Fever 4 - DreamFever Read Free Page A

her head. She
wears the formal white Grand Mistress robes emblazoned with the symbol of our
order--the misshapen emerald shamrock--that she's been wearing ever since all hell
started to break loose. I'm surprised she's waited this long to rip me a new one, but
she's been busy with other things.
       She took away my sword. It's on her desk. The blade shimmers alabaster, like light
stolen straight from heaven--my light--reflecting the glow of dozens of lamps arranged
in the office to illuminate every corner, nook, and cranny.
       When the Orb exploded on All Hallows' Eve, freeing the Shades, we were so caught
off guard that the slithery fecks managed to take out fifty-four of us before we got
enough lamps and flashlights on to protect ourselves. As far as we know, they're un-
killable. My sword can't touch them. Light's a temporary stay of execution, just drives
`em deeper into whatever dark crevices they can find. Our abbey's been compromised,
but we won't give an inch. No way Shades are taking our home and turning it into a
Dark Zone. One by one we'll hunt `em down and force `em out.
       Yesterday, there was one inside Sorcha's boot. Clare saw it happen. Said Sorcha just
kind of vanished down into her shoe, clothes collapsed around it. When we dumped the
boot upside down on the front steps in the sunshine, a papery husk, jewelry, and two
fillings spilled out, followed by a Shade that shattered into a zillion pieces. None of us
is putting on our shoes now without shaking the crap out of `em and shining flashlights
deep. I been wearing sandals a lot, even though it's cold. What a way to go: death-by-
shoe-Shade. I grin. I have a black sense of humor. You try living my life, see what color
yours turns.
      I stare at my sword. My fingers curl on emptiness. It kills me to be parted from it.
       In a whirl of white robes, Rowena spins and skewers me with a look sharp as an ice
pick. I shift uncomfortably. I might make fun of Rowena, call her "Ro," and blather
about how cool I am, but--make no mistake--this old woman is someone you wanna
tread carefully around.
      "You were within killing distance of the Lord Master and three Unseelie Princes and
you did not even draw your sword?"
       "I couldn't," I say defensively. "I had to get Mac. Couldn't risk that she might be
killed in the fight."
      "Which part of dead or alive did I fail to impress upon you?"
      Well, obviously the "dead" part, but I don't say that. "She can track the Book. Why's
everybody keep forgetting that?"
      "No longer! You knew that the moment you laid eyes on her. Traitor, and now Pri-
ya, she is of no use to us. Incapable of thought or speech, she can't even feed herself!
She'll be dead in days, if she lasts that long. Och, and there you went, discarding the
only chance we've ever had at slaying our enemy plus three Unseelie Princes, all for
saving the life of a single worthless girl! Who do you think you are to be making such
decisions for the lot of us?"
      Mac might be Pri-ya, but she's not a traitor. I won't believe that. I say nothing.
      "Get out of my sight," she shouts. "Get out! Get out! Or I'll throw you out!" Her
voice rises and she flings an arm at the door. "Thinking you know what's best--then
go! Have a try at it, you ungrateful child! As if I haven't done everything for you a
mother would and more! Leave! See how long you survive out there without me!"
      I stoically refuse to glance at my sword. No telegraphing for me. Ro catches
everything. But if she's serious, I can beat her to the sword, and will.
      I look at her and ooze neediness and remorse. Cram my eyes full of it. Make my
lower lip quiver. We stare at each other.
       By the time all the muscles in my face are screaming from holding such a stupid,
wussy look, her gaze softens. She draws a deep breath, releases it. Closes her eyes,
sighs. "Dani, och, Dani," she clucks, opening her eyes. "When will you learn? When
you're dead? I have only our best interests at heart. Do