She picked her way through the faeries, looking for Yeardley, careful to not so much as brush anyone as she passed. She wasn’t sure the viral toxin had taken hold of her enough to be contagious just yet, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She finally spotted the fundamentals instructor near the centre of the greenhouse and was relieved, if unsurprised, to see Chelsea standing near him.

“Laurel!” Chelsea said, as Yeardley reached out a hand to grasp her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” Laurel warned, bringing her hands up in front of her. “I’m infected with Klea’s toxin.”

“Why do you have it?” Chelsea asked.

“Long story,” Laurel said. “But don’t worry; it won’t hurt you, only faeries,” she added. Her mind was being bombarded with the sensations of how the poison was killing her, and all of them had to do with chlorophyll. Both Chelsea and David would be fine.

She turned to her professor. “I need your help and I don’t have much time.”

“Of course,” Yeardley said.

“Two summers ago there was a faerie – I think she was a little younger than me, dark brown hair – who was working on a viridefaeco potion. Do you know who she is?”

Yeardley sighed. “Fiona. She is so determined, but hasn’t made any real progress since then. She decanted a promising base with the help of some old records, and I admit, we all had extremely high hopes. But since then, nothing.”

“Is she here?” Laurel asked, hoping against hope that the young faerie had not been one of Klea’s many victims. Thinking like Klea might save Avalon, but if the viridefaeco required lengthy fermentation or exotic curing methods, Tamani wouldn’t live to see it happen.

Yeardley’s face fell and Laurel almost couldn’t breathe. “She’s alive,” he said softly. “She breathed in a lot of smoke and, honestly, she isn’t doing well. But she’s still conscious. I’ve been caring for her myself. This way.”

Laurel nearly collapsed with relief. She followed Yeardley to the far end of the greenhouse where she recognised the dark brown curls and knelt beside a small faerie reclining against a planter box with her eyes closed.

“Fiona,” Yeardley said softly, crouching by her side.

Fiona opened her eyes and, realising Laurel and Chelsea were also there staring at her, struggled to sit up a little straighter.

“How are you feeling?” Yeardley asked.

“The viridefaeco potion,” Laurel said, interrupting before Fiona could answer. She didn’t have time for niceties. “Do you have a base made?”

“I – I – I did,” she stuttered.

“What do you mean, “did”?” Laurel asked, fearful of the answer.

“I was in the lab when the trolls attacked. I don’t know if my bases survived.”

Laurel tried to stay calm and cool. Klea didn’t fly off the handle when the pressure went up. If anything, she rose to the occasion. Laurel had to maintain that kind of control too. “We need to go to the lab right away. Can you walk?”

Yeardley helped Fiona to her feet. She was a little wobbly but got her bearings quickly. “Can you help her?” Laurel asked Chelsea. “Please? I can’t.”

“Of course,” Chelsea murmured, ducking under the faerie’s arm and helping to support her as Yeardley led the way.

As they approached the entrance David had cut only hours earlier, Fiona drew back. “It’s OK, the fire is out and the toxin is gone,” Chelsea assured her, then added, “And I’m right here with you.”

The young faerie nodded and took a deep breath before plunging back into the warm, sooty darkness.

Walking through the shadowed Academy hallways with a single phosphorescing flower felt like walking in a massive tomb. The hallways were scorched and decimated and bodies were everywhere, some whole, some burned, a few disfigured by the first wave of trolls. A fluttering panic settled in Laurel’s throat; would there even be anything left to work with in the lab? As they turned down the last hallway Laurel was relieved that at least the door was still intact.

After a moment of hesitation Yeardley pushed open the door, leaving a wide handprint in the black ash. As they passed through the doorway Laurel heard Fiona gasp. The room looked like someone had picked it up and shaken it. Broken glass littered the floor, potted plants had been overturned, and instead of furniture there were only piles of splintered wood. Atop everything was a fine layer of soot.

Laurel tried not to stare at the faeries on the floor – or the dead troll at the end of the room. Yeardley’s expression was stoic, his jaw tight, and Chelsea’s face was a little pale. Fiona was actually managing pretty well, focusing on the task at hand in typical Autumn fashion.

“My station is – was – over here,” she said, hiking up her calf-length skirt as she stepped over and around the destruction. The floor was littered with broken instruments and shattered vials Laurel figured had once covered the top of the station, so Laurel was relieved when Fiona bent to open a cabinet set beneath the table. Several large beakers were nestled safely within.

“One was knocked over and cracked, but two are left,” Fiona said, emerging from the cupboard clutching two bottles filled with a clear solution the consistency of fresh honey.

“Perfect,” Laurel said, wearily resting against the table’s edge, making sure only her skirt, and none of her skin, made contact with the surface. It was late, she was exhausted, and the toxin was taking its toll. She looked around the half-destroyed classroom. “Do you think we can find everything we need?” she asked, not really convinced.