A Faerie's Curse (Creepy Hollow #6) (28 page)

C
HAPTER

T
HIRTY

The darkness of the faerie paths dissipates around us to reveal a cliff overlooking a rough sea. “Remove the ropes!” Chase shouts. I twist around and see every one of the gargoyles slashing at the ropes Chase tied around their arms. “And into the air!” he yells. The gargoyles begin running. Wings flap way too close to my body as the cliff edge races to meet us. And then, just as we're about to tumble over it, my gargoyle leaps, and then we're rising, rising, into the air.

As we gain height, I release my breath, and look past the flapping wings and out at the ocean. My hope almost shrivels into nothing when I notice the position of the sun on the horizon. “It's almost sunset,” I shout to Chase, though I'm certain he's already noticed this. “I didn't realize it was so much later here.”

“Yeah,” he shouts back to me. “Which is why Angelica told us we'd be too late to stop Amon.”

“Was she right?”

“No. She underestimated our speed.” He urges his gargoyle to fly faster and yells, “FORWAAAAARD!”

My gargoyle's wings beat harder, and icy air bites into my skin. The sky grows darker as clouds gather above us. Over the sound of wings and wind, a rumble reaches my ears. I look up in time to see light zigzag across the growing cloud mass. Spots of rain wet my face. I lower my head and hunch my shoulders, looking down to where the growing gale whips the waves into white peaks far below us. I don't have to ask Chase if he's the one doing this. I already know the storm is his. I face forward again with a small smile on my lips. I defy even the strongest of fae to look up at us—an army of gruesome creatures propelled forth by typhoon winds amidst lightning, sea spray and thunderous dark clouds—and not be afraid.

It might all be for nothing if we're too late, though. Velazar Prison is built upon a floating island that moves around and is never in exactly the same place, so I'm concerned about how long it might take us to get there. But we haven't been flying long when a dark shape begins to take form on the horizon up ahead. With an enchanted wind at our backs, we race across the sky toward Velazar Island.

The dark shape grows larger. Larger and larger, until eventually it isn't just a shape, but a massive piece of earth floating some distance above the waves. Tiny dots in the water below turn out to be boats, and the grey squares squished together on top of the island take form as Velazar Prison itself. Nervous anticipation races through me as we come close enough to see smoke rising from the building and tiny figures moving back and forth outside amidst bright weapons and flashes of magic. As we fly overhead, I capture a mental picture of the scene so I can orient myself once we've landed: the prison taking up most of the lower left side of the island; a small silvery dome-like layer near the top right; a monument within it, pointing straight toward the stormy sky. Further right, separating the silver dome from the right hand edge of the island, is a grove of trees. And there, top left of my mental map, is the tower. The tower where hundreds of people hopefully haven't yet been killed.

Seeing all the elements of the spell together in one place, the reality hits me: this could actually happen. We could fail, and our enemies could rip through to a world that should forever remain separate from ours.

As we circle over the island, I'm able to make out what's happening in more detail. The dome-shield protects the trident statue and several figures who look like Angelica, Amon, and the witches. Beyond that, in a roughly semi-circular formation, hundreds of figures in prison overalls fight the glittering weapons of black-clad guardians. What I didn't expect, though, is to see prisoners fighting with magic—which means someone removed the magic-blocking bands they would have been wearing when they were freed. I'm not certain, but I think I see some of our teammates amidst the action. I almost call out to them but then remember the communication spell has faded. I definitely make out two or three gargoyles, and Gaius's dragon is breathing streams of fire straight at the dome-shield.

Chase pulls his gargoyle alongside mine. “Do you see any of the prison guards?”

That's what's missing from the scene: figures in prison guard uniforms. The guardian who informed Councilor Bouchard of the explosion mentioned that most of the guards had disappeared. But where would they have—

“The tower,” I shout. That must be where they are. People need to die in order for this spell to work, and Amon would far rather kill the guards than his fellow prisoners. And with prisoners far outnumbering guards, it probably wasn't that hard to overpower them and get them all into that tower.

Chase signals his gargoyle army to join the fight. They swoop down together in one movement, both thrilling and terrifying to watch. “Head for the tower,” he shouts to me—or, more likely, to my gargoyle, since I have no idea how to direct it. Both our gargoyles tuck their wings back and dive toward the ground beside the tower. We land clumsily, but our harnesses keep us from falling off. I remove mine and jump off the gargoyle's back. Not too far away, the battle of prisoners, guardians, gargoyles and the rest of our teammates rages on.

“How do we get in?” I ask, rushing to the side of the tower and running my hand along the bricks as I walk around the outside. I think of what I saw in the vision—an empty interior, hundreds of writhing bodies at the bottom, and a great round boulder falling and crushing them all. “What is this even used for? Why would an empty tower be standing here?”

“I don't think it was empty,” Chase says as he joins my search around the outer wall of the tower. “It was a look-out tower. It probably wouldn't have taken too complex an architectural spell to remove the stairs spiraling from the bottom to the top.”

“Ah, here's a door.” I try the handle, but it's locked, of course. “I can't hear any sound from within. Maybe none of the guards or prisoners have been brought here yet.”

Chase tries to ram the door open with force. When that doesn't work, he uses magical strength and unlocking spells, but still the door won't budge.

“Chase,” I say quietly, nausea coalescing in the pit of my stomach. “Look at the bottom of the door. That's … that's blood seeping out.”

A slow, mocking laugh pulls my attention away from the blood. I look around and see a prisoner on the ground nearby, wounded and probably flung all the way over here by someone's magic. “You're too late,” he rasps. “The witches performed the ritual as soon as they got here earlier. If it makes you feel any better, there were prisoners in there too. Convicted criminals.”

Dead. They're all dead. A tower full of people just … dead.

“The witches have even more power now,” Chase murmurs. “They'll be even harder to defeat.”

“Oh, it's our princess who has all the power,” the prisoner says, then breaks off as he starts coughing. “Our Queen,” he corrects when he's recovered. “Our Queen Angelica. The witches absorbed it all and then channeled it into her. They gave us power as well. They said there was so much, such an overwhelming abundance, that they were afraid it would be too much for the Queen. They gave her everything they could, and then strengthened as many of us as time allowed before the first guardians arrived.”

My stomach heaves. I'm utterly horrified and sickened. “We have to stop them. We have to stop them.” But I can't move. All I can see is the blood seeping out from under the door. All I can think of is the crushed bodies inside.

“Yes, we have to stop them!” Chase says, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the tower. I shake the horror off as best I can. I know I'll be useless if I continue to focus on it.

We race around the edge of the fight, dodging sparks of magic. Reaching the edge of the witches' dome-shield, I look through the silvery layer and see how close we are to being too late: the two people who have to be sacrificed—the blood from one side of the veil and blood from the other—are already draped across either side of the statue. A man on the right and a woman on the left.

“Look away,” Chase tells me. “I'm bringing it down.”

I cast my eyes over my shoulder, squinting into the melee as light flashes behind me. When I look back, the dome is gone. I don't stop to think. With howling wind and the constant rumble of thunder as my battle cry, I run at Tilda, forcing both magic and an illusion out ahead of me. Sparks to sting and burn, and an illusion of screeching harpies. They dive at her, flapping and screaming and slashing with clawed feet, and my hope is that the witch will end up cowering, shielding her face from the attack and giving me a chance to take her down.

This doesn't happen. “Your illusions are
weak
!” she shouts, dancing out of reach. “You can't fool me.” And with that she runs and tackles me. I wriggle and shout and kick as she pins me down, but I was tired before this fight even began, and she has the strength of many men. “Why aren't you dead yet?” she growls into my ear as she traces a finger around my wrists. Narrow black ropes appear. I try to kick her as she moves to my feet, but she sits on my legs and traces around my ankles with her pointed nails. “I've felt it coming on for days now, but you've been fighting it somehow.”

Over her shoulder, I see Chase battling with Sorena and Angelica. The older witch raises a glowing crystal above her head, and I recognize it as the same kind of crystal Angelica threw in the ballroom. “No!” I shout as the crystal lands at Chase's feet. The resulting explosion throws him backward and toward the grove of trees, out of my sight.

I writhe against my bonds, but it makes no difference. “I've thought of a use for you,” Tilda says. “You wanted to stop us from bringing the veil down? Well guess what. Now you're going to help us do it.” She drags me across the ground and pushes the man off the right side of the statue. Then, using magic, she lifts me up—and I realize exactly what she meant. I know there are no words that will convince her, so my screams are wordless. On and on and on I scream and struggle. I don't want to die like this, helping perform some terrible spell, not knowing if Chase survived the crystal's explosion.

“It's almost time,” Tilda says. “We can't see the moon beyond this spectacular storm, but we know it's there. We know it's rising.”

“Please just
stop
!” I shout. “Why are you even involved in this? Do you plan to rule a mixed-up, half magical world alongside Angelica?”

“Rule?” she repeats with amusement. “Of course not. We're not interested in that kind of power.” She looks out at the crowd where the Velazar prisoners with their increased magical strength are still managing to hold back the guardians and gargoyles. “Feel the energy,” she says. “Taste it on the air. That's the kind of power we seek.”

Her words send a chill through my bones. “You're twisted and sick,” I tell her.

She ignores me, her gaze moving to the other side of the statue where Sorena stands with an axe in her hands. Amon, the man who sat quietly in prison waiting for his big moment while the rest of us chased Angelica around, stands beside her. On top of the monument, grasping a spear in one hand and holding onto the trident part of the statue with the other, is Angelica. “Ready?” Tilda asks.

“Yes,” Angelica answers. “I'm ready.” She nods to Sorena. Sorena raises her axe, but instead of bringing it down on the woman lying across the other side of the statue, she swings it around with all her might—straight at Amon.

I see a spray of blood and hear the crumpling thud of his body hitting the ground. I'm so shocked I stop squirming. “What … what did you …”

Angelica looks down at me. “You didn't think I was planning to
share
, did you? Especially not with someone like
him
. No ambition. Always hanging onto someone else's success. First his father, then Zell, then Draven. No. He rallied the prisoners for me while I was gone, and he set everything up after the explosion, but his use has now come to an end.” Her gaze moves to Sorena. “Now,” she says, “we are ready to begin.”

As Sorena brings her axe down toward the unconscious human woman, I start screaming again. Screaming and wriggling and tearing at the bonds. Tilda holds me down with magical strength as Sorena moves toward me, raising her bloodied axe.

Then, behind her, a glittering weapon flashes though the air. Sorena is thrown aside as a guardian spins around and kicks. Tilda lunges for him, but he slashes at her with two knives and kicks again, sending her flying behind the statue. Then he lifts me. Ryn, my brother—
what is he doing here?
—lifts me from the statue. How did he get past all the fighting? He runs a short distance away and places me on the ground near the trees, then slices through my bonds with one of his golden, sparkling knives. Knives that can cut through almost anything. A moth, one of those creepy moths from the gargoyle cave, flits past his head. Then his hands are on either side of my face, searching my eyes. “Are you okay? You have to be okay. Please, I can't—”