he finally lets me go.
    “What do you think you’re doing, shouting nonsense like that in church?” he asks me in a harsh whisper.
    “You know what it was about,” I retort, folding my arms, “you heard me.”
    “That’s exactly the problem!” Arthur