A Faerie's Curse (Creepy Hollow #6) (29 page)

Taloned fingers wrap around his arms and yank him away with magical strength. He goes flying through the air and lands at the base of the statue, his head whacking the ground with a sickening thud. Tilda runs after him.
Get up, Ryn, get up
, I plead silently as I push myself shakily up onto my knees and press my hand against my neck. But it's all Ryn can do to roll weakly onto his side.

“You want to interfere with our magic?” Tilda demands. “Fine. I'll show you what happens to people who interfere.” A flick of her hand flips him into the air and onto the statue. “It'll be better for me if the girl dies naturally anyway.”

“No,” I gasp, the word too quiet for anyone to hear. I force myself up onto my feet. Tilda looks about for Sorena. She's on the left side of the statue, being helped to her feet by Angelica. But the axe is lying on the ground where it fell when Ryn attacked Sorena. Tilda bends and picks it up. “No!” I shriek. “Stop!” I run toward her, but something grey rushes past me. A gargoyle. It leaps at Tilda with claws outstretched and pulls her to the ground.

I expect her to stay down longer, but she fights back immediately. Her blast of magic throws the gargoyle aside. It whimpers as it slides across the ground and comes to a stop, its form rippling and—changing? “Filigree?” I whisper as the gargoyle shifts into a cat and limps toward me. But I tear my eyes away from him as Tilda crawls across the ground and reaches for the axe. I rush toward her, but I'm too late, because Angelica's spear is already flying through the air and—

—and piercing straight through Ryn's abdomen.

Time seems to stop. I know I'm screaming, but I can't hear anything. Then suddenly everything moves again, and my scream is so loud it almost deafens me. And when finally I run out of breath, the scream goes on—but it isn't mine. I twist around, searching the ever-present, ever-advancing crowd desperately. I don't see her, but she must be here somewhere. She's the only other person who would scream like that for Ryn.

I turn back and stumble toward my brother—just as Angelica, standing atop the monument once more, her spear discarded and both hands wrapped around the trident, goes rigid. Light shoots from the top of the trident. Blazing and blinding, lighting up the stormy sky. A horrendous ripping, shredding sound tears past my ears. And there in the sky, an opening appears, as if a gargantuan claw ripped right through it. And on the other side—a field on the outskirts of a town. Early evening, with a sprinkle of glowing lights in the distance.

She did it. Angelica actually did it.

Behind me, everything goes still. The shouting, snarling, and clanging of weapons—it all comes to a halt. All attention is fixed on that tear in the sky. Not just a tear, but a widening gap. And in the field beyond, sparks sizzle in the grass, turning it to ash. A car stops on the road beside the field and people tumble out, staring, pointing, shouting, and I should be trying to
stop all of this
. But my attention is tugged back to Ryn. To his motionless body and that spear sticking up, and the blood running down the side of the statue.

Is he dead?

My heart splits open at the thought, and I run for him—just as a figure slams into Tilda and knocks her to the ground. Chase. My relief that he's okay clashes with my terror that Ryn is already dead. As Chase forces both Tilda and Sorena away from the statue and Angelica stares in rapture at the growing tear in the sky, I rush to Ryn's side. I grab hold of the spear and tug it free. It falls from my hands to the ground. I'm about to move him when something soft touches my legs. Filigree, cat-shaped a moment ago, starts shifting into a bear. He scoops Ryn up. I run beside him as he lumbers away from the statue into the nearby trees. I drop to my knees as Filigree places Ryn on the ground. I push his shirt and jacket up and press my hands against his stomach, looking away from the wound and the gushing blood and squeezing tears from my eyes. I release magic into his body. I don't care that I have little left. I'll happily give him everything if it'll save him.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmur as Filigree becomes a mouse and hides beside Ryn's neck, below his ear. “You have magic. You can heal from this.” But he was thrown against the ground with such force just minutes before he was stabbed. And the sound of his head hitting the ground … I shudder remembering it.

I glance up as shouts and the sizzle of magic break through the silence. The guardians surge forward once more and the prisoners fight back. Though gifted with extra power from the witches, the prisoners are weakening, and the guardians, far more skilled in combat, are pressing ever closer to the monument. I'm about to turn my eyes back to Ryn when finally I see her.

Violet. A whirling fury. Blades flashing and purple hair whipping around as she kicks, dodges and slashes her way through the army of prisoners. She breaks through the battle and races toward me, falling onto her knees on Ryn's other side. “No no no no no,” she gasps, tears streaking her face as her hands join mine. She lowers her head and presses her forehead against his chest, whispering words I can't hear.

Lightning flashes and cracks of thunder draw my attention back to where Chase and the two witches are battling within the spinning winds of a mini tornado. And not too far away—finally—the first few guardians make it past the prisoners.

“Tilda!” Angelica shrieks. “Stop the guardians!” But I doubt Tilda even hears her.

Angelica leaps off the monument, runs past Chase and the witches, and throws her hands into the air. I blink against the flash of light. When I can see again, a translucent layer, the same kind of shield the witches are able to produce, stands between us and the guardians. Not a dome this time, but a wall. A wall of magic stretching right across the island and as high up into the sky as I can see. With the guardians stopped for now, Angelica turns her attention to the tornado. She bends and picks up her spear.

With a shout, I push myself up and run. With whatever strength I have left, I force a pulse of magic from my hands. It's horribly weak, but enough to force Angelica to stumble forward a few paces. I drop the mental wall around my mind, but I've barely thought of an illusion when she cries out in anger and sweeps her hand in a wide arc through the air. I'm knocked off my feet, spinning and tumbling through the air, and—

Whack.

Every part of my body screams at me as I hit the ground. I cough and gasp for air as I struggle to raise my head. Chase is beside me, groaning and pushing himself up. We're amidst the trees, even further from the monument than Vi and Ryn. And the witches … they're nearby, moaning on the ground, probably knocked here with the same rush of energy we were. “Are you okay?” Chase asks as he helps me to sit.

Before I can answer, Tilda shouts, “What was that for?”

“You were in the way,” Angelica shouts back. “Help me strengthen this shield. The guardians are almost through, and we still need time before the tear reaches the ground here.”

I look past Chase and see the silvery shield struggling and stretching against the magical assault of hundreds of guardians. Amidst the crowd, I make out Olive, and Councilor Bouchard. “They're here. Everyone who was at the Seelie Court.”

“It's time to end this,” Chase says.

“They're so much stronger,” I say, still breathless, still barely able to hold myself upright. “We keep fighting and they keep forcing us back.”

“They won't be strong for much longer. I've been waiting, holding back, allowing them to deplete their energy. And look at them, pouring everything into that shield. They're growing weaker by the second. All three of them.” He looks down and holds his hand out to me. “It's time, Calla. We can end this now.”

“Okay.” I try to stand, but my legs seem to be too weak to hold me, so I end up collapsing back onto the ground.

“What's wrong?” Chase asks immediately, crouching down, examining my legs. “Are you injured?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine. Just … a bit weak.”

“Are you sure it's not—”

“I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you need my help, Mr. I-single-handedly-destroyed-large-parts-of-the-fae-realm.” I smile at him. “You've got this.”

His face twists in concern. “Calla …”

“Go,” I tell him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Do your hero thing. Save the world, and everyone watching will finally know what I know: you're fighting for the right side now.”

His expression turns to one of amazement, a quiet laugh upon his lips. “That was it,” he murmurs. Then he grasps my shoulders and presses a kiss to my lips. He pulls back and stares into my eyes. “I love you. Fiercely and desperately and with everything inside me. I love you.”

My heart leaps into my throat, but he's up and running before I can say a word.
I love you too
, I whisper silently.

As the edges of my vision grow darker, and everything becomes oddly quiet, I see the whole scene as if from a distance. Vi bent over Ryn; the guardians pressing against the shield; Angelica, Tilda and Sorena with their hands raised toward the silvery layer, and Chase racing toward them with lightning crackling around him. I know as I watch them that they no longer stand a chance against him.

Blinding light flashes again and again, and thunder deafens me as I reach with shaking fingers for the zip of my jacket. Wind scurries down from the sky and blasts across the ground, pushing me down with its strength. Through the hair whipping around my face, I see Chase standing outside a spinning vortex of air and dust, the three women trapped inside and the wind so powerful they can't get past it. As I fumble with my zip and manage to pull it halfway down, light zigzags down from the sky and straight into the center of the whirlwind. The deafening crack that follows sends a shudder through the ground.

Everything becomes still. The wind quietens, the silver shield vanishes, and Chase looks down at the three women lying on the ground. Electrocuted, probably. Or stunned, perhaps. Not dead. Not when magic runs through their bodies and can heal them. Not when Chase is the one standing over them. Chase, the man who will fight and protect and save, but who won't kill. And I don't want him to, even if the witches' deaths would mean an easy escape from my curse. Killing isn't something I've ever wanted anyone to do for me. Angelica, Tilda and Sorena are incapacitated, and that's good enough for now. The Guild can deal with them, and we'll figure out another way around the curse.

Chase looks around—and suddenly, with a collective roar, the guardians rush forward. “Chase!” I scream, but I can barely hear my own voice. They're upon him within seconds, magic sparking and weapons glittering. Mist, snow, hail, lightning—I can't see a thing through the violent mix of stormy elements. I push myself up, fighting the lightheadedness. My fingers finally free the bottle from my pocket. A crack runs down the side, and the outer surface of the bottle is wet, but it's still more than half full of undiluted, full-strength tonic.

The storm settles. Someone shouts, “Move back!” The crowd of guardians obeys, moving out of the way to reveal Chase kneeling in front of the monument, restrained by several guardians and their glittering ropes. And I realize suddenly that this will never end. No matter how much good he does, they'll never forget the devastation of the past. Even if he escapes them now, they'll never stop hunting him, and this will go on and on until eventually, one day, they catch up to him.

Unless I do something.

I remove the lid of the bottle and tip the contents down my throat. I'm aware of familiar voices calling my name, but my every sense is focused on the herbal-sweet burn rushing down my throat. As energy shoots through my body, shocking me back to life, I know there's only one way for me to end this.

C
HAPTER

T
HIRTY-
O
NE

VIOLET

I kneel beside my dying husband as the world falls apart around me. Violent wind, shuddering thunder, sea spray flying over the edge of the island, and a great rip in the sky—but I have eyes for none of it. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” They're the only words I can whisper, over and over again. My blood-covered hands move to either side of Ryn's face, pouring out as much magic as I can. I should never have left him. I should never have gone after that despicable murderer Zed.
Fight for everything you still have and not for what you've lost.
That's what Nate—Chase—said earlier. And he would know, wouldn't he? He watched his parents die. He let the desire for revenge consume him. Just as I was about to let it consume me. Even now, recognizing just how destructive a path it is, part of me still yearns for it. Part of me longs to turn off the pain and feel only the hate and the anger—especially now, faced with the horrifying possibility that I'm about to lose the only other person I love as much as I loved her.

Victoria.

Thinking her name brings fresh tears to my eyes. I bow my head and rest it against Ryn's chest once more. This is what I should have been doing these past few days: crying with my beloved. Letting our tears fall together. Not leaving him alone in his pain while I attempted to fulfill my own mission of revenge. “You won't die,” I whisper to Ryn. “You have plenty of magic, and you're strong. You can survive this. I know she's—she's gone, and we'll never get her back, and my heart keeps breaking over and over, but please … please don't leave me. You promised you'd never leave me.” As my tears soak his shirt, I imagine that I can feel the slow beat of his heart through his chest.

“I … know,” he replies.

I pull back with a jolt. I look into the brilliant blue eyes I love so much, at his face smeared with blood and twisted with pain, and I can't speak past the tears that stream down my cheeks. I lean over him, burying my face against his neck, and hug him as tightly as I dare. My body shudders as sobs rip through me. I don't understand how I can be heartbroken and happy at the same time, but I'm overwhelmed by both.

A tiny soft figure wriggles between my shoulder and my neck and settles below my chin. Filigree. My dear, sweet Filigree. I have no idea how he ended up here, but his presence is as much a comfort to me as it's always been.

Ryn strokes my hair and mumbles, “I don't think I'm … gonna be … sitting up for a while.”

I pull gently away from him—just as the tumult of the storm dies down and silence descends upon us. I look up and find the whirlwind over. Angelica and the two witches lie motionless on the ground with Chase standing over them. The shield that separated us from the rest of the battle—the faeries, prisoners, gargoyles, and even a dragon—is gone. Chase turns to face the silent crowd of guardians.

They surge forward and attack.

“No,” I gasp, too shocked to move. He fights back, but the guardians number in the hundreds, and they restrain him in under a minute. As they force him onto his knees, my eyes are drawn to the ever-growing hole in the sky and the field in the world beyond. The lower edge of the hole has reached the grass on the other side of the trident monument. Slowly, inch by inch, the grass on our side and the grass in the field seem to be … merging. Sparking, turning to ash, and disappearing. As if our two worlds are colliding and … destroying one another. “Oh no,” I murmur. “I'm guessing that that is
not
what Angelica was hoping for.”

“What?” Ryn asks. “What's happening.”

“There's a giant rip in the sky. I can see the human realm on the other side. But … both worlds are slowly being consumed by each other. We're going to have nothing left if we don't stop it. And Chase …” I turn my attention back to him. He's struggling uselessly against the guardians, but then, as if digging deep within himself and calling upon his reserves of power, he flings his attackers back into the crowd. Instantly, another shield shimmers into view, translucent silver, like the one the witches had up earlier. But if it's a witch shield, that must mean …

Just as I think it, one of the witches climbs to her feet. Chase swings toward her and throws her down again, but her blast of magic hits him directly in the face. He drops to the ground and doesn't get up.

Afraid to leave Ryn, but desperate to help Chase, I climb to my feet. As the witch scrambles up and crawls toward Chase, I look around for Calla. She must have disappeared into the trees, though, because I don't see her anywhere. “What's happening?” Ryn asks again, groaning as he tries to sit up.

“Hey, don't you dare move.” I push him back down, and by the time I look up again, the witch's hands are hovering above Chase's body, moving in odd circular motions. Her lips twitch, but I'm too far away to hear her words. “Hey!” I yell, hoping to distract her. She ignores me, and a second later, bright green flames ignite upon Chase's chest. They race across his body without pause.

I cry out and race toward him. Without bothering to look up, the witch retaliates, her magic flashing out and punching me. I stumble backward, doubling over and gasping for breath. I drop onto my knees, coughing and sucking in air that doesn't seem to be there while Ryn calls out to me, asking if I'm okay.

By the time I can breathe again, Chase's body is consumed by an inferno. An enchanted fire so scorchingly hot I can feel the heat from where I'm kneeling, a considerable distance away. A grating howl rises on the air, followed by another and another. A chilling cacophony of gargoyle misery. Ryn shouts again, demanding to know what's going on, but I can't speak. The horror of it—Chase's
burning body
—sickens me to my core. I look around again for Calla, but she's still nowhere to be seen. Fear entangles itself with the nausea in my stomach. Where is she? What's happened to her?

My gaze snaps back to the blazing green flames and the witch standing nearby. She sways. Then, as if she's finally spent the last of her energy, she collapses back onto the ground beside the other two unconscious women. As the shield vanishes, I run toward the fire. I get as close as I can without searing my skin, but I'm far, far too late to help Chase. These flames burn hotter and faster than any I've seen, and his clothes, his flesh—I look away as my stomach turns. There's barely anything left of him.

Movement catches my attention at the edge of my vision. The guardians behind me, I assume, moving closer to examine the fallen Lord Draven now that the shield is gone. But no. As I turn slightly, I see someone else. The witch—the one who fell to the ground barely a minute ago, swings her axe back and—

A snarling gargoyle slams into her, throwing her flat onto the ground. It rears back and roars. Then its form seems to ripple. It shifts and changes and grows into scales, clawed feet, wings, a forked tongue, and talons the size of my forearms. Dragon-formed Filigree roars again. His head swings down and his jaw clamps around the witch—around the entire woman. He shakes her broken body back and forth with dizzying speed before tossing her into the crowd.

Shocked and trembling—I've never seen Filigree shift into a form so enormous—I stumble away from the fire. Filigree breathes a stream of flames toward the sky before beginning to shrink. I turn and run back to Ryn's side. “Oh, thank goodness,” he gasps as I drop to my knees beside him. He's on his side now, as if he was trying to move, to sit up. “I thought … I thought you were …”

“I'm fine. But Chase …” I shake my head and wrap my shaking fingers around Ryn's hands. “He's … did you see? I couldn't …” Tears sting my eyes again as Filigree scampers toward us in squirrel form. “I couldn't do anything. The fire was too quick. I was too late, and I don't know where Calla is, and that tear in the sky …”

I look up at the gaping wound between the worlds and the guardians gathered below it. They've moved between us and the enchanted fire now, and I can barely make out the flickering tops of the flames consuming Chase's body. High above us, the heavy clouds of Chase's storm have scattered and vanished, revealing a star-studded sky and a full, silver-yellow orb.

Someone steps forward and climbs onto the monument. I recognize him as Head Councilor Bouchard when he turns to face everyone. “Two days ago,” he calls out, his voice magically magnified, “it was revealed to us that Lord Draven has not been dead for the past ten years, as we were led to believe. Our world went into a flurry of panic, imagining a second Destruction. But tonight—” he shakes his fist in the air “—Draven has been vanquished forever. He will never again threaten our way of life.” Applause and cries of victory rise from the crowd.

I press my eyelids closed and shake my head, sickened to hear them rejoicing for this horrifying death. “They're celebrating the wrong thing,” I whisper.

“There is, however, another threat that needs to be addressed.” Councilor Bouchard pauses, looking out at the crowd, waiting for complete silence. “I wasn't planning to do this for another several weeks, but I couldn't waste this opportunity when it presented itself. This moment in which almost every guardian in our world would be assembled in one place.” He raises his hand and holds something high in the air. Something spherical and glowing. He lets go. In the silence, I hear the splintering smash of glass. A ripple of magic rushes through the air like a breeze gently lifting my hair. And then—my body begins to glow. The glow spreads across Ryn, wrapping us both in faint light.

“What the hell is this?” he murmurs.

“I don't know.” My gaze flies up again as apprehension pounds through my veins. In the crowd of guardians, I pick out glowing forms here and there.

Councilor Bouchard raises his voice and speaks again. “Griffin Gifted,” he booms, “you have been revealed.”