Free Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) by Alessa Ellefson Page A

wear skirts,” Bri mutters, pointing at her brother and Jack, who are desperately pulling on their pants to keep them from sticking to their legs in the intense humidity.
    “Is she really our teacher?” I ask, eyeing the brown-haired girl with circumspection. She can’t be more than a year or two older than me.
    “What, Professor Pelletier?” Owen asks. A devious gleam appears in his eyes. “Guess who really liked her last year?”
    Bri answers him with the same look. “Hadrian,” they say together before bursting out laughing.
    “Who’s—” I start.
    “Their older brother,” Jack says.
    “He never had a chance,” Bri says. “I mean, he’s so prissy, he hates getting even a speck of dust on his uniform.”
    “And she rolls around in dirt all day long,” Owen adds with a knowing nod. “It was doomed—”
    “From the start,” Bri says. She lets out a heavy sigh and leans on Owen’s shoulder. “Poor soul, condemned to forever watch his love from a distance.”
    “Maybe she could teach him,” Owen says.
    Bri shakes her head sadly. “He’d be running away every five minutes to change into a new set of clothes.”
    The twins roar in laughter, and Jack shakes his head at them. “Their humor is often somewhat…dubious.”
    “What’s going on over there?” Professor Pelletier calls out.
    Bri and Owen straighten up, their faces scarlet.
    “Nothing, Professor,” Owen says.
    “Sorry, Professor,” Bri says.
    I watch the teacher collect some pink, bell-shaped flowers in a small basket.
    “The foxglove, or digitalis,” she says, “is easily recognizable because of its elongated bell shape. It comes in several colors, going over the whole spectrum of pinks, as well as gray and white. Who knows some of its uses?”
    “They’re usually used to help regulate the heartbeat,” I say, after making sure no one else knows.
    Professor Pelletier nods. “Correct. It’s particularly used in instances of atrial fibrillation. However, and this is what we’re going to focus on, they also happen to be a plant favored by the Fey.”
    My initial excitement peters out. Here I was, thinking that I’d finally be able to show everyone that I was actually good at something.
    “You need to gently pluck—
gently
, Mr. von Blumenthal! No need to squeeze them to a pulp.” The teacher walks down between the two rows, looking over at our work. “When you’re done with your pickings, you may grab one of the glass vials by the windows, fill it up with water, then place the flowers in it.”
    “What are we going to do with them afterward?” a curly-haired girl asks.
    “When you’ve placed the flowers inside, you’ll replace the vials by the windows and let them simmer for three hours,” Miss Pelletier answers. “Which will result in what, Miss Adams?”
    The curly-haired girl looks about, uncomfortable. “Scented water?”
    “Which we can then turn into essence of—”
    The sound of breaking glass cuts the teacher short.
    “Elias Gianakos!” Miss Pelletier yells, rushing over to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Shaking, the boy holds out his bloody hand before him. “S-Sorry, miss,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”
    “No, you never do,” the teacher says. “Go see the nurse. Miss Henderson, come help me clean this mess.”
    Without a word, a tall blonde girl grabs a broom and sets to sweeping up the broken shards.
    “Happens all the time,” Bri says. “It’s a wonder they ever accepted him into Lake High.”
    Jack comes back with one of the few round glass vials left and hands me one.
    “One thing’s for sure,” Owen says, nearly dropping his own container, “he’s never going to make it as a knight if he keeps at it.”
    “You mean not everyone does?” I ask, carefully dropping the flowers into the water. “Not even after passing the test?”
    “Nah,” Owen says, flicking the remains of a flower off his fingers and gingerly picking up another one. “Only those who get