Unedited.
This chapter is sort of like a history lesson so I hope it's not too boring. It sets up the ending, so I have to see there will be a lot more history lessons in future chapters. I'll try and make it as exciting as possible. After all, this is my book so I can make the history as fun as I want.
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When Rebecca roused again, she felt a solid presence against her body. She glanced at her dad, fighting a smile. He was lying on his back, snoring softly. It never ceased to amaze her, how amazing she felt being able to say she had parents—a dad that wasn't there just to use her as a punching bag.
"Becca, you hungry?"
Rebecca glanced over at her mother, standing in the doorway of her room. She was dressed in a black pantsuit, the white shirt underneath visible. Out of habit, Rebecca glanced outside where the sun was streaming through the blinds of her room.
"What time is it?" she asked, starting to get up. She had school and though she loathed to go — loathed to face Mikael again — she had to go.
"Seven thirty. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Mum, you don't have to—"
"Eggs and bacon," her dad muttered, without opening his eyes. "I'll get up soon and cook it."
Her mother shook her head. "No you won't. You don't have a case until the afternoon. Sleep in."
Her dad still didn't open his eyes, but he did let Rebecca get up. "What time do you want it?"
"Honey—"
"Time?" her dad, repeated once again. It was clear he wasn't budging on the issue.
"Oh, fine." Her mother threw her hands in the air. "You're bossy, you know that?"
"I'm offering to make breakfast and you're complaining?" her dad muttered.
At that, he got a smile in return. "No. You're just lucky I love you."
Her dad scoffed. "Of course you love me. How could you not?"
As her mother walked into the room, Rebecca walked down the hall into the bathroom. She didn't have any clothes with her, but she'd just wrap a towel around her body. She had to get ready now otherwise she'd be late.
The last thing she heard was the sound of a kiss.
*
Dressed in jeans and a black shirt, Rebecca walked into the kitchen. The smell of bacon wafted around the kitchen — a heavenly smell.
"Morning. You hungry?"
Rebecca smiled at her dad, still dressed in black sweat pants and the shirt. "I am now. Bacon always makes me hungry."
Running her fingers through her drying hair, she tried to comb out the knots. It was too wet to brush; Rebecca would just end up splashing water all over herself.
"Becca," her dad began, voice cautious. Rebecca didn't like the sound of it. At all. Her dad was a blunt person naturally. Any time he was cautious about something, it wasn't a good thing. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The it of the question wasn't hard to figure out. Rebecca played dumb though. "About what?"
Her dad stared at her, gaze unwavering. He was well aware of the fact that she knew what he was talking about. "Rebecca."
The one word was enough to make her pause. She was already hiding so much from them — she couldn't hide this. She wished she could tell them about Mikael and the absurdity that had become her life. But she couldn't. They'd just act like she was crazy. It wasn't a far off guess — she felt crazy.
"Dad," she whispered, sitting down at one of the dining chairs. Their kitchen and dining was open plan, so all that divided Rebecca and her dad was an island bench. It was barely up to Rebecca's waist but the illusion of it was still there. It acted as a barrier between them — a way to justify keeping the truth from him. "I don't want to talk about it."
Her dad stared at her, absently putting an egg in the pan. "Rebecca, you know you can tell em anything. I don't care what it is — I don't discriminate and I never will, not when it comes to you. If you want to tell me you're suddenly into girls, I won't judge. If you need some help, I'll give it to you."
Rebecca forced a laugh. She was grateful he made the diversion instead of her — it seemed less suspicious that way. And there was less lying, even by omission. "Dad, I'm not into girls. Trust me."
"That's nice. I wouldn't care either way though, so if you suddenly change your mind, don't be afraid to tell me." His voice was light, but Rebecca wasn't fooled. He was smiling now, but he'd get to whatever he wanted to discuss, whether she liked it or not. "Tell me what's bothering you. If it's a someone I can sue there before they even realise it."
It was a someone — namely Mikael. And Adam, though Rebecca didn't even want to think about that. "I know dad."
"Rebecca you've been acting different lately. We've noticed and we're worried about you," her dad said, voice tinged with concern.
Rebecca hoped that she didn't look as panicked as she felt internally. It wasn't really all that surprising — her parents knew everything. Could they tell that she was having nightmares about zombies? Reoccurring dreams about a woman in a glass coffin? Conversations with people about things that didn't exist? She hoped not. "Dad, it's just been hard lately. I've been thinking about when I was younger and the memories aren't good ones."
Rebecca stared at the flood, hoping the lie was plausible. If it wasn't, she didn't know what she'd say next. The truth certainly wasn't it. What would she say? Hey dad, I'm a faerie and now I have a zombie as a friend, who's haunting my dreams.
A hand on her shoulder jarred her out of her thoughts. Rebecca glanced up at her dad, who was staring at her, clearly concerned. "Becca, come here," he said, opening his arms and taking a step back.
Standing, Rebecca let herself be enveloped in a hug. She rested her head against her dad's shoulder, closing her eyes. Tears struck her eyes and she blinked them away. All this lying . . . the guilt was getting to her more than she wanted to admit. It felt wrong lying to them.
"Dad, I'm sorry," she whispered, voice heavy with emotion. "I just can't talk about it. I can't."
His arms pulled her closer. "Its okay, Becca. You don't have to talk about it. How about, we eat some food and I take you to school. You can forget about your dream."
Rebecca wasn't hesitant in agreeing with that plan. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that she was deceiving her parents.
*
Rebecca waited for her English class to leave the room. She didn't want to get stuck in the crowd — if that happened she'd probably just get shoved to the ground anyway. In the lunch rush no one cared who you were; if you were in the way someone shoved you out of it. The matter of who was irrelevant.
As the last person left the room, she stood from her desk and gathered her books together. Rebecca didn't rush — she had no reason to. There was no waiting line for the library and Rebecca doubted there ever would be. She wanted to say that she hated the fact that she could no longer sit under the tree, but she couldn't — it wasn't the truth.
Sitting there, facing Skye every day, knowing people stared . . . Rebecca didn't enjoy it. She didn't like any of it, the smell of cigarette least of all. But there had been some positives. It was a quiet area, her only companion the birds. Granted, that was the truth if she ignored all the people, but she'd learned to ignore them.
Now she didn't plan on sitting there again. It was close to the smokers' area—where the guy haunting her dreams hang out. It was also where Mikael sat and the last thing she wanted to do was face him.
Besides, it wasn't like the library was an awful place to sit. It was peaceful and quiet, just her and the books. Half of them were awful, but they were better than people anyway. Rebecca could sit there and read, without worrying about someone ridiculing her.
"Rebecca, are you heading out?"
She turned to her English teacher. "Oh, yes sir. I didn't mean to take so long."
He nodded with a smile. "Take as long as you want. I'm here all lunch break marking these tests."
Rebecca shook her head. "I'd love to say but I have things to do, sir," she said, politely. Finished packing, she zipped up her bag. Tossing it over her shoulder she walked to the doorway. "Bye sir."
It didn't take long to reach the library. Rebecca opened the two large doors and they swung apart. The library was the same as it always was—a desk where the librarian sat, sorting through a stack of books, was against the left wall. Behind that was two offices. At the back wall there was a row of computers, though most were vacant. To the right was the books. Nearly twenty rows of them were stacked, with too many genres to count. Rebecca had been through every single shelf.
The librarian looked up, getting her with a smile. Rebecca tried to muster up a smile in response, though she wasn't sure how successful she was. After a fleeting glance the librarian looked away and Rebecca followed suit.
Making sure to avoid looking at people too long, Rebecca hurried into the aisles where the books were. Lately, when she'd spent her lunches in here, she'd grabbed a random book that didn't seem too bad and sat along the wall, reading.
She wandered the shelves, scanning the Young Adult section. There was everything she read on a daily basis — fantasy, historical fiction, science fiction. There was also romance but she generally skipped that section—
Today she found herself in an entirely different second. Rebecca found herself scanning the mythology section. She knew exactly what she was looking for but she just didn't want to admit it. She finally reached the f section and scanned the titles. Fuaths. Fenrir. Fang. Fauns. Rebecca had taken a Greek mythology class for a term once, so the names were vaguely familiar. She couldn't explain what or who they were though.
Finally she found what she was looking for. Fairies. Rebecca hesitantly reached out and grabbed one of the books. There weren't many to choose from, no more than ten, so she was bound to find something, anything.
Though she wasn't sure if she wanted to find anything.
Still, Rebecca flipped the book open. Skipping past all the publication details, she found the first page and read the words.
Fairies are an ancient race, dating back thousands of years. There are no official records, so it cannot be told when they first originated, but it is suspected to be as early as the 800's. In all historical records, they're known by different names. Faeries is the correct way—rationally, but it is has commonly just become fairies. Fae is often considered the abbreviation or 'slang' of their official name.
Rebecca turned the page. She didn't care about the historical meaning or the correct way to spell the word. She glanced around, unsure why. No one was going to look at her oddly. They'd either ignore her or assume it was for an assignment.
Then why did she feel so wrong doing this? It was just one book. It wasn't anything illegal or immortal. Maybe, she mused, it was because she was proving Mikael right and letting her nightmares win.
Shaking her head with a frustrated sigh, she flicked through the pages until she found something remotely interesting. As she skimmed through the words on each page, she caught a few of them. History. Legacy. Origin. All of it seemed boring and irrelevant so Rebecca skipped past it.
Finally, she found something that seemed interesting and paused with her hand as a bookmark.
The term 'Fae' often evokes fear. They were known to be creatures of evil, with dark powers. According to historical records, a curse wasn't uncommon. At the time when witches roamed freely, fairies were often burned at the stake as well. In some cases, it was more barbaric—they had weights tied to them as they were thrown into the ocean.
There are many relics known today, kept safe in various museums that were used by the Fae for various reasons. Some were for malicious purposes, others just family heirlooms. It is unclear exactly what they were used for.
Rebecca stopped reading and scrolled down the page. The relics ranged from vases, to rings to necklaces. Most were made of gold from the looks of it. None of them looked cheap either—
Rebecca blinked rapidly. Then she did it again. And again, until she was sure she wasn't seeing things. It was impossible, but she couldn't ignore the fact that the relic staring back at her, was the exact same one Mikael had given her. Rebecca shook her head. There was plenty of explanations. Someone had obviously just re-created the piece of jewellery, and then Mikael had given it to her. It made perfect sense.
With a sigh, Rebecca gave in, and read the words that accompanied to picture.
This necklace goes by many names, but 'conmeatus' is the correct term. It Latin, it means 'store.' This necklace is exactly that. Ancient Fae myth states that this is what it was used for. It served as a way of storing powers and keeping them safe. When the time came for the powers to be 'unlocked' the necklace would 'release' everything it stored.
There is no real proof, but it is said to glow and change colour when any sort of power is in use, whether it be dark or light.
There is no way this necklace can be re-created. The gem stone used was a magic one, often considered cursed. It is a lost artefact. Unlike the others, it cannot be located and isn't found in any of the museums worldwide.
Rebecca pointedly ignored how coincidental that was. Sure she'd been the one to get it and it couldn't be re-created but that didn't mean anything. The fact that she vividly remembered the necklace glowing and changing colour before her eyes, was something else she ignored.
Her hands crept up to her neck before she could stop the reaction. Without the necklace she felt odd, though she was more than glad that it was gone.
Forcing both hands onto the pages, she flipped to a new one.
Fairies (Faeries) are not solitary creatures. They roam in colonies, ruled by both a King and Queen. Seeing a fairy wandering on their own is not a common sight and it is extremely rare . . .
Rebecca quickly turned the page.
The picture on the next page caught her attention. She blamed morbid curiosity. A body, lifeless, pale and gaunt stared back at her. She blinked just to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was. Just like last time, the image didn't change — it still remained the same body, just as lifeless as the first time.
RESURRECTION
Rebecca's eyebrows shot up at the words and the book almost slipped from her grip. They clearly weren't aiming for subtlety. There was no way Rebecca could stop reading now.
The word evokes enough fear as it is. It is the art of resurrecting the dead, no matter the level of post mortem.
In historical records, fairies were often resurrecting the dead, some for sinister purposes. It is said that once, someone is resurrected by a fairy, there is deep relationship those involved. The person is always indebted to their saviour and will serve them hand and foot, though that is not always the case. Traditionally, that is the nature of the relationship but it isn't always the case.
Rebecca glanced around, wondering why they'd suddenly turned to air-conditioning on. It wasn't a hot day, far from it. She wrapped an arm around herself, to ward of the child. Her hair was even standing on end, the chill was that bad.
There are many titles between the two in question, but the traditional ones are common knowledge. The previously deceased will often call the person that resurrected them, 'Salvatée.'
The book almost clattered to the floor as Rebecca stared at the page with wide eyes. Though the word wasn't said aloud, she knew what it would sound like. Though she wanted to deny it, she couldn't. He'd said that to her, she was sure of it. More than once.
Chilled to the bone, she read on; heart in her throat.
The term is derived from Latin. 'Salvator' is traditionally the literal translation for 'saviour' but the Fae chose not to use the term, instead using an alternative. It is not clear why. Instead they use 'Salvatée' which isn't a large variation from the original word. It is a respectful term between the two, as first names are rarely spoken between the two.
In comparison, there is a different title for the previously deceased. Again, it is derived from a Latin word, though it is unclear why they did not use the literal translation—'Inservio' meaning to serve. Instead they use, 'Inservié.'
The relationship between the two is a long-lasting one. It doesn't end until one member of the pair perishes . . .
Rebecca slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the isle. It was too many coincidences all at once. The necklace — supposedly a lost artefact. The word. The dream. The correct information — that matched everything Mikael had already told her.
Putting the book back on the shelf, Rebecca turned and walked away. She was going to find Mikael and demand answers. None of it was making sense and he was the one that started it. So it gave her the right to question him about it.