Faetality |✓|

Chapter Seven, Part Four - Red Rum

While alone, in the darkness of my mind, I floated slowly back to consciousness. My hearing returned first, revealing nothing more than the dim murmur of far-off voices and the closer sounds of occasional footsteps. Soon the sensations of feeling and touch were reactivated. I still couldn't move, but at least I knew I was lying on something hard, scratchy, and uncomfortable.

"Tamsyn? Can you hear me?" I heard Westley's voice and felt his hand, warm, on my cheek. I could say how or why, but I knew I was safe. "Open your eyes, lass. You can do it."

It was like trying to pry apart cement–getting my eyes to willingly open. But eventually I dragged myself into the light. "What... happened?" My vision swam in and out of focus. "I thought... I died." I squinted at the blurry face above me.

"You did die, Tamsyn."

"What?" I groaned, attempting to sit up, but Westley's hands forced me back down.

"Calm down, you're in the nurse's. You're safe now."

He was right. We were in the nurse's office. I recognized the pale walls, with the horrifying health posters about reproduction and STD's. The hard, scratchy, uncomfortable surface I rested on was actually an old cot wrapped in a faded, wool blanket.

"But... I don't understand," I said. "How did this happen? And why am I alive?"

I could feel it coming–the panic. It swelled in my chest like a colossal wave. Suddenly, it was like I couldn't breathe, like I was dying all over again.

"Listen to me Tamsyn--you're safe. Now breathe before you have a panic attack." Westley grabbed hold of my shoulders and shook me roughly, effective slowing the intake of my noisy, sporadic breaths.

"But I... died..."

"You're Fae, Tamsyn. You can die--but not in the usual ways." He helped me into a sitting position, where I gripped the edges of the cot, still extraordinarily weak.

"I don't get it. What does that even mean?"

"It means you've got the blood of the High Fae in your veins. The High Fae can die, but they don't stay dead. Not unless you kill them... properly." I swallowed. Westley stared so intently from piercing blues eyes that I had to look away. "You were poisoned. Somehow, rowan got into your system. It comes from a powerful tree and is quare dangerous to the Fae. If you weren't royal Fae, you wouldn't have survived."

"I came into contact with a tree that can kill Fae? That's ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I even touched a tree."

"Why don't you try using your head for more than a hat rack, darlin'? You didn't have to touch the tree. Instead, someone brought a bit of it to you. They wanted you dead, and since you aren't, they'll know you're High Fae."

My skin rippled with goose bumps. Someone had really tried to kill me. Someone out there, beyond that wooden doorway, actually wanted to see me suffer. ME. "Well, this didn't happen because of something I ate. Thanks to that stupid spell you cast on me, I haven't been able to eat solid food since yesterday."

"Oh, right. Forgot about that." Westley snapped his fingers and a shining apple appeared from nowhere. It sat in the space of empty air between us, fat and red and delicious.

"Go on." Grinning, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, waiting.

I bit my lip and stared at the apple. Already I salivated, like one of Pavlov's dogs. "No." I shook my head. "I know it's a trick. I know what'll happen if I try to eat it."