Dawn had just begun to break when Vera gave up on sleep. Sighing, she sat up slowly in case the movement disturbed her head again. The dizziness had passed along with the worst of her fever, but there was still a slight ache behind her eyes that pounded in a constant, erratic rhythm. Her limbs were heavy as she dug her water flask out of her bag and took a long, greedy sip. The liquid was no longer cold, but it washed down the sandpaper clinging to her throat. Already, she felt refreshed, the ache diminished. She capped the flask before tossing it back into the pile of her things beside the sofa, though her thirst wasn't quenched. There was no telling how long she would be stuck at the house; she could hear the echo of her father's warnings at the back of her mind, and the stern but wise look in his eyes as he spoke of the long journeys he used to take as a young fae. Most of his words had been lost to the haze over her mind, but one stuck out: it would be unwise to down her entire supply of water under such conditions.
She scanned the room again, though it was still just as empty and disheveled as before. The white wisp was nowhere to be found, leaving only the eerie echo of those three words in its wake, constantly repeating until it was all she could hear. Even the shape it had burned onto the floor just a few hours earlier had disappeared without a trace. There was no denying it. Something remained in the house despite its years of ruin.
As she stood, her gaze snagged on the window. The courtyard garden was in worse shape than the house, with weeds sprouting inside what had once been neatly trimmed hedges of white roses. Now, they spilled out of their flowerbeds, tangling in the knee-high grass and snaking across the cracked road between the gate and the veranda. Beyond the mighty fence, the west woods loomed like a shadow, a great sea of green between her and the city. White shapes roamed between the trees, spindly and thin but no less formidable. She shivered, and a hand snaked to her throat as a phantom pain spread beneath her skin where the creature had nearly choked her. She barely won against the creature when she was healthy. She stood no chance against them in her current state.
That didn't even account for the other monster, the one that had chased her to the manor's gate.
Cold fear slithered up her spine as its otherworldly shape flashed through her mind. Whatever the white creatures were, they were ants compared to the power of that beast.
Desperate to think of something else, she slipped into Eileen's mask of optimism and let her gaze drift back to her half-full water flask. "Maybe the house has a well," she told herself, and she nodded at the distraction. The house was far enough from the city that the idea of it having sustained itself when it was lived in didn't seem too far-fetched. There were no roads connecting it to the Moon Court, which would have made it difficult to haul supplies.
She wrinkled her nose as the train of thought took off. It seemed odd that some rich family would have simply lived in it. It was too hidden, too secluded, too cut off.
But if that wasn't the case, what other secret lay buried in the manor?
She nibbled halfheartedly on the dried meat she had brought from home. The last time she had eaten had to have been before her fight with Wyn, which was at least two days ago, and yet her empty stomach was too unsettled to take anything she offered. Every creak of the walls, every skitter of tiny paws, every whisper of the wind made her jump. Her hand eventually settled permanently against her sword, and her eyes cut between the window and the two open doorways that exited the room—one to the foyer and the other that led deeper into the house. Her head throbbed again. The bump on the back of her head was only further aggravated by her paranoia.
When she gave up on trying to eat, she curled up on the sofa and let her mind drift back to the wisp. That must have been what it was—a tiny guide spirit that usually appeared to humans who found themselves lost. They rarely appeared to fae, and some scholars theorized that it was because they sensed fae's magic and avoided them. She scoffed. Maybe it had confused her for a human despite her physical fae traits—the subtle curved point of her ears and the periwinkle blue markings around her eyes. It wouldn't be the first creature to have done so. People used to whisper that perhaps she wasn't a fae at all, but some sort of changeling, the leftover piece from an exchange gone wrong. Her mother adamantly refused these accusations, and Vera's long lifespan soon proved them to be false anyway. No changeling could have lived for over two hundred years and remained so young and healthy. Longevity was a trait only the fae possessed.
But if it was a wisp, it was there for a reason. It knew the secrets of the house and the west woods. From the way it whispered persistently in her ear and appeared each night, it had something it desperately wished to show her.
If it weren't for her ankle and the unsteady footing the injury brought with it, she would have followed. However, like fae, wisps could be cheeky things. They had no words to twist so they twisted emotions instead. They preyed on weakness, and a lost, wounded fae trapped in an abandoned house on her own was weak enough. Magic was not to be trusted outright, and even things that seemed helpful at first could quickly become dark and twisted. No fae worth their salt would stumble blindly into its trap without a way to protect themself.
Putting her chin in her hand, she glanced around the room again to ignore the heaviness in her head. This time, her gaze snagged on Wyn's gun, propped up against the couch. She glared at it. For a weapon that was supposed to be Wyn's best, able to kill just about anything with ease, it had bit the dust on her when she needed it. It barely scratched the white creature that attacked her, and had been acting up since. The runes painted over it had since lost their glow, reduced to little more than swirling, decorative calligraphy. A pang of unease hit her, and she wrestled back the sigh that rose within her. It had to be the moon's waning. Without its enchantments, however, the shotgun was reduced to a regular weapon, one that she had no bullets to reload with. If it was no longer generating its own, she couldn't use it.
It really is an over-glorified metal stick now. Raking her fingers through her disheveled bangs, she turned her head away so she wouldn't have to look at the stolen weapon anymore. Wyn was nowhere near her, but she could feel him breathing down her neck, his cold and unforgiving gray eyes narrowed in a silent demand for an explanation. When she returned, she was sure to get an earful about her stupid, rash ideas. There's a reason I never taught you to use my shotgun, he would say in that stuck up tone of his. You destroy everything you get your hands on.
She sank further into the couch cushions, anger racing like wildfire through her veins. "If you didn't want me to take it, you shouldn't have suggested I was so useless without magic," she mumbled. Now, it was like her: magic-less and only useful for making an example of what not to be. She wasn't sure it would even last long as a whacking stick, despite having some nice weight to it. It had survived her panicked blow to the creature's head, but it wasn't designed for melee combat.
Her throat tightened painfully. It wasn't supposed to be this hard to kill a monster.
No. Gritting her teeth against the hot tears that pricked her eyes, she rolled over and put her back to the windows. For whatever reason, it was that hard. She was warned it would be—even her own father told her not to go. It should have been obvious that it was a task too great for one fae alone, especially one like her. The High Council's attempts to quell the creature had failed, so why should she succeed?
Vera perked up. The thought echoed in her mind, but the shame it brought had faded as she zeroed in on the most important part: the Council's attempts. A light went off, and her heart soared with a fool's hope. She flung herself upright and scooped her rucksack into her lap, knocking over Wyn's gun in the process. Filled with new vigor and buzzing with excitement, she rummaged through the bag until she dug up the old tome buried at the bottom, which was just as worn as the house she had taken refuge in. A grin split her lips. Knowledge was a kind of magic in and of itself.
The book had been cleared of dust due to her repeated flipping and shaking of its pages. This time, no cloud exploded in her face when she opened it, but she hardly registered the change. She thumbed through the pages with a purpose and the image of the eight-point star seared in her brain. It burned with familiarity, screamed with importance that she couldn't ignore. If the wisp had gone to such great lengths to show it to her, it had to mean something.
On the inside of the back cover, she saw it. A star with eight points, made up of two diamond shapes stacked one on the other. It was etched into the leather with precise marks, scratched so deeply it wore the cover thin. Though it was weathered with age, barely more than a scar on the inside cover, there was no doubt in her mind. It was the same as what the wisp had shown her.
Her chest swelled with pride. More carefully this time, she skimmed through the notes, scanning for another sign of the star symbol. It appeared repeatedly throughout the tome, stamped, etched, or scribbled onto various reports, all of which were related to the bane of the High Council—the project people dared not to whisper in the presence of scholars: Project 0-29.
A shudder passed through her. Memories of Silas, Wyn, and her father arguing about the project in hushed voices floated to the surface. They always waited until she and her sisters had gone to bed, but she could still hear them in the parlor below her room. She used to sneak down and eavesdrop, always eager to learn something she wasn't supposed to know. She recalled the scholars' argument she had overheard in the library, the one her father had steered her away from. It was supposed to be a failure, one that embarrassed the Council and shamed their attempts to destroy the fae-killer. To her, it was as mysterious as the faes' primal connection to the moon and its waning, kept under a tight lid that trembled with the High Council's fear.
Vera snapped the book shut. New strength surged through her along with a budding determination, and she pushed to her feet. Pins and needles exploded in her injured ankle—still numbed by the ointment, thankfully—but it wasn't enough to deter her. She limped carefully into the foyer, ignoring the low drone of pain in the back of her mind.
Sunlight bathed the room in a wash of gold light, warm against her skin as she stepped into its beams. In the daytime, the room no longer held a creepy aura, but rather left a heavy sadness hanging over her heart. The marble floor was cracked, weeds sprouting up through the once-polished stone. The wood on the toppled furniture was rotten and peeling, worn through with holes from pests. As she stepped farther into the room, something pricked her bandaged foot. She winced, lifting her foot to find the scattered shards of the broken vase strewn across the floor. Cobwebs hung in the corners, glittering with morning dew. Even they were abandoned.
She swept her gaze across the destruction, ignoring the tingle in the tips of her fingers. All houses belonging to rich fae families prominently displayed their crest in the first room that guests entered. It was a way to establish status and wealth immediately, to assert power over guests the moment they entered. The Reite family crest was displayed above the door, emblazoned on a silver plaque that shimmered like liquid moonlight. Even though it was abandoned, there was a chance the house was still marked. It seemed unlikely that it had been raided due to its secluded location, deep within the monster-invested west woods, so she clung to the sliver of confidence that said it had to be there. If the house once held any importance at all, it was sure to be displayed somewhere for all to see—even if its activities were secret. After all, fae had no power if they had no recognition. A project once backed by the High Council was sure to put its important mark front and center.
It caught her eye before her mind registered it was there. Lush vines of ivy grew along the wall to her left, one that was blank except for the tiny sparkle of metal peeking out behind the overgrown foliage. Gritting her teeth, she hobbled over to it, careful to avoid the shards and overturned furniture in her path. She strained to reach the thin vines, which hung from a tiny hole in the roof and cut off just out of arm's reach. When her fingers closed around them, she hesitated before giving a sharp tug. They snapped at the hole and came loose in her hand, exposing the medallion hidden beneath and the star imprinted on it.
"There you are." She threw the vines at her feet and stepped back to examine the crest in the light. It hummed with a faint enchantment, backed by a white light that emanated from the metal itself. She couldn't tell that it had any effect, but it was certainly dusted with mana crystals just like any other crest.
The pieces suddenly clicked in her mind—the house, its location being so far from the city, its protective barrier and iron gates, its eerie lack of life. She couldn't help that laugh that spilled from deep within her, the satisfaction that wound so tightly around her heart that it was almost choking. There was no better place to stumble into than the failed monster-killing experiment. If nothing else, it was sure to have information that would better prepare her to fight the monster.
This way.
That soundless voice crawled into her mind once again, painting words through images and meaning alone with no sound to give them life. They emerged untethered and sprang to the front of her thoughts, taunting her with the prospect of the unknown.
Vera spun, steadying herself against the wall. Sparks danced along the floor, pulling from the corners of the room until they gathered in the center and gave form to the tongue of white fire—the wisp that plagued her. It flickered, fiery edges curled like the ghost of a smile. The phrase echoed again, bouncing around her skull and taunting her with those three words. Only a heartbeat passed before it zipped down the hall, into the deepening darkness within the farthest parts of the house.
Urgency shot through Vera's bones. "Wait!" she cried, and shoved away from the wall. Her ankle took her weight and buckled, throwing her to the ground. She caught herself, but the impact sent fire up her arms. Throwing her head back, she cursed as she fumbled to get upright again. By the time she was on her feet, the wisp was gone, but she dove into the darkness anyway.
She emerged on the other side of the hall, in what she expected to be a living room in the same state as the rest of the house. Instead, she was slammed with cold air that sank beneath her skin and nipped her bones. She blinked as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim, flickering lights produced by mana crystals lining the room. An island took up most of the floor space, the countertop stacked with scattered tools for writing and the sad remains of notebooks that had gone unused. Bookshelves and tall cabinets stood against every empty space on the walls, though most of their contents had been spilled across the floor along with chunks of glass. Like the room she had been camping out in, it had two exits: one which she had just come from, and another which was sealed behind a metal door with a tiny window, covered over by an old stain. There were no windows to the outside, and the sunlight from the front room couldn't reach into the study. The walls loomed over her, and seemed to be closing in around her the longer she stood in the doorway.
The wisp appeared again with the crackle of silent laughter. Come this way, it prompted again as it drifted to the pile of books on the floor. The same brown stain on the door splattered many of the books as well.
Vera's stomach twisted. "You're sure this will help me, right?"
Help. The new word washed over her like fresh rainfall after a long drought. With a shiver, the wisp bounced around in excitement—or so she assumed, since it had no face with which to express emotions. Help, it said again. The word only echoed in her voice, in the same tone she had said it in before.
She sighed. "Alright. But you know I'll get rid of you if anything is off."
Help. The wisp circled the books, illuminating them in its soft, white glow. It gave off the same light as the plaque in the foyer, she realized.
"Yes, yes." She waved the tiny flame away and settled beside the pile of books on the floor. She couldn't remember wisps being able to speak, but this one seemed intent on learning—even if all it could do was project threads of conversation into her mind. Rather than dwell on it, she focused on sifting through the books. Most were bound in the same way as the tome her father had lent her, and they were in no better shape. Some had crumbled completely, rendering their secrets unreadable. She could only hope there was nothing worth noting in those volumes. She lifted one with a faded emerald green cover, its spine covered in swirling gold patterns and its front stamped with the star emblem. It was heavy in her hands, practically begging to be read.
She swallowed against the thrum of fear in her veins, grateful to be free from her pounding headache for the moment. It was sealed with a tiny clasp which easily came undone. Released from its binds, the book sprang open, exposing the spidery handwriting within. Vera sank against the island, tucking her knees against her chest and propping the book against them. Her heart fluttered with excitement, but she squashed the feeling down. If she let herself get distracted by every document, she could be in that room forever. Instead, she blocked out the buzz of her mind and stilled the anxious whirl of her thoughts. Nothing else mattered; all she had to do was learn about her prey.
She would not be bested again.
This chapter took me awhile to get into, but I feel like that always happens in about the 7-14 range. For some reason, those chapters are a struggle for me. But it's here and things are moving right along! We'll see if Vera finds something useful in her search...
See you all next week!