“Nice to meet you, too,” Chelsea said dryly.

“Go ahead,” Tamani said stiffly when Laurel looked back at him. “I need to check a few things.”

Laurel stepped away from David and Chelsea. “Come back as soon as you’re done,” she said in a tone meant to cut off any arguments. “I need to take a look at your injuries.”

Tamani started to protest but Laurel interrupted.

“Five minutes.”

Tamani set his jaw, but nodded.

The dining hall was bustling and Laurel saw Yeardley across the room, delivering serums and binding strips to several stations where healthy Autumn faeries were treating the wounded. Laurel wondered how they must feel, using potions they had made and never expected to use for themselves. “Repetition work,” as they called it, when they put their studies aside to make healing solutions and other potions for the Spring faeries, for sentries outside the gates who occasionally tussled with trolls, or Tenders who fumbled their scythes. The worst injury most Autumn faeries got was a paper cut or perhaps an acid burn.

“Sit,” Laurel instructed as soon as she found David an empty chair. Chelsea propped the sword against David’s seat and he immediately picked it up and laid it across his lap.

Leaving him to Chelsea for a moment, Laurel fetched a tall glass of water – “Plain water,” she insisted to the faerie who tried to add pinches of nitrogen and phosphorous – and returned to find Chelsea fretting over how bloodied David was.

“I’m fine,” David insisted. “I just need – oh man, thank you,” he said, taking the glass of water from Laurel and downing it all in one go, except for a few droplets that trickled down his chin. Absently, he wiped them off on his sleeve, leaving a smear of blood beneath his lips.

“Do you want more?” Laurel asked, trying not to look at the new streak as David relaxed in his chair, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes for a few seconds.

“Is he really OK?” Chelsea whispered, staring at David’s blood-flecked face.

“It seems like it,” Laurel said. “But I should get the blood washed off to be sure. Can you go grab something to scrub with and meet me by the fountain?” She pointed to a table full of folded fabric where people were grabbing bandages and towels. Chelsea nodded and hurried off.

“Come on,” Laurel said, gesturing to David. “Let’s get you clean.”

At first, David followed her numbly, dragging Excalibur along the ground, surely unaware of the perfect line its tip was scoring across the polished marble floor tiles. But when he realised what Laurel had in mind, he suddenly couldn’t get there fast enough. He sank to his knees at the edge of the marble circle, set Excalibur reverently aside, and thrust his arms into the water, scrubbing vigorously. A murky red cloud spread away from him, giving the water a pinkish hue.

Out the corner of her eye, Laurel caught Caelin – the one male Mixer her age – watching them. Perfect. “Hey,” she said. “Do me a favour? I need a clean shirt. For him,” she added – pointing to David – lest Caelin return with a fluffy blouse.

Caelin eyed the strange new male – he’d always been comically territorial – and nodded, heading toward the dorms. Chelsea appeared a moment later with a small pile of clean handkerchiefs.

“Thank you,” Laurel said, grabbing the top one. She looked at the sullied water David was still scrubbing his arms in and wrinkled her nose. Chilly, crystal-clear water was spilling from the top of the fountain, so Laurel reached up and wet the cloth there before scrubbing at the blood decorating David’s face.

“I’ll help,” Chelsea said softly, wetting a cloth and going to work on the other side, tackling a particularly thick stream of blood that ran down his neck.

“Strip,” Laurel said, when most of David’s face was clean. “We’re never going to get the blood out of that shirt. Just take it off and toss it.”

David reached for the tail of his T-shirt and, careful to keep the blood away from his face, pulled it over his head, dropping it unceremoniously onto the ground.

At first Laurel thought she was imagining the hush that seemed to settle around her, but after another minute of scrubbing, she realised that nearly everyone in the room had stopped moving.

The silence was now a buzz of whispers that grew louder every second.

Chelsea had noticed too, and was looking around nervously.

But all eyes were on David. Specifically, on David’s chest, where a small patch of dark hair was clearly visible against his skin.

They hadn’t realised he was human.

They probably hadn’t realised Chelsea was human either, between the fury of the battle and the fact that Chelsea had no obvious giveaways like visible body hair. Some of the faeries were now looking at the sword David had placed at the fountain’s edge and whispering behind their hands.

David noticed them, too, and stopped washing himself. He was glaring at those faeries who were bold enough to look him in the face.

With loud footsteps Tamani stormed across the dining hall, an angry look on his face and holding a white bundle of cloth. Behind him Caelin was looking all too happy to have someone else complete the task he’d been given.

“Here,” Tamani said, handing David the dry, white piece of clothing. “A clean shirt is the least we can do for saving the Academy.” Tamani shot a glare around the room before handing over the shirt. After a long moment of silence, David pulled the fabric over his head, looking like any other faerie boy as the Avalon-style shirt covered his chest.