Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) by Alessa Ellefson

Author:Alessa Ellefson [Ellefson, Alessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Alessa Ellefson
Published: 2013-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

“I want everyone to write an essay on the Aos Sí,” says Sir Lincoln. “The main ranks of their society, how they lived before and after Milesians defeated them, where they fled, and their new habits and lifestyle.”

I write the teacher’s instructions in my notebook, wishing he’d call the Aos Sí a more regular name, like fairies or elves instead, but Sir Lincoln’s always a stickler for precision.

“Do we have to go back all the way to the Tuatha Dé’s fight against Carman, sir?” Keva asks.

“You can refer to it,” Sir Lincoln answers, “but there’s no need to go too much in detail. The essay doesn’t need to be a hundred pages long. Fifty is good enough.”

“But that’s a whole history book’s worth of writing!” I hear Dina exclaim.

“Your point being?” the teacher asks, his voice as cold as an Arctic wind. When Dina doesn’t answer, he adds, “All this will be on your test before Samhain, so you better get this down, or I will flunk you.”

Carman sure seems to creep up in conversations a lot these days. I almost expect her and her ten plagues to pop out on the front page of the news if this keeps up.

And then it hits me—the answer I’ve been looking for. I raise my hand.

“Yes, Miss Pendragon?” Sir Lincoln says.

“Sir, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other time,” I say, ignoring the grunts of annoyance coming from Daniel, Ross, and Brockton, who are itching to get away.

“And what was that?” Sir Lincoln asks with a heavy sigh.

“About that Carman woman,” I say. “Remember how you said that she was always accompanied by the ten plagues?”

“Well, that’s what the poem says…” the teacher starts.

“So what if those plagues were appearing now?” I ask. “Like those described in the Bible, but they’re because she’s coming back? Is that possible?”

The teacher’s face closes up. “Don’t be preposterous,” he says, curt. “She’s been imprisoned for so long now, she might as well be dead.”

“But she was only imprisoned, not killed!” I retort. “All these disasters that have been happening, the frogs in Louisiana, the pestilence in Texas, the gnats who killed those tourists in Death Valley, the hail and thunder on the East Coast, and even those strange boils that have spread on the politicians in Congress… surely that can’t be all a coincidence?”

A silence greets my words, pregnant with fear and distrust. I pause as I recall what I saw on Island Park the night I followed Arthur, Nibs, and the others, and everything seems to click.

“That’s what my parents were talking about,” I say. “How all those bad things were centered around one point. It’s all coming from Carman’s prison, isn’t it? And that prison’s here, on that island!”

Someone gasps.

“That black sentinel the poem talks about,” I continue without paying attention to the warning looks the teacher’s giving me, or the growing fear on the students’ faces around me, “it’s that stone on Island Park! All along, her prison was right

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