Queens of the Fae: Books 1-3

Chapter 1

Chapter One

2 Months Earlier

Brea Robinson was a lie.

Okay, not in the truest sense of the word. Brea was really her name, and Amanda and Jack Robinson were her parents. Parents who would never understand her.

This life was what felt like a lie. She’d never fit in this world of high school hallways and concrete jungles. That was what her school was. A jungle. A wild place, unsafe for anyone who didn’t fit.

“I can’t believe I’m back here.” She sighed as she hiked her backpack higher on her shoulder.

Myles, best friend extraordinaire, sported a giant grin, one she couldn’t match.

“Why are you so happy today?”

He lifted his hands to the blue sky above. “It’s a beautiful day, Brea.” He never said her name with only one syllable like everyone else. Since they were kids, he’d called her Bree-ya.

“It’s…” She lifted her eyes to the building they’d tried improving with brick columns and colorful banners flapping in the breeze touting the Southern Ohio school’s many accomplishments. “A day. A freezing day.”

“Don’t be so glum, chum.” He draped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

Back. Because she’d been gone. How could she forget? Mentally unstable Brea Robinson missed the first month back from winter break because she was at the Clarkson Institution for Troubled Teens. It was where they put you when you had a freak out on Christmas morning.

Her ever-eloquent mother named the episodes freak outs. Brea wasn’t really sure what they were. All her life, she saw… things—for lack of a better word. Sometimes when she looked at a person, she saw features that weren’t there. Pointy ears, flashing eyes, bright colors.

Sometimes they were the stuff of nightmares.

The psych-dude she saw when she was young claimed she was having night terrors, but during the day.

It wasn’t just seeing things though. When she got angry or sad or even happy, it was like she lost control of the emotion, and it expanded within her, overcoming every thought and even manifesting as this weird energy beneath her skin.

An energy begging for release that sometimes got her into trouble.

“Do they all know?” She climbed the front steps, walking under a banner proclaiming the school as the football state champs.

Myles hesitated before he spoke. “I mean… there were rumors.” He pulled open the glass door and waited for her to enter.

But how was she supposed to do this? Face them? It wasn’t the first time she’d been two-sleeves short of a straight-jacket.

If her mom had any say, they’d have lost the key to her room.

Sucking in a deep breath, she repeated her personal mantra. “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.”

Myles reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “No one thinks that.”

He overestimated the kids in their nowhere town. The people of Grafton, Ohio loved gossip. It entertained their small minds.

He squeezed her hand tighter as if sensing she didn’t believe him. She looked down at their joined hands. “You know, this is why everyone has thought we’re a thing since like the fifth grade.”

“And since when do we care what they think?” He never had, but as she walked down that hall, Brea couldn’t think of anything else.

Maybe her mom was right. She did belong at Clarkson permanently, somewhere that could help her rid herself of the hallucinations and surges of anger and fear she couldn’t control.

“If you didn’t spend all your time with me, maybe you’d have more friends.” She pulled her hand free, pretending to adjust the strap of her backpack.

“Why do I need other friends?” He stopped at her locker and leaned against the pale metal. “Who else is going to dissect every scene of The Witcher with me? Have you finished season one yet? I’m dying to tell you all the parts you missed by not reading the books.”

“Myles.” She shook her head in exasperation as she turned the rusted dial. It stuck on the last number—like it always did—and Myles hammered it with his fist until it popped open. She slid her coat off and shoved it in. Opening her bag, she stuffed the books for her first classes inside. “We’ve been over this. I’m not a reader.” But she was a watcher. She watched every single fantasy movie and television show multiple times and discussed them with Myles. “I don’t need to read when I have my very own walking-talking Encyclopedia of fantasy to tell me all the parts that didn’t show up in the movies.”

“You’re missing out.” Myles shook his head.

“Speaking of missing out, what did you do while I was in prison?”

“You weren’t in prison.”

She rolled her eyes. With how closely the staff watched her, she may as well have been. That’s what happens when you shove your mom across the room and into the Christmas tree. She still couldn’t explain why or how she did it, but that didn’t matter.

“Okay, fine. While I was in the hospital spending all my time in therapy, did you hang out with anyone else?”

He only shrugged and propped one Converse-clad foot against the locker. Guilt gnawed at her, but that wasn’t a new feeling. She appreciated how loyal Myles was to her. Throughout her life, he was the only person she’d ever been able to count on. But he deserved more than a messed-up girl who saw inhuman freaks everywhere she went.

She met Myles in fifth grade when his family moved into the farm next door to hers. It was a love-at-first-sight kind of thing. Another lie. Love. But not with Myles. It was never romantic between them, but they’d bonded over their love of horses and desire to be anywhere but on their respective farms.

He was an attractive boy, and she knew for a fact the girls in the school liked him. It was one of the reasons they hated her so much. He could have been popular. All he’d have to do was make that short walk across the cafeteria at lunch and slide onto the bench with the rest of his football teammates.

Yep, that was right. Brea Robinson’s best friend was a football player.

They walked to his locker so he could grab his books.

“Are you ever going to answer my question?” She tried to ignore the students hurrying down the hall, trying to get to class like it was any normal day. For them, she supposed, it was.

They didn’t have to try and re-integrate into a place of whispers and accusing glares. She hadn’t missed those.

Myles slammed his locker shut, and the sound reverberated down the emptying hall. The tardy bell rang, and he grinned. “Ooh saved by the bell.”

She hurried after him. “We have the same first period, doofus.”

They entered English Lit and walked to their usual seats near the back.

“Hi, Myles. You can sit by me.” Ellen, a senior cheerleader, sent him a wave.

Brea had never until that moment disliked Ellen. She’d always been the sweet one on the team, unlike the rest of the girls who accused Brea of being some sort of witch—ironically, of course.

Myles grinned and puffed out his chest—ew—before sliding into his usual seat and leaning back. “Sorry, El. My girl needs me.”

“El,” Brea whispered with a shake of her head. “For the record, I don’t need you.”

His smile only widened. “Sure you do. You love me.”

God help her, she did. Her parents weren’t big on the love word—probably because their hearts were made of stone. But Myles let his feelings loose whenever he thought she needed it.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’ve been up to?” She folded her arms on top of the dark-stained wooden desk.

“Cap had her colt.”

Brea sat up straighter. Captain—named for Captain America—was the pride and joy of the Merrick farm. “Why didn’t you tell me the moment you picked me up this morning?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d yell at me because I’ve spent the last month in the company of beautiful beasts who aren’t big on the talking.” He reached over and flicked her hair. “Hey, they kind of sound like you.”

“I’m not a beast,” she grumbled. Or beautiful. Beauty was another one of those lies she hated so much. It was just an illusion.

He threw his head back with a full-throated laugh that had more than a few heads turning their way.

Brea leaned across her desk to Myles. “They’re staring at me.”

“That’s because they missed you.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay.” Most days, she wished the kids at her school didn’t know she existed. But it was hard to ignore the crazy girl. That was an awful term—one people at the institute chastised her for every time she used it. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t how she felt.

Mental illness, they’d told her, was not something she could control, or deserved. They said it was an illness like any other, and nothing to be ashamed of.

But some days, shame was all she felt.

Mrs. Epstein walked to the front of the room, her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun. She started talking to them about whatever boring book—oops, literary classic—they’d been assigned to read.

Brea wasn’t a reader. She subscribed more to the “do as little as possible” philosophy. Unlike Myles who was already bent over his notebook scribbling notes.

His perfect grades meant he’d eventually go on to some fancy college, leaving her behind. It was inevitable.

He wanted to be a large animal vet focusing on horses and cattle.

And he’d be amazing at it.

She watched her friend as a lock of caramel-colored hair fell into his eyes, wishing she could have just an ounce of his confidence.

His life wasn’t perfect by any means, but then, perfection was only an illusion.

Another lie.

Throughout the day, Brea heard many variations of the rumors about her absence. She’d met an older man and run off with him, only to be dragged home.

She’d left to have a baby. That one stung a little. Had she really looked eight months pregnant before she left?

Then there was the story of the drugs she’d gotten hooked on, thanks to the sketchy characters who worked her family’s farm. She thought she seemed pretty good after only a month in rehab.

It was Riley Anders, Captain of the boys’ soccer team, who hit closest to home. As she’d walked by him at lunch, she heard the words “wacko” and “asylum” thrown into the atmosphere as if they didn’t hold the power of a thousand knives.

Myles waved to her from their usual table, but she stood frozen in the center of the busy cafeteria. Classmates swarmed around her, as if not seeing the girl in the middle of a major crisis.

Her feet wouldn’t move, like they were stuck in mud, swirling, sucking mud.

But the white tile floor was clean—or at least as clean as a school floor could be.

Nothing held her in place except a heart-splitting fear. This was her life now. Her breath came in short gasps as she tried to calm her shaking hands.

Energy buzzed underneath her skin, growing louder as the anxiety swirled out of control. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t be here.

The lies she told herself ate at her. She was okay. It was just a phase. Nothing was wrong.

Nothing was okay. This would never end.

And it was all so, so wrong.

Brea Robinson was a lie.

“Brea.” Myles appeared at her side, lifting a hand to grab her arm.

She twisted away from him, forcing her legs to push through the quicksand of her fear.

“Brea!” Myles called after her as she ran through the cafeteria, shoving people out of the way.

She burst through the double doors into the hall, but it wasn’t enough.

“I can’t breathe,” she said to herself as her head whipped from side to side searching for an escape.

“Where are you going, weirdo?”

She didn’t know who said it, but a crowd of people stood in the doorway watching her.

Myles pushed through them, trying to get to her, to reach her.

But he was too late.

Brea’s sneakers squeaked against the tile floor, and the hall became a blur of lockers. A hall monitor tried to stop her, but she kept going until she reached the front door of the school.

A blast of winter air struck her the moment she crashed through the doors. She gulped a breath as if she’d never feel its icy chill again and ran down the steps.

Snow coated the walkway in front of her, leading to the student parking lot where a fresh dusting covered the cars.

Snow made the world look so new, but even that was a lie. It only covered up the grime underneath.

A chill raced down her spine, and she hugged her arms across her chest, wishing for the jacket that sat snug in her locker.

Wacko.

That was what they thought of her. She couldn’t face this school any longer. But where could she go? Her parents thought much worse things of her. Tears froze in her lashes, and she wanted to scream. Not even her tears could thaw her.

“Where are you going?” Myles’ voice behind her was soft.

She didn’t turn to him. “Leave me alone, Myles.”

“Brea, you have to go back in there and show them nothing they say matters.”

“But it does. It all matters.” She whirled on her heel, narrowly missing a patch of ice. “You can’t tell me you don’t think it. Just a little.”

“Think what?”

“That I should never have been released from the institute.”

“I’d never think something like that.”

A warm tear tracked down her icy cheek. “No, you wouldn’t say it, but everyone thinks it. My parents. Them.” She gestured to the school. “This version of me, the one who exists inside that school instead of in a sterile room. It’s not real. I finally see it now. The Brea Robinson you see is the lie.”

“Don’t say that?”

Anger burned through her. Why couldn’t he see this?

The doors opened behind them, and a few of Myles’ teammates piled out of the building. They stopped when they saw them.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Carson Freemont asked.

As the quarterback, most people wished he’d speak to them. But he’d been tormenting her since middle school, and she just wished he’d go away.

“This is none of your business, Freemont.” Myles drew himself up to his full height—which was about an inch taller than Carson’s six feet.

Carson laughed. “Touched a nerve, did I?” He looked to his friends with a grin. “So, Brea, heard you were in the nut house. Almost killed your ma.”

And it all made sense. How some of the kids at school knew. Carson’s mom was in a church group with Brea’s.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, kept there by some invisible force. A tingling started in her fingertips, and she rubbed them together, trying to rid herself of the feeling. She knew what it meant.

Brea was about to lose control.

She breathed deeply, trying to push away the emotions swirling in her chest. Shame. Guilt. But most of all, anger. She was so freaking angry at this world, this school, these kids. The list was long.

“Not about to go psycho on us, are you?” Carson lifted a brow and stepped toward her. His frame loomed over her smaller one, and she stared down at her feet.

He wasn’t finished. “Come on, Robinson. I want to see some of that legendary temper. You can be a grand prize winner of a lifelong stay at the Clarkson Center.”

He even knew the institute they’d put her in. The Clarkson Center dealt with delinquents with mental disturbances.

Memories flashed through her mind of the first night she’d arrived there when she was just a child. They’d strapped her to a bed. She’d thrashed against the restraints and screamed about how nothing was real.

After that, everything she’d done had been monitored. Even now, she was expected to go straight to her therapist after school.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t lose control, she told herself.

But it was no use because she’d never had control in the first place.

Carson forced her chin up. “Look at me,” he growled. “You don’t belong here.”

Not news to her.

“You never ha—” His words cut off as Myles barreled into him, knocking him to the concrete.

Carson tried to pop up, but Myles was bigger and stronger.

Brea stepped back until she teetered on the edge of the curb. She’d never seen Myles so angry… or violent.

She needed to stop it, to help him. Carson managed to roll them over, his fist pounding into Myles’ face.

“Myles,” Brea whispered, desperation coursing through her.

Her friend’s hand went limp, but Carson didn’t stop.

“You can’t do this.” Her voice was so quiet no one heard her. Carson’s friends only watched in fascination as blood poured from Myles’ face.

He couldn’t get away with this. Searing hot rage ripped through her, filling every cell with its fury. Her jaw clenched as heat pooled in her hands. Her eyes blazed as she became more than the girl on the sidelines.

She tilted her head to the side, trying to hold back whatever was happening. But this was Myles, and that only amplified every emotion in her.

“Myles is good,” she bit out. He deserved only good things.

Unlike her. It was in that moment Brea realized she wasn’t good, she was fire to his ocean, rage to his joy.

The way he saw the world may have been a lie, but it had to be preserved.

Light poured from her before she knew what was happening. Pain exploded in her temple as the power split her in two. She tried to call it back, to make it stop, but it kept coming.

Her knees buckled, and she fell forward. She didn’t sense the impact as she hit the ground or feel whatever that power was snap back into her.

Her eyes found Myles motionless on the ground with the others nowhere to be found. She reached for his hand, struggling to grasp his icy fingers.

Whatever this was, it was just another lie. Another illusion. She’d wake up soon to find everything as it should be.

Part of her hoped it was a dream and she’d open her eyes to find the blank white walls of the Clarkson Center caging her in once again.

A hand pressed Brea to the concrete as her eyes slid open. Flashing red and blue lights reflected off the snow. They didn’t belong there, but then, neither did she.

“Am I going back to the Clarkson Center?” she wheezed out.

No one answered. By now, half the school probably watched from the windows.

She lifted her head, searching for Myles and only finding splatters of blood where he’d been before.

“Myles?” Still, no answer. Any minute, he’d walk out of the school to wrap his arms around her. “Where’s Myles?”

Whoever held her down took pity on her finally. “The boy who was here? They’ve taken him to St. Mary’s.”

“The hospital? Is he…” She swallowed. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I’d be surprised if he survived the ambulance ride.”

She shook her head. It couldn’t be real. Just another one of her delusions. Myles was fine. He had to be. He was the best person she knew, the only one who’d ever loved her.

It should be her in that ambulance.

The man hauled her up, and her legs wobbled beneath her. She turned her head, catching sight of his police officer’s uniform. He nodded to where three other officers waited beside two police cruisers.

“Brea Robinson, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Myles Merrick.”

“No, I couldn’t have hurt him. Not Myles.” She tried to remember everything that happened, but it didn’t seem real. They really thought it was her that did this?

The officer continued reading her rights, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears.

“You’ll be able to call your people from the precinct.”

Her people? He meant her parents, but they’d never been her people. That title had always rested solely with Myles, the boy next door.

And she’d killed him.

Brea Robinson was a lie.

A horror story.

But the truth? She wasn’t sure if that even existed.

The cop shoved her into the back of his cruiser, her hands cuffed behind her back.

She leaned her head against the seat and stared at the ceiling, wishing she could see the blue sky Myles loved so much. A tear escaped, but she couldn’t wipe it away. “I’m sorry, Myles.”