Paying the Piper

Five: Polifayeoxide

It was surprising how much a single awakening of awareness could change your perspective. Before, I wouldn't have looked twice at Quentin had I passed him by, even if he were wearing his black cloak. But after our encounter, I was suddenly seeing his pony-tailed head everywhere: walking down the hall between third and fourth classes; lounging in his homeroom seat as I walked down the hall towards my own homeroom; and even limping down the sidewalk after school.

It was as though I couldn't avoid him.

I had found at least three notes (and how many more had I simply not discovered yet?) telling me to leave town and never look back, or that was the gist of it anyway. At least I didn't have any classes with him since he was a senior.

The weather remained cold enough that I deemed my outdoor sanctuary safe enough from interruption during lunch. Crunching on an apple, I marveled that the flavor became so much more pronounced when eaten out in the fresh air.

When the door from the school opened, I braced. Somehow, I figured it would be Ryland like the last time. But when I finally braved a glance back, Quentin stood over me, wearing his customary black cloak.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I returned tightly, completely at a loss after that. The words of our last encounter fluttered between us, keeping us stiff and uneasy.

He didn't move or take a seat, and I debated whether I should rise to put us on equal footing. Sitting here while he stood felt too awkward. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and then tucked his arms back under his cloak.

"You're probably not going to like what I'm going to say. People usually don't."

That didn't seem a very hopeful way to start, especially considering how little I liked what he had said last time. I scrambled to my feet, deciding that if he were going to anger me, I'd rather have an easier time hurrying away.

Quentin took a step closer to me. Quick as a snake's tongue, his hand darted out and gripped my arm. I inhaled sharply, but I was careful not to react any more than that. Quentin's grip imparted earnestness to me. He was dead-set on my understanding what he was about to say, and I dreaded what it would be this time.

Keeping his voice low, Quentin said, "I'll tell you a story, and you'd do best to remember it." His gaze never left mine, which seemed as enchanting a spell as the tale he told.

"There was a girl back in the old days who had the Sight. She could see things as they really were and see things that others couldn't. She had fey eyes. Well, one day, she spied a stumpy little man playing pranks on passersby. In the busy market, he'd trip people and snigger as they fell or stumbled into the people next to them.

"Well, this girl stared at him directly and frowned when he sent a child sprawling, losing his mother's hand. The stumpy man caught her looking at him and gave her a squinty smile.

"'So, you can see me, can you?' he asked her.

"Foolishly, she nodded. When the man asked with which eye, she again answered without thinking and pointed to her left eye.

"Without the slight bit of hesitation, the stumpy man clomped over to her, dragged her away from the market, and ripped out her left eye.

"'Can't see me now, can you?' he goaded. And she, tears and blood coursing down her face, shook her head as she sobbed. Of course, she had been able to see him with both fey eyes, but she had learned her lesson. There are some creatures that don't wish to be seen, and to let them know you can see them is to ask for trouble."

Quentin released my arm so suddenly that I wondered that I didn't stagger. But then I remembered that we weren't moving—it was just my head whirling so quickly I had thought our bodies must also be moving.