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“Yes. Please.” Sighing again, he goes to stand, but I drag Ruby from my iridescent neon-pink fanny pack Mack swears is coming back in style and set her over the desk. “Don’t get up. My sprite can handle it.”
After the darkling attack, Ruby’s wing healed, but her spirit didn’t. She blames herself for my near death and has taken to binging straight packets of sugar she lifts from the comm, wearing all black, listening to Fall Out Boy songs on repeat, and scribbling soliloquies on the meaning of life.
I’m hoping giving her tasks will make her feel useful—and therefore better about herself—again.
The moment the man sets eyes on Ruby, a look of horror transforms his face. He jumps back, sending his combover flopping sideways like a dead beaver and his chair screeching into the wall.
Ruby ducks behind his mug as he emits a shrill little scream. “That thing. That—”
“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. Hmm. Given the meticulous way the other folders are named, that seems odd. Curiosity piqued, I yank the folder from the drawer and quickly spread it across the dusty, faded emerald rug. Evelyn’s picture is the first one on the top, affixed to her file by a paperclip.
I don’t even check the rest. I don’t have time. With the blank file’s contents spread out on the floor, I snap pictures of each one as fast as humanly possible. First the photo and then the actual paperwork.
There are so, so many. Enough that I start to worry this is a dead end because no way could this many students become pregnant without mortals noticing and raising the alarm. Right?
I’m just finishing with the last file of a beaming girl with bright, hopeful eyes—eyes so sure this academy will change her life and fulfill her dreams—when I hear Ruby belt out Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy.
A scream follows.
