Page 113 of The Exorcism of Faeries

“What’s happened?” Sonder asked, moving past Gibbs into Imogen’s room.

Gibbs trotted behind. “I don’t know. I fell asleep on duty and I woke up to her screaming and convulsing.

Sonder flicked on the light and he and Atta rushed for the bed. Imogen was flailing on the mattress, soaked in sweat. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and she was screaming bloody murder.

“What the fuck is happening!” Emmy’s terrified voice came from the doorway.

“Get an exorcism kit!” Atta yelled. “Hurry!”

“And my medical bag,” Sonder barked at Gibbs over his shoulder.

When they were alone with the writhing girl, Sonder pinned Atta with his gaze. “They got past the wards.”

A familiar laugh coated her skin. “No,” she whispered, her vision going spotted. “It was already in.” She felt the world spin, Sonder, Imogen, the room a blur. “Check the cellar.” And then she was falling, Sonder lunging for her, but the floor was coming at her too quickly.

Then Olivia was there. Here.

Just a young woman, younger than she’d yet seen her. She was singing, swaying amongst the Hawthorn Grove, the trees alive with vibrant leaves. They seemed to sway with her, their branches dipping and bowing. A court worshipping their queen.

Atta, full up with peace and dread, curled onto a warm rock in the sun, her fingers toying with the moss as she watched Olivia approach the old, twisted hawthorn.

“What is it you seek?” the voice from Atta’s mind echoed through the treetops.

“Magic and majesty,” Olivia Murdoch spoke into the hollow. “More for my son.”

Atta couldn’t make out the rest of their words, and the sky grew dark, the breeze cold. Olivia shrank away.

Atta rose and turned back toward the manor, but it was different. Autumn. Foggy and crisp. Sonder was outside, arguing with someone. Curious, she darted forward, listening. It was his father. The spitting image of Sonder today, save for his mother’s eyes. They were arguing over her condition. She was sick and Sonder couldn’t make it better. His father had called Agamemnon.

Atta moved past them into the manor, floating like a ghoul up the stairs. She went to her room, to Olivia’s room, put her fingers on the door and pushed. There she lay, twisted in the sheets, pale as death, crescent wounds beneath her eyes.

“Hello, Olivia,” she said quietly and sat down to hold her hand.

Olivia’s eyes opened and locked onto Atta’s a second before her vice-like grip latched onto her wrist. “You have to close it. Close the door.”

Atta gasped horridly, finding herself in a heap on the floor, Imogen still screaming, Gibbs and Emmy throwing salt, spraying Yarrow serum.

Sonder had her face in his hands. “What did you see?”

Atta knew then.

She knew too many things.

All at once.

Like a world of information shoved into her brain until it bled out her eyes, her ears, her mouth. Because someone was inher. She’d been Inhabited. And she would not let them take Sonder, too.

“What did you see?” Sonder asked again, fear making his voice catch.

“Patient Zero,” she said, her voice croaking too.

Sonder stilled, the chaos behind them continuing. Nothing would help Imogen. Not anymore. They wouldn’t get rid of the faeries. But Atta knew how.

“Who was Patient Zero, Sonder?”

His eyes filled with tears and she knew she was right. About them being a tragedy.

?μαρτ?α.

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