41

Mor Trisencor and the Moment He Lost the Fairy Game

The cathedral repairs last month had taken only a few days, mostly because Dranian and Mor knew how to work hard. Cress helped a little but always seemed to find excuses to disappear. Shayne on the other hand didn’t even hide that he wasn’t helping. He showed up, though, and lounged against the rooftop, basking in the sun and talking everyone’s faeborn ears off while Dranian handed Mor supplies by the strength of his one usable arm. In only two afternoons, Mor had patched the large hole he’d made when he’d fallen through with Violet.

The days went by without trouble after that. The air was clean of mischief.

The interns had fallen into their summer roles with ease. The sounds of clicking buttons from typing machines became the music to which those in the cathedral dwelled. The space often smelled of coffee, fresh literary dreams, and Violet’s repulsive baking. The Fairy Post had released two papers in the past four weeks, the articles written mostly by Violet, but a few by Jase and Remi as well. It freed up a lot of Mor’s time.

Time which he usually spent cleaning up after Violet.

For four weeks straight, Mor had been cleaning up after his human. She wasn’t a messy person, per se. She just had a habit of taking everything out from where it belonged and leaving it in random places for him to find, step on, kick, or accidentally crush.

Even though she’d moved back in with her non-blood-related aunt, she seemed to feel the need to keep most of her belongings in Mor’s cathedral. He pretended to mind—sometimes he huffed, sometimes he made comments, sometimes he fluttered his dark lashes in an eyeroll. But in truth, he liked finding her face paints in his bathroom, and her colourful ink pen collection on his desk, and her hair pins absolutely everywhere. It made him feel as though she was always close by, even when she went out or headed home for the evening.

Some nights she stayed late. He caught her scribbling in a journal by the fireplace in the living area, wearing his slippers and snuggled beneath his blanket. He joined her occasionally, bringing a newspaper or a novel and sitting in the chair opposite to read. And a few times, the interns joined them too, hauling their “homework” into the living space. They usually got nosy and started asking questions they shouldn’t about who Mor was, where he came from, why he was weird, and the like. Mor normally refused to answer, informing them that, “A little mystery is good for the human soul.” It was an odd collection of beings together, doing different things, thoroughly distracting each other, and chatting into the evening until everyone started yawning.

Mor loved it.

There was nothing that would make him think it all might get taken away.

It was Dranian’s designated birthday. Months ago, Shayne had discovered that humans celebrated the day of their birth every year over and over again, whereas in the Ever Corners, no one fussed about the date someone was born apart from using it to count their years of age. Mor thought it seemed like an unnecessary hassle, but he wore the party hat Shayne had provided and showed up at the breakfast tavern nevertheless to eat hog meat and cooked bird eggs with his brothers. He was sure someone was going to put an end to the long list of traditions King Shayne was forcing their High Court to adopt, especially since Shayne had designated himself eight birthdays a year, and the rest of the High Court only got one.

Mor’s phone rang, interrupting their breakfast. He slid the device out of his pocket and pushed a button or two. He held the thing to his ear. “Yes?”

“Boss, someone from The Sprinkled Scoop just showed up asking for a word with you,” Jase said from the other end of the line.

Mor smirked a little. “Does he seem… perturbed?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Excellent. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes,” Mor said.

There was a pause. Then Jase asked, “Will you really be only five minutes?”

Mor smiled. It seemed his interns were catching on to things. “It’ll be closer to an hour. Feel free to tell him to wait by the front door—but don’t give him a chair to sit in. Make the fool stand.”

“Got it.”

Jase didn’t immediately say goodbye or hang up, so Mor waited as he watched Dranian shovel ketchup-covered eggs into his mouth. The auburn-haired fairy seemed entirely unbalanced since he’d injured his arm; even his eating was clumsy. A heap of eggs fell off his fork and landed on the floor. He seemed to debate whether or not he should pick them up and still eat them.

“What’s the problem?” Mor finally asked Jase.

“It’s just…” Mor could practically hear the human boy squirming. “Can’t you come back sooner, maybe? This journalist sort of gives me the creeps.” Jase dropped his voice to a whisper.

Mor sighed. “Why is that, Human?”

“Well…” Jase’s tone was odd. “He’s got those same two-coloured eyes you have. Kind of like sparkly marbles or whatever, you know?”

The smile fizzled off Mor’s face. “What colours are his eyes, Jase?” he asked, his grip tightening on his phone. “Specifically, which two colours?”

“Uh… I can’t see from this far away,” Jase admitted. “Do you want me to go check—”

“No. Be there soon.” Mor hung up the phone and turned to Cress, Shayne, and Dranian. “This birthday party is over. Come to the cathedral. Bring your weapons.”

Mor vanished before his brothers could ask questions.

The cathedral was quiet.

Mor crept over the creaking floors, peering into the various rooms. His interns were nowhere to be found. He had no idea where Violet was, either—if she was about to walk in. If she already had. Pebbles speckled the floor like they’d been kicked in different directions.

“Luc,” he called into the echoey space. His heart twisted in his chest. Traces of fairy mischief laced the air, the coldness of the Dark Corner staining the walls and saturating the emerald carpet.

He finally found the fox in the sanctuary.

All the candles were lit. A pew had been dragged up onto the dais and sat there like a wide throne. Luc rested in it with his arm over the backrest, and Mor’s chest tightened at the sight of the nine tailed fox, alive and well, and very much in the human realm.

“What did you do to my interns?” Mor asked in a low voice.

Luc cast him a dull, disgusted smile. “You’ll never find them.”

“Luc,” Mor warned, “my brothers will be here soon, and you’d better tell me before then. Remember—you only have six lives left. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Luc’s spiteful chuckle echoed through the large room. “Oh dear, it’s like you’re not even worried about Violet at all,” he said, pulling out his ruby and rolling it between his fingers.

Mor’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t noticed Violet’s scent when he’d walked in. Luc must have somehow erased it.

“And I shouldn’t have to remind you—that’s six lives more than you,” Luc added.

“What did you do to my human?” Mor asked. When Luc didn’t answer, he resorted to begging. “Luc, don’t put her through anything more. I know you want to leave the Ever Corners and hide among the humans.” He saw Luc’s gaze flicker up to the wall. “I will help you.”

Luc pulled himself off the pew to stand. “It’s too late for apologies, Trisencor. I want you to hurt. I want her to hurt, too. It’s in a fox’s nature to want these things, I suppose. We’re born to be cruel.” He held his ruby up to the muted light coming in through the stained-glass windows.

“I despised your father, too,” Mor said. “We were the same that way. Luc, if there is any kindness in you, give Violet back to me.”

Luc placed the ruby in his mouth. He drew out his fairsabers.

Mor staggered back, reaching for his fairsaber handles, shaking his head. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“Our dear Violet may be out of it for a while after what I’ve done. If you survive the next three minutes, you’d better find her before she starves to death like those other poor human fools.” Luc dragged his silvery gaze up to Mor. There was no remorse in his eyes. There was no feeling at all.

Mor didn’t have a chance to draw his blades before Luc struck. A cold-iron saber ripped across Mor’s side, and he released a guttural sound as his purple blood sprinkled the floor.

Luc grabbed his hand from behind and twisted—Mor’s wrist snapped. He growled as Luc landed strike after strike, dull punch after dull punch; torturing Mor slowly instead of killing him with one blow.

Mor didn’t get in a single hit, even after he managed to forge his fairsaber blades.

He could hardly move when Luc was finished. He crumpled to a heap on the floor, wheezing from crushed lungs and broken ribs. Luc moseyed around and stood above him.

“That was too easy, Trisencor,” he said in obvious disappointment. “I wasn’t going to hurt you at first, you know. I wasn’t going to hurt your guard dogs either, but you pushed me into a corner.” Luc put his fairsabers away and crouched, bringing his face over Mor’s. “Foxes become dangerous animals when they’re cornered,” he added. And then, “If I ever see you again, I’ll run you through.”

Mor’s breathing staggered as Luc stood and walked away, pulling the bead out of his mouth and placing it back in his pocket. The fox headed for the hallway on foot instead of airslipping.

“I’m sorry,” Mor said, bringing Luc to a foot-dragging, reluctant stop.

The ruby-haired fairy remained still for a moment. Then he said, “I told you it was too late for apologies.”

Mor’s eyes glazed over as he felt himself passing out. His hoarse breathing filled the sanctuary, mixing in with the dull hum of history making the air thick between them. “I know you let me live all those years. I know you’re letting me live now,” Mor rasped.

Luc turned around, and this time his smile was broad and terribly amused. “Oh dear. I’m not letting you live, Trisencor. Not this time. You’ll see.”

Mor watched the nine tailed fox walk away, step after step, until he was gone from the sanctuary.