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PRAISE FOR BESTSELLING AUTHOR

JULIE KAGAWA

‘Katniss Everdeen better watch out.’

—Huffington Post on The Immortal Rules

‘Julie Kagawa is one killer storyteller.’

—MTV’s Hollywood Crush blog

‘Julie Kagawa’s Iron Fey series is the next Twilight.” —Teen.com

‘Fans of Melissa Marr … will enjoy the ride.’

—Kirkus Reviews on The Iron Queen

‘wholly satisfying’

—Realms of Fantasy on The Iron Queen

‘a book that will keep its readers glued to the

pages until the very end.’

—New York Journal of Books on The Iron Daughter

‘The Iron King surpasses the greater majority of dark fantasies.’ —teenreads.com

Also by Julie Kagawa from

The Iron Fey series (in reading order)

THE IRON KING

WINTER’S PASSAGE (eBook) THE IRON DAUGHTER THE IRON QUEEN SUMMER’S CROSSING (eBook) THE IRON KNIGHT IRON’S PROPHECY (eBook)

The Iron Fey – Call of the Forgotten (in reading order)

THE LOST PRINCE

Coming soon

THE TRAITOR SON

Blood of Eden series

THE IMMORTAL RULES

Coming soon

THE ETERNITY CURE

The Lost
Prince
Julie Kagawa

To Guro Ron, and all the ‘badges of courage’

I received in class.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, a huge shout out to my Guro, Ron. Thanks for answering all my crazy kali questions, for all the “badges of courage” I picked up in sparring, and for making Hit-People-With-Sticks class the best night of the week. I could not have written this book without you.

To Natashya Wilson, T. S. Ferguson, and all the awesome HQ people, you guys rock. Tashya, you especially deserve a standing ovation. I don’t know how you juggle so much and still manage to make it look easy.

To my agent, Laurie McLean. This has been one crazy ride, and I’m so grateful to be taking it with you. Let’s keep shooting for the stars.

And of course, to my husband, sparring partner, first editor, and best friend, Nick. To many more years of writing, laughs and giving each other “badges of courage” in kali. You keep me young (and deadly).

PART I

CHAPTER ONE
NEW KID

My name is Ethan Chase.

And I doubt I’ll live to see my eighteenth birthday.

That’s not me being dramatic; it just is. I just wish I hadn’t pulled so many people into this mess. They shouldn’t have to suffer because of me. Especially … her. God, if I could take back anything in my life, I would never have shown her my world, the hidden world all around us. I knew better than to let her in. Once you see Them, they’ll never leave you alone. They’ll never let you go. Maybe if I’d been strong, she wouldn’t be here with me as our seconds tick away, waiting to die.

It all started the day I transferred to a new school. Again.

The alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m., but I had been awake for an hour, getting ready for another day in my weird, screwed-up life. I wish I was one of those guys who roll out of bed, throw on a shirt and are ready to go, but sadly, my life isn’t that normal. For instance, today I’d filled the side pockets of my backpack with dried Saint-John’s-wort and stuffed a canister of salt in with my pens and notebook. I’d also driven three nails into the heels of the new boots Mom had bought me for the semester. I wore an iron cross on a chain beneath my shirt, and just last summer I’d gotten my ears pierced with metal studs. Originally, I’d gotten a lip ring and an eyebrow bar, too, but Dad had thrown a roof-shaking fit when I came home like that, and the studs were the only things I’d been allowed to keep.

Sighing, I spared a quick glance at myself in the mirror, making sure I looked as unapproachable as possible. Sometimes, I catch Mom looking at me sadly, as if she wonders where her little boy went. I used to have curly brown hair like Dad, until I took a pair of scissors and hacked it into jagged, uneven spikes. I used to have bright blue eyes like Mom and, apparently, like my sister. But over the years, my eyes have become darker, changing to a smoky-blue-gray—from constant glaring, Dad jokes. I never used to sleep with a knife under my mattress, salt around my windows, and a horseshoe over my door. I never used to be “brooding” and “hostile” and “impossible.” I used to smile more, and laugh. I rarely do any of that now.

I know Mom worries about me. Dad says it’s normal teenage rebellion, that I’m going through a “phase,” and that I’ll grow out of it. Sorry, Dad. But my life is far from normal. And I’m dealing with it the only way I know how.

“Ethan?” Mom’s voice drifted into the room from beyond the door, soft and hesitant. “It’s past six. Are you up?”

“I’m up.” I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my white shirt, which was inside out, the tag poking up from the collar. Another small quirk my parents have gotten used to. “I’ll be right out.”

Grabbing my keys, I left my room with that familiar sense of resignation and dread stealing over me. Okay, then. Let’s get this day over with.

I have a weird family.

You’d never know it by looking at us. We seem perfectly normal; a nice American family living in a nice suburban neighborhood, with nice clean streets and nice neighbors on either side. Ten years ago we lived in the swamps, raising pigs. Ten years ago we were poor, backwater folk, and we were happy. That was before we moved into the city, before we joined civilization again. My dad didn’t like it at first; he’d spent his whole life as a farmer. It was hard for him to adjust, but he did, eventually. Mom finally convinced him that we needed to be closer to people, that I needed to be closer to people, that the constant isolation was bad for me. That was what she told Dad, of course, but I knew the real reason. She was afraid. She was afraid of Them, that They would take me away again, that I would be kidnapped by faeries and taken into the Nevernever.

Yeah, I told you, my family is weird. And that’s not even the worst of it.

Somewhere out there, I have a sister. A half sister I haven’t seen in years, and not because she’s busy or married or across the ocean in some other country.

No, it’s because she’s a queen. A faery queen, one of Them, and she can’t ever come home.

Tell me that’s not messed up.

Of course, I can’t ever tell anyone. To normal humans, the fey world is hidden—glamoured and invisible. Most people wouldn’t see a goblin if it sauntered up and bit them on the nose. There are very few mortals cursed with the Sight, who can see faeries lurking in dark corners and under beds. Who know that the creepy feeling of being watched isn’t just their imagination, and that the noises in the cellar or the attic aren’t really the house settling.

Lucky me. I happen to be one of them.

My parents worry, of course, Mom especially. People already think I’m weird, dangerous, maybe a little crazy. Seeing faeries everywhere will do that to you. Because if the fey know you can see them, they tend to make your life a living hell. Last year, I was kicked out of school for setting fire to the library. What could I tell them? I was innocent because I was trying to escape a redcap motley that followed me in from the street? And that wasn’t the first time the fey had gotten me into trouble. I was the “bad kid,” the one the teachers spoke about in hushed voices, the quiet, dangerous kid whom everyone expected would end up on the evening news for some awful, shocking crime. Sometimes, it was infuriating. I didn’t really care what they thought of me, but it was hard on Mom, so I tried to be good, futile as it was.

This semester, I’d be going to a new school, a new location. A place I could “start clean,” but it wouldn’t matter. As long as I could see the fey, they would never leave me alone. All I could do was protect myself and my family, and hope I wouldn’t end up hurting anyone else.

Mom was at the kitchen table when I came out, waiting for me. Dad wasn’t around. He worked the graveyard shift at UPS and often slept till the middle of the afternoon. Usually, I’d see him only at dinner and on weekends. That’s not to say he was happily oblivious when it came to my life; Mom might know me better, but Dad had no problem doling out punishments if he thought I was slacking, or if Mom complained. I’d gotten one D in science two years ago, and it was the last bad grade I’d ever received.

“Big day,” Mom greeted me as I tossed the backpack on the counter and opened the fridge, reaching for the orange juice. “Are you sure you know the way to your new school?”

I nodded. “I’ve got it set to my phone’s GPS. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitated. I knew she didn’t want me driving there alone, even though I’d worked my butt off saving up for a car. The rusty, gray-green pickup sitting next to Dad’s truck in the driveway represented an entire summer of work—flipping burgers, washing dishes, mopping up spilled drinks and food and vomit. It represented weekends spent working late, watching other kids my age hanging out, kissing girlfriends, tossing away money like it fell from the sky. I’d earned that truck, and I certainly wasn’t going to take the freaking bus to school.

But because Mom was watching me with that sad, almost fearful look on her face, I sighed and muttered, “Do you want me to call you when I get there?”

“No, honey.” Mom straightened, waving it off. “It’s all right, you don’t have to do that. Just … please be careful.”

I heard the unspoken words in her voice. Be careful of Them. Don’t attract their attention. Don’t let Them get you into trouble. Try to stay in school this time.

“I will.”

She hovered a moment longer, then placed a quick peck on my cheek and wandered into the living room, pretending to be busy. I drained my juice, poured another glass, and opened the fridge to put the container back.

As I closed the door, a magnet slipped loose and pinged to the floor, and the note it was holding fluttered to the ground. Kali demonstration, Sat., it read. I picked it up, and I let myself feel a tiny bit nervous. I’d started taking kali, a Filipino martial art, several years ago, to better protect myself from the things I knew were out there. I was drawn to kali because not only did it teach how to defend yourself empty-handed, it also taught stick, knife and sword work. And in a world of dagger-toting goblins and sword-wielding gentry, I wanted to be ready for anything. This weekend, our class was putting on a demonstration at a martial arts tournament, and I was part of the show.

If I could stay out of trouble that long, anyway. With me, it was always harder than it looked.

Starting a new school in the middle of the fall semester sucks.

I should know. I’ve done all this before. The struggle to find your locker, the curious stares in the hallway, the walk of shame to your desk in your new classroom, twenty or so pairs of eyes following you down the aisle.

Maybe third time’s the charm, I thought morosely, slumping into my seat, which, thankfully, was in the far corner. I felt the heat from two dozen stares on the top of my head and ignored them all. Maybe this time I can make it through a semester without getting expelled. One more year—just give me one more year and then I’m free. At least the teacher didn’t stand me up at the front of the room and introduce me to everyone; that would’ve been awkward. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they thought such humiliation was necessary. It was hard enough to fit in without having a spotlight turned on you the first day.

Not that I’d be doing any “fitting in.”

I continued to feel curious glances directed at my corner, and I concentrated on not looking up, not making eye contact with anyone. I heard people whispering and hunched down even more, studying the cover of my English book.

Something landed on my desk: a half sheet of notebook paper, folded into a square. I didn’t look up, not wanting to know who’d lobbed it at me. Slipping it beneath the desk, I opened it in my lap and looked down.

U the guy who burned down his school? it read in messy handwriting.

Sighing, I crumpled the note in my fist. So they’d already heard the rumors. Perfect. Apparently, I’d been in the local paper: a juvenile thug who was seen fleeing the scene of the crime. But because no one had actually witnessed me setting the library on fire, I was able to avoid being sent to jail. Barely.

I caught giggles and whispers somewhere to my right, and then another folded piece of paper hit my arm. Annoyed, I was going to trash the note without reading it this time, but curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked quickly.

Did u really knife that guy in Juvie?

“Mr. Chase.”

Miss Singer was stalking down the aisle toward me, her severe expression making her face look pinched behind her glasses. Or maybe that was just the dark, tight bun pulling at her skin, causing her eyes to narrow. Her bracelets clinked as she extended her hand and waggled her fingers at me. Her tone was no-nonsense. “Let’s have it, Mr. Chase.”

I held up the note in two fingers, not looking at her. She snatched it from my hand. After a moment, she murmured, “See me after class.”

Damn. Thirty minutes into a new semester and I was already in trouble. This didn’t bode well for the rest of the year. I slumped farther, hunching my shoulders against all prying eyes, as Miss Singer returned to the front and continued the lesson.

I remained in my seat after class was dismissed, listening to the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling bodies, bags being tossed over shoulders. Voices surged around me, students talking and laughing with each other, gelling into their own little groups. As they began to file out, I finally looked up, letting my gaze wander over the few still lingering. A blond boy with glasses stood at Miss Singer’s desk, rambling on while she listened with calm amusement. From the eager, puppy-dog look in his eyes, it was clear he was either suffering from major infatuation or was gunning for teacher’s pet.

A group of girls stood by the door, clustered like pigeons, cooing and giggling. I saw several of the guys staring at them as they left, hoping to catch their eye, only to be disappointed. I snorted softly. Good luck with that. At least three of the girls were blonde, slender and beautiful, and a couple wore extremely short skirts that gave a fantastic view of their long, tanned legs. This was obviously the school’s pom squad, and guys like me—or anyone who wasn’t a jock or rich—had no chance.

And then, one of the girls turned and looked right at me.

I glanced away, hoping that no one noticed. Cheerleaders, I’d discovered, usually dated large, overly protective football stars whose policy was punch first, ask questions later. I did not want to find myself pressed up against my locker or a bathroom stall on my first day, about to get my face smashed in, because I’d had the gall to look at the quarterback’s girlfriend. I heard more whispers, imagined fingers pointed my way, and then a chorus of shocked squeaks and gasps reached my corner.

“She’s really going to do it,” someone hissed, and then footsteps padded across the room. One of the girls had broken away from the pack and was approaching me. Wonderful.

Go away, I thought, shifting farther toward the wall. I have nothing you want or need. I’m not here so you can prove that you’re not scared of the tough new kid, and I do not want to get in a fight with your meathead boyfriend. Leave me alone.

“Hi.”

Resigned, I turned and stared into the face of a girl.

She was shorter than the others, more perky and cute than graceful and beautiful. Her long, straight hair was inky-black, though she had dyed a few strands around her face a brilliant sapphire. She wore sneakers and dark jeans, tight enough to hug her slender legs, but not looking like she’d painted them on. Warm brown eyes peered down at me as she stood with her hands clasped behind her, shifting from foot to foot, as if it was impossible for her to stay still.

“Sorry about the note,” she continued, as I shifted back to eye her warily. “I told Regan not to do it—Miss Singer has eyes like a hawk. We didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” She smiled, and it lit up the room. My heart sank; I didn’t want it to light up the room. I didn’t want to notice anything about this girl, especially the fact that she was extremely attractive. “I’m Kenzie. Well, Mackenzie is my full name, but everyone calls me Kenzie. Don’t call me Mac or I’ll slug you.”

Behind her, the rest of the girls gaped and whispered to each other, shooting us furtive glances. I suddenly felt like some kind of exhibit at the zoo. Resentment simmered. I was just a curiosity to them; the dangerous new kid to be stared at and gossiped about.

“And … you are …?” Kenzie prompted.

I looked away. “Not interested.”

“Okay. Wow.” She sounded surprised, but not angry, not yet. “That’s … not what I was expecting.”

“Get used to it.” Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my own voice. I was being a dick; I was fully aware of that. I was also fully aware that I was murdering any hope for acceptance in this place. You didn’t talk this way to a cute, popular cheerleader without becoming a social pariah. She would go back to her friends, and they would gossip, and more rumors would spread, and I’d be shunned for the rest of the year.

Good, I thought, trying to convince myself. That’s what I want. No one gets hurt this way. Everyone can just leave me alone.

Except … the girl wasn’t leaving. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lean back and cross her arms, still with that lopsided grin on her face. “No need to be nasty,” she said, seeming unconcerned with my aggressiveness. “I’m not asking for a date, tough guy, just your name.”

Why was she still talking to me? Wasn’t I making myself clear? I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to answer her questions. The longer I spoke to anyone, the greater the chance that They would notice, and then the nightmare would begin again. “It’s Ethan,” I muttered, still staring at the wall. I forced the next words out. “Now piss off.”

“Huh. Well, aren’t we hostile.” My words were not having the effect I wanted. Instead of driving her off, she seemed almost … excited. What the hell? I resisted the urge to glance at her, though I still felt that smile, directed at me. “I was just trying to be nice, seeing as it’s your first day and all. Are you like this with everyone you meet?”

“Miss St. James.” Our teacher’s voice cut across the room. Kenzie turned, and I snuck a peek at her. “I need to speak with Mr. Chase,” Miss Singer continued, smiling at Kenzie. “Go to your next class, please.”

Kenzie nodded. “Sure, Miss Singer.” Glancing back, she caught me looking at her and grinned before I could look away. “See ya around, tough guy.”

I watched her bounce back to her friends, who surrounded her, giggling and whispering. Sneaking unsubtle glances back at me, they filed through the door into the hall, leaving me alone with the teacher.

“Come here, Mr. Chase, if you would. I don’t want to shout at you over the classroom.”

I pulled myself up and walked down the aisle to slouch into a front-row desk. Miss Singer’s sharp black eyes watched me over her glasses before she launched into a lecture about her no-tolerance policy for horseplay, and how she understood my situation, and how I could make something of myself if I just focused. As if that was all there was to it.

Thanks, but you might as well save your breath. I’ve heard this all before. How difficult it must be, moving to a new school, starting over. How bad my life at home must be. Don’t act like you know what I’m going through. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about my life. No one does.

If I had any say in it, no one ever would.

I got through my next two classes the same way—by ignoring everyone around me. When lunchtime rolled around, I watched the students filing down the hall toward the cafeteria, then turned and went in the opposite direction.

My fellow classmates were starting to get to me. I wanted to be outside, away from the crowds and curious looks. I didn’t want to be trapped at a table by myself, dreading that someone would come up and “talk.” No one would do it to be friendly, I was fairly certain. By now, that girl and her friends had probably spread the story of our first meeting through the whole school, maybe embellishing a few things, like how I called her awful names but somehow came on to her at the same time. Regardless, I didn’t want to deal with angry boyfriends and indignant questions. I wanted to be left alone.

I turned a corner into another hall, intent on finding an isolated part of the school where I could eat in peace, and stumbled across the very thing I was trying to avoid.

A boy stood with his back to the lockers, thin shoulders hunched, his expression sullen and trapped. Standing in front of him were two larger boys, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, leering down at the kid they had pinned against the wall. For a second, I thought the kid had whiskers. Then he looked at me, quietly pleading, and through a mop of straw-colored hair, I caught a flash of orange eyes and two furred ears poking up from his head.

I swore. Quietly, using a word Mom would tear my head off for. These two idiots had no idea what they were doing. They couldn’t See what he really was, of course. The “human” they had cornered was one of Them, one of the fey, or at least part fey. The term half-breed shot through my mind, and I clenched my fist around my lunch bag. Why? Why couldn’t I ever be free of them? Why did they dog me every step of my life?

“Don’t lie to me, freak,” one of the jocks was saying, shoving the boy’s shoulder back into the lockers. He had short, ruddy hair and was a little smaller than his bull-necked companion but not by much. “Regan saw you hanging around my car yesterday. You think it’s funny that I nearly ran off the road? Huh?” He shoved him again, making a hollow clang against the lockers. “That snake didn’t crawl in there by itself.”

“I didn’t do it!” the half-breed protested, flinching from the blow. I caught the flash of pointed canines when he opened his mouth, but of course, the two jocks couldn’t see that. “Brian, I swear, that wasn’t me.”

“Yeah? So, you calling Regan a liar, then?” the smaller one asked, then turned to his friend. “I think the freak just called Regan a liar, did you hear that, Tony?” Tony scowled and cracked his knuckles, and Brian turned back to the half-breed. “That wasn’t very smart of you, loser. Why don’t we pay a visit to the bathroom? You can get reacquainted with Mr. Toilet.”

Oh, great. I did not need this. I should turn around and walk away. He’s part faery, my rational mind thought. Get mixed up in this, and you’ll attract Their attention for sure.

The half-breed cringed, looking miserable but resigned. Like he was used to this kind of treatment.

I sighed. And proceeded to do something stupid.

“Well, I’m so glad this place has the same gorilla-faced morons as my old school,” I said, not moving from where I stood. They whirled on me, eyes widening, and I smirked. “What’s the matter, Daddy cut off your allowance this month, so you have to beat it out of the losers and freaks? Does practice not give you enough manhandling time?”

“Who the hell are you?” The smaller jock, Brian, took a menacing step forward, getting in my face. I gazed back at him, still smirking. “This your boyfriend, then?” He raised his voice. “You got a death wish, fag?”

Now, of course, we were beginning to attract attention. Students who had been averting their eyes and pretending not to see the trio against the locker began to hover, as if sensing violence on the air. Murmurs of “Fight” rippled through the crowd, gaining speed, until it felt as if the entire school was watching this little drama play out in the middle of the hall. The boy they’d been picking on, the half-breed, gave me a fearful, apologetic look and scurried off, vanishing into the crowd. You’re welcome, I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Well, I had stepped into this pile of crap—I might as well go all out.

“New kid,” grunted Brian’s companion, stepping away from the lockers, looming behind the other. “The one from Southside.”

“Oh, yeah.” Brian glanced at his friend, then back at me. His lip curled in disdain. “You’re that kid who shanked his cellmate in juvie,” he continued, raising his voice for the benefit of the crowd. “After setting fire to the school and pulling a knife on a teacher.”

I raised an eyebrow. Really? That’s a new one.

Scandalized gasps and murmurs went through the student body, gaining speed like wildfire. This would be all over school tomorrow. I wondered how many more crimes I could add to my already lengthy imaginary list.

“You think you’re tough, fag?” Bolstered by the mob, Brian stepped closer, crowding me, an evil smile on his face. “So you’re an arsonist and a criminal, big deal. You think I’m scared of you?”

At least one more.

I straightened, going toe-to-toe with my opponent. “Arsonist, huh?” I said, matching his sneer with my own. “And here I thought you were as stupid as you look. Did you learn that big word in English today?”

His face contorted, and he swung at me. We were extremely close, so it was a nasty right hook, coming straight at my jaw. I ducked beneath it and shoved his arm as the fist went by, pushing him into the wall. Howls and cheers rose around us as Brian spun furiously and swung at me a second time. I twisted away, keeping my fists close to my cheeks, boxer style, to defend myself.

“Enough!”

Teachers descended from nowhere, pulling us apart. Brian swore and fought to get to me, trying to shove past the teacher, but I let myself be pulled off to the side. The one who grabbed me kept a tight hold of my collar, as if I might break free and throw a punch at him.

“Principal’s office, Kingston,” ordered the teacher, steering Brian down the hall. “Get moving.” He glared back at me. “You, too, new kid. And you better pray you don’t have a knife hidden somewhere on you, or you’ll be suspended before you can blink.”

As they dragged me off to the principal’s office, I saw the half-faery watching me from the crowd. His orange eyes, solemn and grim, never left mine, until I was pulled around a corner and lost from view.

CHAPTER TWO
HALF-BREED

I slumped in the chair in the principal’s office, arms crossed, waiting for the man across the desk to notice us. The gold sign on the mahogany surface read Richard S. Hill, Principal, though the sign’s owner hadn’t given us more than a glance when we were brought in. He sat with his eyes glued to the computer screen, a small, balding man with a beaky nose and razor-thin eyebrows, lowered into a frown. His mouth pursed as he scanned the screen, making us wait.

After a minute or two, the jock in the chair next to mine blew out an impatient sigh.

“So, uh, do you need me anymore?” he asked, leaning forward as if preparing to stand. “I can go now, right?”

“Kingston,” the principal said, finally glancing up. He blinked at Brian, then frowned again. “You have a big game this weekend, don’t you? Yes, you can go. Just don’t get into any more trouble. I don’t want to hear about fights in the hallways, understand?”

“Sure, Mr. Hill.” Brian stood, gave me a triumphant sneer, and swaggered out of the office.

Oh, that’s fair. Jock-boy was the one who threw the first punch, but we don’t want to jeopardize the team’s chance of winning the game, do we? I waited for the principal to notice me, but he had gone back to reading whatever was on the computer. Leaning back, I crossed my legs and gazed longingly out the door. The ticking of the clock filled the small room, and students stopped to stare at me through the window on the door before moving on.

“You’ve quite the file, Mr. Chase,” Hill finally said without looking up.

I suppressed a wince.

“Fighting, truancy, hidden weapons, arson.” He pushed back his chair, and those hard black eyes finally settled on me. “Is there anything you’d like to add? Like assaulting the school’s star quarterback on your very first day? Mr. Kingston’s father is part of the school board, in case you did not realize.”

“I didn’t start that fight,” I muttered. “He was the one who swung at me.”

“Oh? You were just minding your own business, then?” The principal’s sallow lips curled in a faint smile. “He swung at you out of nowhere?”

I met his gaze. “He and his football buddy were about to stick some kid’s head down a toilet. I stepped in before they could. Jock-boy didn’t appreciate me ruining his fun, so he tried smashing my face in.” I shrugged. “Sorry if I like my face as it is.”

“Your attitude does you no credit, Mr. Chase,” Hill said, frowning at me. “And you should have gotten a teacher to take care of it. You’re on very thin ice as it is.” He folded pale, spiderlike hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Since it is your first day here, I’ll let you go with a warning this time. But I will be watching you, Mr. Chase. Step out of line again, and I won’t be so lenient. Do you understand?”

I shrugged. “Whatever.”

His eyes glinted. “Do you think you’re special, Mr. Chase?” A note of contempt had entered his voice now. “Do you think you’re the only ‘troubled youth’ to sit in this office? I’ve seen your kind before, and they all go the same way—straight to prison, or the streets, or dead in the gutter somewhere. If that’s the path you want, then, by all means, keep going down this road. Drop out. Get a dead-end job somewhere. But don’t waste this school’s time trying to educate you. And don’t drag those who are going somewhere down with you.” He jerked his head at the door. “Now get out of my office. And don’t let me see you here again.”

Fuming, I pulled myself upright and slid out the door.

The hallways were empty; everyone was back in their classrooms, well into postlunch stupor, counting down the minutes to the final bell. For a moment, I considered going home, leaving this sorry excuse of a new school and a clean start, and just accepting the fact that I would never fit in and be normal. No one would ever give me the chance.

But I couldn’t go home, because Mom would be there. She wouldn’t say anything, but she would look at me with that sad, guilty, disappointed expression, because she wanted so badly for me to succeed, to be normal. She was hoping that this time, things would work out. If I went home early, no matter the reason, Mom would tell me I could try again tomorrow, and then she would probably lock herself in her room and cry a little.

I couldn’t face that. It would be worse than the lecture Dad would give me if he found out I skipped class. Plus, he’d been very fond of groundings lately, and I didn’t want to risk another one.

It’s just a couple more hours, I told myself and reluctantly started back to class, which would be the middle of trig by now, joy of joys. Why did every curriculum decide to teach math right after lunch when everyone was half-asleep? You can survive a couple more hours. What else can happen, anyway?

I should’ve known better.

As I turned a corner, I got that cold, prickly sensation on the back of my neck, the one that always told me I was being watched. Normally, I would’ve ignored it, but right then, I was angry and less focused than usual. I turned, glancing behind me.

The half-breed stood at the end of the hall next to the bathroom entrance, watching me in the frame. His eyes glowed orange, and the tips of his furry ears twitched in my direction.

Something hovered beside him, something small and humanoid, with buzzing dragonfly wings and dark green skin. It blinked huge black eyes at me, bared its teeth in a razor grin, then zipped into the air, flying up toward the ceiling tiles.

Before I could stop myself, my gaze followed it. The piskie blinked, startled, and I realized my slip-up.

Furious, I wrenched my stare down, but it was too late. Dammit. Stupid, stupid mistake, Ethan. The half-breed’s eyes widened as he stared from me to the piskie, mouth gaping open. He knew. He knew I could see Them.

And now, They were aware, as well.

I managed to avoid the half-breed by going to class. When the last bell rang, I snatched up my backpack and hurried out the door, keeping my head down and hoping for a quick escape.

Unfortunately, he trailed me to the parking lot.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside me as we crossed the lot. I ignored him and continued on, keeping my gaze straight ahead. He trotted doggedly to keep up. “Listen, I wanted to thank you. For what you did back there. Thanks for stepping in, I owe you.” He paused, as if expecting me to say something. When I didn’t, he added, “I’m Todd, by the way.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, not looking directly at him. He frowned as if taken aback by the reaction, and I kept my expression blank and unfriendly. Just because I rescued you from the jock and his goon doesn’t mean we’re buds now. I saw your little friend. You’re playing with fire, and I want nothing to do with it. Go away. Todd hesitated, then followed me in silence for a few steps, but he didn’t leave.

“Uh, so,” he continued, lowering his voice as we approached the end of the lot. I had parked my truck as far as I could from the Mustangs and Camaros of my fellow students, wanting it to avoid notice, as well. “When did you become able to see Them?”

My gut twisted. At least he didn’t say faeries or the fey, because voicing their name out loud was a surefire way to attract their attention. Whether that was deliberate or ignorant on his part, I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coolly.

“Yes, you do!” He stepped in front of me, brow furrowed, and I had to stop. “You know what I am,” he insisted, all subtlety gone. There was a hint of desperation in his eyes as he leaned forward, pleading. “I saw you, and Thistle caught you looking, too. You can see Them, and you can see what I really look like. So don’t play dumb, okay? I know. We both do.”

All right, this kid was pissing me off. Worse, the more I talked to him, the more attention I would draw from Them. His little “friends” were probably watching us right now, and that scared me. Whatever this half-breed wanted from me, it needed to end.

I sneered at him, my voice ugly. “Wow, you are a freak. No wonder Kingston picks on you. Did you not take your happy pills this morning?” Anger and betrayal flashed in Todd’s orange eyes, making me feel like an ass, but I kept my voice mocking. “Yeah, I’d love to stay and chat with you and your imaginary friends, but I have real-world things to do. Why don’t you go see if you can find a unicorn or something?”

His face darkened even more. I shoved past him and continued on, hoping he wouldn’t follow. This time, he did not. But I hadn’t gone three steps when his next words stopped me in my tracks.

“Thistle knows about your sister.”

I froze, every muscle in my body coiling tight as my stomach turned inside out.

“Yeah, I thought you might be interested in that.” Todd’s voice held a note of quiet triumph. “She’s seen her, in the Nevernever. Meghan Chase, the Iron Queen—”

I spun and grabbed the front of his shirt, jerking him forward off his feet. “Who else knows?” I hissed as Todd cringed, flattening his ears. “Who else has heard of me? Who knows I’m here?”

“I don’t know!” Todd held up his hands, and short claws flashed in the sunlight. “Thistle is hard to understand sometimes, ya know? All she said was that she knew who you were—the brother of the Iron Queen.”

“If you tell anyone …” I balled my fist, resisting the urge to shake him. “If you tell any of Them, I swear—”

“I won’t!” Todd cried, and I realized then how I must have looked, teeth bared, eyes wild and crazy. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down. Todd relaxed, shaking his head. “Jeez, take it easy, man. So They know who you are—it’s not the end of the world.”

I sneered and shoved him backward. “You must be very sheltered, then.”

“I was adopted,” Todd shot back, catching himself. “How easy do you think it’s been, pretending to be human when my own parents don’t know what I am? No one here gets me, no one has any idea what I can do. They keep stepping on me, and I keep pushing back.”

“So you did put a snake in Kingston’s car.” I shook my head in disgust. “I should’ve let him stick your head down a toilet this afternoon.”

Todd sniffed and straightened the front of his shirt. “Kingston’s a dick,” he said, as if that justified everything. “He thinks he owns the school and has the teachers and the principal in his pocket. He believes he’s untouchable.” He smirked, orange eyes glittering. “Sometimes I like to remind him that he’s not.”

I sighed. Well, it serves you right, Ethan. This is what happens when you get involved with Them. Even the half-fey can’t keep themselves from pranking humans every chance they get.

“The Invisible Folk are the only ones who understand me,” Todd went on, as if trying to convince me. “They know what I’m going through. They’re only too happy to help.” His smirk grew wider, more threatening. “In fact, Thistle and her friends are making that jock’s life very unpleasant right now.”

A chill slid up my back. “What did you promise them?”

He blinked. “What?”

“They never do anything for free.” I took a step forward, and he shrank back. “What did you promise them? What did they take?”

“What does it matter?” The half-breed shrugged. “The jerk had it coming. Besides, how much harm can two piskies and a boggart do?”

I closed my eyes. Oh, man, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. “Listen,” I said, opening my eyes, “whatever bargains you’ve made, whatever contracts you’ve agreed to, stop. You can’t trust them. They’ll use you, because it’s their nature. It’s what they do.” Todd raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and I scrubbed my scalp at his ignorance. How had he survived this long and not learned anything? “Never make a contract with Them. That’s the first and most important rule. It doesn’t ever go how you imagine, and once you’ve agreed to something, you’re stuck. You can’t ever get out of it, no matter what they ask for in return.”

Todd still looked unconvinced. “Who made you the expert on all things faery?” he challenged, and I winced as he finally said the word. “You’re human—you don’t understand what it’s like. So I made a few deals, promised a few things. What’s that to you?”

“Nothing.” I stepped back. “Just don’t drag me into whatever mess you’re creating. I want nothing to do with Them, or you, got it? I’d be happy if I never saw them again.” And without waiting for an answer, I turned, opened my car door, and slammed it shut behind me. Gunning the engine, I squealed out of the parking lot, ignoring the half-breed’s desolate figure as he grew smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror.

“How was school?” Mom asked as I banged through the screen door and tossed my backpack on the table.

“Fine,” I mumbled, making a beeline for the fridge. She stepped out of the way with a sigh, knowing it was useless to talk to me when I was starving. I found the leftover pizza from last night and shoved two slices in the microwave while chewing on a cold third. Thirty seconds later, I was about to take my plate up to my room when Mom stepped in front of me.

“I got a call from the principal’s office this afternoon.”

My shoulders sank. “Yeah?”

Mom gestured firmly to the table, and I slumped into one of the chairs, my appetite gone. She sat down across from me, her eyes hooded and troubled. “Anything you want to tell me?”

I rubbed my eyes. No use trying to hide it, she probably already knew—or at least she knew what Hill told her. “I got into a fight.”

“Oh, Ethan.” The disappointment in her voice stabbed me like tiny needles. “On your first day?”

It wasn’t my fault, I wanted to say. But I’d used that excuse so many times before, it seemed empty. Any excuse seemed empty now. I just shrugged and slouched farther in my seat, not meeting her eyes.

“Was it … was it Them?”

That shocked me. Mom almost never spoke of the fey, for probably the same reasons as me; she thought it might attract their attention. She would rather close her eyes and pretend they didn’t exist, that they weren’t still out there, watching us. It was one of the reasons I never talked openly to her about my problems. It just made her too frightened.

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her about the half-breed and his invisible friends, lurking in the halls. But if Mom found out about them, she might pull me out of school. And as much as I hated going to class, I did not want to go through the whole “starting over” thing one more time.

“No,” I said, fiddling with the edge of my plate. “Just these two dicks that needed a lesson in manners.”

Mom gave one of her frustrated, disapproving groans. “Ethan,” she said in a sharper voice. “It’s not your place. We’ve gone over this.”

“I know.”

“If you keep this up, you’ll be kicked out again. And I don’t know where we can send you after that. I don’t know …” Mom took a shaky breath, and covered her eyes with her hand.

Now I felt like a complete ass. “I’m sorry,” I offered in a quiet voice. “I’ll … try harder.”

She nodded without looking up. “I won’t tell your father, not this time,” she murmured in a weary voice. “Don’t eat too much pizza or you’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.”

Standing, I hooked my backpack over one shoulder and took it and the plate into my room, kicking the door shut behind me.

Slumping to my desk, I ate my pizza while halfheartedly jiggling my laptop to life. The episode with Kingston, not to mention the talk with the half-breed, had made me edgy. I went to YouTube and watched videos of students practicing kali, trying to pick out the weaknesses in their attacks, poking holes in their defenses. Then, to keep myself occupied, I grabbed my rattan sticks from the wall and practiced a few patterns in the middle of my room, smacking imaginary targets with Brian Kingston’s face, being careful not to hit the walls or ceiling. I’d put a couple of holes in the drywall already, by accident of course, before Dad made the rule that all practice must be done outside or in the dojo. But I was much better now, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

As I was finishing a pattern, I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye and turned. Something black and spindly, like a giant spider with huge ears, crouched on the windowsill outside, watching me. Its eyes glowed electric green in the coming darkness.

I growled a curse and started forward, but when the creature realized I’d spotted it, it let out an alarmed buzz and blinked out of sight. Yanking up the window, I peered into the darkness, searching for the slippery little nuisance, but it was gone.

“Damn gremlins,” I muttered. Stepping back, I glared around my room, making sure everything was in place. I checked my lights, my clock, my computer; they all still worked, much to my relief. The last time a gremlin had been in my room, it had shorted out my laptop, and I’d had to spend my own money to get it fixed.

Gremlins were a special type of faery. They were Iron fey, which meant all my precautions and protections from the faery world didn’t work on them. Iron didn’t faze them, salt barriers didn’t keep them out, and horseshoes over doors and windows did nothing. They were so used to the human world, so integrated with metal and science and technology, that the old charms and protection rituals were too outdated to affect them at all. I rarely had problems with Iron fey, but they were everywhere. I guessed even the Iron Queen couldn’t keep track of them all.

The Iron Queen. A knot formed in my stomach. Shutting the window, I put my sticks away and dropped into the computer chair. For several minutes, I stared at the very top drawer of my desk, knowing what was inside. Wondering if I should torment myself further by taking it out.

Meghan. Do you even think of us anymore? I’d seen my half sister only a few times since she’d disappeared from our world nearly twelve years ago. She never stayed long; just a few hours to make sure everyone was okay, and then she was gone again. Before we moved, I could at least count on her to show up for my birthday and holidays. As I got older, those visits grew fewer and fewer. Eventually, she’d disappeared altogether.

Leaning forward, I yanked open the drawer. My long-lost older sister was another taboo subject in this household. If I so much as spoke her name, Mom would become depressed for a week. Officially, my sister was dead. Meghan wasn’t part of this world anymore; she was one of Them, and we had to pretend she didn’t exist.

But that half-breed knew about her. That could be trouble. As if I needed any more, as if being the delinquent, broody, don’t-let-your-daughter-date-this-hooligan wasn’t enough, now someone knew about my connection to the world of Faery.

Setting my jaw, I slammed the drawer shut and left the room, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic, sullen mess. I was human, and Meghan was gone. No matter what some half-breed faery said, I didn’t belong to that world. I was going to stay on this side of the Veil and not worry about what was happening in Faery.

No matter how much it tried to drag me in.

CHAPTER THREE
FAERIES IN THE GYM BAG

Day two.

Of purgatory.

My “fight” with the school quarterback and my discussion in the principal’s office hadn’t gone unnoticed, of course. Fellow students stared at me in the halls, whispering to their friends, muttering in low undertones. They shied away from me as if I had the plague. Teachers gave me the evil eye, as if worried that I might punch someone in the head or pull a knife, maybe. I didn’t care. Maybe Principal Hill had told them what had gone on in his office; maybe he’d told them I was a lost cause, because as long as I kept my head down, they ignored me.

Except for Miss Singer, who actually called on me several times during class, making sure I was still paying attention. I answered her questions about Don Quixote in monotones, hoping that would be enough to keep her off my back. She seemed pleasantly surprised that I’d read the homework assignment the night before, despite being somewhat distracted by the thoughts of gremlins lurking around my computer. Apparently satisfied that I could listen and stare out the window at the same time, Miss Singer finally left me alone, and I went back to brooding in peace.

At least Kingston and his flunky were absent today, though I did notice Todd in one of my classes, looking smug. He kept glancing at the quarterback’s empty desk, smirking to himself and nodding. It made me nervous, but I swore not to get involved. If the half-breed wanted to screw around with the notoriously fickle Fair Ones, I wasn’t going to be there when he got burned.

When the last bell rang, I gathered my backpack and rushed out, hoping to evade a repeat of the day before. I saw Todd as I went out the door, watching me as if he wanted to talk, but I quickly lost myself in the crowded hallway.

At my locker, I stuffed my books and homework into my pack, slammed the door—and came face-to-face with Kenzie St. James.

“Hey, tough guy.”

Oh, no. What did she want? Probably to tear me a new one about the fight; if she was on the pom squad, Kingston was likely her boyfriend. Depending on which rumor you’d heard, I had either sucker-punched the quarterback or I’d threatened him in the hallway and had gotten my ass kicked before the teachers pulled us apart. Neither story was flattering, and I’d been wondering when someone would give me crap about it. I just hadn’t expected it to be her.

I turned to leave, but she smoothly moved around to block my path. “Just a second!” she insisted, planting herself in front of me. “I want to talk to you.”

I glared at her, a cold, hostile stare that had given redcaps pause and made a pair of spriggans back down once. Kenzie didn’t move, her determined stance never wavering. I slumped in defeat. “What?” I growled. “Come to warn me to leave your boyfriend alone if I know what’s good for me?”

She frowned. “Boyfriend?”

“The quarterback.”

“Oh.” She snorted, wrinkling her nose. It was kind of cute. “Brian’s not my boyfriend.”

“No?” That was surprising. I’d been so sure she was going to rip into me about the fight, maybe threaten to make me sorry if I hurt her precious football star. Why else would this girl want to talk to me?

Kenzie took advantage of my surprise and stepped closer. I swallowed and resisted the urge to step back. Kenzie was shorter than me by several inches, but that fact seemed completely lost on her. “Don’t worry, tough guy. I don’t have a boyfriend waiting to slug you in the bathrooms.” Her eyes sparkled. “If it comes to that, I’ll slug you myself.”

I didn’t doubt she’d try. “What do you want?” I asked again, more and more perplexed by this strange, cheerful girl.

“I’m the editor for the school paper,” she announced, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “And I was hoping you would do me a favor. Every semester, I interview the new students who started late, you know, so people can get to know them better. I’d love to do an interview with you, if you’re up for it.”

For the second time in thirty seconds, I was thrown. “You’re an editor?”

“Well, more of a reporter, really. But since everyone else hates the technical stuff, I do the editing, too.”

“For the paper?”

“That is generally what reporters report for, yes.”

“But … I thought …” I gave myself a mental shake, collecting my scattered thoughts. “I saw you with the pom squad,” I said, and it was almost an accusation. Kenzie’s slender eyebrows rose.

“And, what? You thought I was a cheerleader?” She shrugged. “Not my thing, but thank you for thinking so. Heights and I don’t really get along very well, and I can barely walk across the gym floor without falling down and bruising myself. Plus, I’d have to dye my hair blond, and that would just fry the ends.”

I didn’t know if she was serious or joking, but I couldn’t stay. “Look, I have to be somewhere soon,” I told her, which wasn’t a lie; I had class tonight with my kali instructor, Guro Javier, and if I was late I’d have to do fifty pushups and a hundred suicide dashes—if he was feeling generous. Guro was serious about punctuality. “Can we talk later?”

“Will you give me that interview?”

“Okay, yes, fine!” I raised a hand in frustration. “If it will get you off my back, fine.”

She beamed. “When?”

“I don’t care.”

That didn’t faze her. Nothing did, it seemed. I’d never met someone who could be so relentlessly cheerful in the face of such blatant jack-assery. “Well, do you have a phone number?” she continued, sounding suspiciously amused. “Or, I could give you mine, if you want. Of course, that means you’d actually have to call me….” She gave me a dubious look, then shook her head. “Hmm, never mind, just give me yours. Something tells me I could tattoo my number on your forehead and you wouldn’t remember to call.”

“Whatever.”

As I scribbled the digits on a scrap of paper, I couldn’t help but think how weird it was, giving my phone number to a cute girl. I’d never done this before and likely never would again. If Kingston knew, if he even saw me talking to her, girlfriend or not, he’d probably try to give me a concussion.

Kenzie stepped beside me and stood on tiptoe to peer over my shoulder. Soft, feathery strands of her hair brushed my arm, making my skin prickle and my heart pound. I caught a hint of apple or mint or some kind of sweet fragrance, and for a second forgot what I was writing.

“Um.” She leaned even closer, one slender finger pointing to the messy black scrawl on the paper. “Is this a six or a zero?”

“It’s a six,” I rasped, and stepped away, putting some distance between us. Damn, my heart was still pounding. What the hell was that about?

I handed over the paper. “Can I go now?”

She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans with another grin, though for just a moment she looked disappointed. “Don’t let me stop you, tough guy. I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

Without answering, I stepped around her, and this time, she let me.

Kali was brutal. With the tournament less than a week off, Guro Javier was fanatical about making sure we would give nothing less than our best.

“Keep those sticks moving, Ethan,” Guro called, watching me and my sparring partner circle each other, a rattan in each hand. I nodded and twirled my sticks, keeping the pattern going while looking for holes in my opponent’s guard. We wore light padded armor and a helmet so that the sticks wouldn’t leave ugly, throbbing welts over bare skin and we could really smack our opponent without seriously injuring him. That’s not to say I didn’t come home with nice purple bruises every so often—”badges of courage,” as Guro called them.

My sparring partner lunged. I angled to the side, blocking his strike with one stick while landing three quick blows on his helmet with the other.

“Good!” Guro called, bringing the round to a close. “Ethan, watch your sticks. Don’t let them just sit there, keep them moving, keep them flowing, always. Chris, angle out next time—don’t just back up and let him hit you.”

“Yes, Guro,” we both said, and bowed to each other, ending the match. Backing to the corner, I wrenched off my helmet and let the cool air hit my face. Call me violent and aggressive, but I loved this. The flashing sticks, the racing adrenaline, the solid crack of your weapon hitting a vital spot on someone’s armor … there was no bigger rush in the world. While I was here, I was just another student, learning under Guro Javier. Kali was the only place where I could forget my life and school and the constant, judging stares, and just be myself.

Not to mention, beating on someone with sticks was an awesome way to relieve pent-up aggression.

“Good class, everyone,” Guro called, motioning us to the front of the room. We bowed to our instructor, touching one stick to our heart and the other to our forehead, as he continued. “Remember, the tournament is this Saturday. Those of you participating in the demonstrations, I would like you there early so you can practice and go over the forms and patterns. Also, Ethan—” he looked at me “—I need to talk to you before you leave. Class dismissed, everyone.” He clapped his hands, and the rest of the group began to disperse, talking excitedly about the tournament and other kali-related things. I stripped off my armor, set it carefully on the mats and waited.

Guro gestured, and I followed him to the corner, gathering up punch mitts and the extra rattan sticks scattered near the wall. After stacking them neatly on the corner shelves, I turned to find Guro watching me with a solemn expression.

Guro Javier wasn’t a big guy; in fact, I had an inch or two on him in my bare feet, and I wasn’t very tall. I was pretty fit, not huge like a linebacker, but I did work out; Guro was all sinew and lean muscle, and the most graceful person I’d ever seen in my life. Even practicing or warming up, he looked like a dancer, twirling his weapons with a speed I had yet to master and feared I never would. And he could strike like a cobra; one minute he’d be standing in front of you demonstrating a technique, the next, you’d be on the ground, blinking and wondering how you got there. Guro’s age was hard to tell; he had strands of silver through his short black hair, and laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He pushed me hard, harder than the others, drilling me with patterns, insisting I get a technique close to perfect before I moved on. It wasn’t that he played favorites, but I think he realized that I wanted this more, needed this more, than the other students. This wasn’t just a hobby for me. These were skills that might someday save my life.