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“Sprite?” I add helpfully.
“Yes. That dirty, poisonous creature. They’re infested with deliria lice and a whole host of diseases. I—I—I’m going for your coffee and when I return, I ask that you have that creature locked away.”
He disappears out the door before I can inform him how ignorant he’s being. Sure, deliria lice—the parasites that infest certain types of sprites’ wings and lay eggs in human brains—are understandably horrifying. But they only affect sprites in the Fall Court, and sprites at the academy are tested and up to date on their vaccinations.
“I’m a scourge on humanity,” Ruby laments, sagging against the coffee mug, her shiny wings drooping. “I’m the cause of all evil and sadness in this world.”
“You are not.” I go to pick her up, but she falls limp on the desk like the twins used to do when Zinnia tried to make them do chores. “Ruby, I told you I don’t blame you.”
“Just leave me. Sever our contract so I can die of shame like I deserve. It will be a horrible death. A horrible, noble ending to my pointless existence.”
Gently, I pinch my fingers around her waist and pick her up. She’s closing her eyes, pretending to sleep, but one eye surreptitiously parts.
“I can see you looking at me,” I scold.
“I’m not,” she insists.
Settling her floppy little body in my palm, I stroke her greasy magenta hair. “You didn’t cause Evelyn to become pregnant and turn darkling, and you are not the one controlling her. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?”
“But I knocked into that helmet. If I hadn’t snuck that kid’s flask of Faerie wine,” she continues, her one eye opening wider, “and my secret stash of brambleberry liquor, and that guard’s fermented gourd—”
“Ruby, we can discuss your drinking problem later . . . wait.” I glance around.
I’m in the main office. Alone.
Evelyn’s file is completely unguarded, as are the other ones I saw lumped with hers the other day.
“Want to be of help?” I ask. “Go outside the door and keep that interviewer from coming inside.”
Ruby’s eyes snap open. “What if I fail you again?”
“You won’t, Ruby. Know why? Because I believe in you.”
She goes from limp and flat to animated and full of confidence as she zips through the partially open door.
The moment it clicks shut, I rush to the ancient filing cabinet in the back alcove. Red, cobalt, and amber light from the stained-glass window discolor the cabinet’s scratched and peeling green paint.
Hardly daring to breathe, I rip open the drawers, searching for . . . what? A file that says students impregnated by Fae? Top secret?
My clumsy fingers leave sweaty fingerprints over the manila file folders as I push each one aside. Finally, in the second to last drawer, I spot an unlabeled file. frowns. “Are you guys going to actually say what’s on the flyer or what?”
“Sorry, Asher. I forgot you only read things with pictures,” Eclipsa teases, ignoring his low growl. “Apparently, the Summer Queen is offering up spots at Larkspur and Associates to second and third year shadows. Shadows that are accepted can forgo their fourth year at the academy for a paid internship. They still have to pass the exams, but they live in Manhattan, in the new Fae district, and also learn about Fae law.”
My heart skips a beat. Forgo my fourth year? Paid internship. Right now, both of those things sound like heaven. “What are the requirements to apply?”
“Looks like you have to have straight A’s . . .” Eclipsa peers at the flyer. “A recommendation from a professor, and . . . pass the final gauntlet.”
Just like that, my dream dies a quick, undignified death. “What? How does that make sense when we’re not allowed to participate in the final gauntlet until our fourth year?”
Mack gives me that look—the one that says I should pay more attention. “Anyone is allowed to participate in the final gauntlet, but only the fourth years are required. Second and third years are opting for the less dangerous final exams instead because we really like staying alive.”
I would laugh, if she wasn’t being completely serious. “Does the invitation to apply open again next year?”
Eclipsa peers at the flyer. “It specifies the application window closes after this year. You must enter and then pass the gauntlet to even be considered.”
“Maybe she’ll reopen the applications again next year?” I say, totally aware of how desperate I sound.
“Those internships are extraordinarily competitive and usually only available to shadow graduates with at least five years of experience. I assume the queen is doing this for the PR, since the recent deaths at the academy have brought bad press for all the Fae, including those pushing hard to expand new businesses in the mortal world.”
