creepy hollow 05 - a faerie's revenge (13 page)

“It wasn’t only those two girls who died. One of the night guards and one of the Fish Bowl setting designers, both of whom danced with Saskia at the ball on Friday night, also fell ill last night and passed away.”

No
, I wail silently.
Not another two people.
I release a shuddering breath and say, “So … this disease is spread by touch then? And it doesn’t act immediately. People fall sick a day or two later. So by the time we know who we shouldn’t be touching, it’s too late.”

“Seems to be that way,” Ryn says.

“This could be catastrophic,” Vi whispers. “This disease is going to spread quickly. Exponentially. Every Guild member and their families could be wiped out within weeks.”

Ryn grasps her hand. “You need to go back to Kaleidos. I don’t care that the time difference is the other way around at the moment. You need to be somewhere safe, where this disease can’t—”

“Okay, let’s not panic about this,” Dad says. “Healers are working nonstop to figure out a cure for this thing. They’ve already managed to slow it down somewhat, so they’re on the right track. I’m sure it won’t be long before they create a cure or an antidote or something.”

I shake my head and murmur, “You can’t be sure of anything.”

“Well, at least I’m looking on the bright side instead of using words like ‘catastrophic.’”

“Someone needs to visit those witches,” I say. “If they’re the ones who made this spell, then they probably know the cure.”

“I heard something about that too,” Ryn says. “In the lunchtime queue in the dining hall. Someone was telling Councilor Merrydale that his team searched every tunnel in the area you told him about, but no one found any hint of a witch.”

My grip on the cushion tightens. “That can’t be right. I didn’t just imagine them.” I stare at the food that no one’s eating. “I suppose it has been several days since I saw them. Perhaps they’ve left already. Or maybe those guardians didn’t look in the right place.”

“Maybe,” Ryn says, but he sounds unsure. As if he doubts the existence of these witches in the first place. I’m about to argue that I did
not
simply make them up when Vi interrupts.

“Why start with that girl in particular? Was it a random choice, or a calculated move?” She turns to me. “What was her name again?”

“Saskia Starkweather.”

“Saskia Starkweather,” Ryn repeats slowly.

“Sounds familiar,” Vi says. “Oh.” She sits up a little straighter. “Back when Ryn and I were trainees, the head Councilor at the time was named Starkweather. She died in the Guild explosion. I wonder if Saskia was a relative of hers.”

“Should be easy enough to find out,” Ryn says.

“Just don’t let anyone know you’re looking into this case,” Dad warns.

“Genealogy records are public. I won’t need permission to see them.”

Dad nods, and the four of us stare at the food for a while. “Somebody needs to eat something,” Dad says eventually.

“I’m not hungry,” I say.

“Cal, you need to eat.”

“You didn’t bring plates, Dad,” Ryn says.

Dad lets out a long-suffering sigh as he stands. “I didn’t think we’d need them, but if you insist.”

As Dad leaves the room, Ryn leans closer and lowers his voice. “I know we’re all thinking it, so one of us may as well say it out loud. Is
he
the one doing this? Has he been waiting all this time to make his move?”

I know without a doubt that the ‘he’ we’re talking about is Chase. “You’re right,” I say, knowing this is not the time for secrets. “I have been wondering if it’s him. He … he was there that night.”

“
What?
” Ryn and Vi’s furious whispers coincide.

“Yes. I saw him in the ballroom, but I lost sight of him before I could get close enough to speak to him.”

Ryn looks at Vi, then back at me. “That’s too much of a coincidence. He must be involved somehow.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not.”

“How could he
not
be involved?”

“I don’t know, but …”

Ryn rolls his eyes. “Right. The two of you were ‘friends’ so you don’t want to think that he could do something this terrible.”

“I don’t want to think he could do it either,” Vi says quietly.

“But he could,” Ryn says. “And he has. He’s killed many, many Guild members in the past. Don’t forget who he really is.”

“Who he
was
,” Vi points out. “He may not be that person anymore.”

Ryn shakes his head. “We need to go to the Council.”

“And tell them what?” I demand. “That Vi and I have seen Lord Draven? Who’s going to believe us? They’ll think we’re—”

Dad walks back in then. Vi grabs an apple from the table, as though that was the reason she was leaning forward. Ryn scratches his ear. I try not to look guilty.

“Perhaps we should talk about something else,” Dad suggests as he places a pile of small plates on the table. “This is all getting very depressing.” He takes a seat and turns to Ryn and Vi. “Have you thought of any names for the baby?”

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

I’m clawing my way through dark water with a serpentine beast chasing me. I can see the edge of the pool, but my arms move in slow motion. The serpent is catching up. I know it; I can sense it. My fingers reach for the edge of the pool, almost there,
almost
there. They graze the edge—and something bites down on my ankle, tugging me back into the depths. I scream in pain and terror, my voice lost in a stream of bubbles. A hand wraps around my wrist and tugs upwards. With a great splash, I’m pulled from the water. As I lie dripping wet on the stone floor, looking up at my rescuer, I realize that this is just another nightmare. With the realization, the pain fades away. The edges of the dream become fuzzy, and the person kneeling beside me comes into focus.

“Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island,” Gaius says quickly. “If you remember nothing else when you wake up, remember that. Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island. Tell Chase.”

I blink at him as he becomes clearer. Why does this part of the dream seem so much more real than everything else? “This is a crazy question,” I say, “but are you real?”

Gaius looks startled. “You’re still asleep. You’re still here.”

“I … I know.”

“Yes, yes, I’m real,” he says hurriedly. “It’s a Griffin Ability. One of the many I’ve been forced to take. They didn’t realize I could use it to travel into dreams. I tried contacting Chase, but he has so much protection around his mind, it’s impossible. I tried others on the team as well, but I don’t know if they heard enough before they woke.”

“This is crazy,” I murmur.

“No!” He grips my hand. “It’s real. I’m real.” He starts to grow fuzzier and smaller, as though I’m being pulled away from him. “Piker’s Inn, Ratafia Island!” he shouts. “Don’t forget when you wake up! Please don’t forget!”

* * *

I’m awake before my eyelids open. I sit up, pushing my hair away from my face and rubbing my eyes. This is the real world. This—me sitting on my bed, my blurry eyes focusing on the clock—is real. And yet … the end of that dream felt more real than anything else I’ve ever dreamt. What if it
was
real? I lean over and pick up my amber and stylus from my bedside table. I stare at the blank amber for several more moments. Then, before I can change my mind, I write Chase a message.

You probably won’t get this, but if you do, and you haven’t found Gaius yet, check Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island. P.S. I don’t want to hear back from you.

That last bit sounds rather childish, but I send the message anyway. Chances are that Chase won’t even receive it, so there’s no point in agonizing over the wording. I drop the amber onto the bed beside me and rub my temples. Dad will be off to work shortly, if he hasn’t already left, and I’ll be spending another day trapped inside a house that feels as though it’s getting smaller and smaller. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday … and now Wednesday. My fifth day under house arrest. I wonder how long it will be before I start feeling claustrophobic inside my own home.

My amber vibrates and pings, and I open my eyes to see a message from Ryn. I pick up the amber and take a closer look.

Eleven more people dead. The Guild is under quarantine. No one here is allowed to leave. Those still at home have been ordered to stay there and restrict contact with family members. I told Vi to return to Kaleidos. She finally agreed for the baby’s sake. She’s staying on her own near the island for another twenty-four hours. When she’s certain she isn’t sick, she’ll go through the shimmer. Will keep you and Dad updated.

With shaking fingers, I pick up my stylus and write,
Stay in your office and don’t touch anyone. Don’t you DARE get sick.
Then I jump off the bed and rush out of my room, calling Dad’s name. Based on the answering silence, he’s already left for work. I run back into my room and grab a mirror from my desk. I’m about to call him when my amber emits another ping. I lean over the bed and see a message from Perry. My heart plummets as I read his words.

Gemma’s sick. I’m so scared I can’t even think properly. I don’t know what to do.

A shiver of fear races through me. I drop the amber and press my hands to my face. “No,” I murmur. “No, no, no.” This is all spiraling out of control
way
too quickly. We need a cure NOW, dammit! If eleven more people are dead, then the healers obviously haven’t found one yet, which leaves the witches as the only other option.

I rush to my closet and grab the first clothes I find: a pair of pants, a T-shirt and a hoodie. After dressing, I tug my boots on, then throw all the money I can find into my smallest purse and slide it into my left boot. I fetch my amber and stylus and open a doorway on the nearest wall. Screw the house arrest and the tracker spell. If I manage to get hold of a cure, it’ll be worth whatever consequences I have to deal with when I get back. I imagine the Underground tunnel where Wickedly Inked used to be and hurry into the faerie paths.

The tunnel is silent when I step into it, but I know that somewhere inside the Guild, an alarm has just been triggered. I’m thankful for the quarantine. If it weren’t for that, guards would probably show up here within minutes, and I doubt they’d give me time to explain that I’m looking for a cure. I hurry toward the witches’ shop—exactly where I found it last week—but slow down as I near it. Something tells me it wouldn’t be wise to run in there demanding a cure they may not even have.

I wander through the doorway and into the shop as if I’m merely browsing. It’s properly set up now, with all the jars and bottles and bowls in their correct places, and candles and lanterns sitting at the end of each shelf. A table decorated with strings of flowers stands in the center of the room with more items displayed upon it. As I walk around, I smell rosemary, lemongrass, cinnamon, and other herbs and spices I can’t remember the names of. Neither of the women seem to be here, but the door to the back room is ajar, so I assume they’re through there. The gouge marks I noticed in the wall last time are gone.

On the table, I find the bowl with the dragon-eye rings. I bend to take a closer look. Each ring is made of silver, and the part that holds the eye is shaped like a claw. The eyes are different colors, but other than that, the rings are all the same. Saskia’s ring looked exactly like these.

Having no idea what kind of dangerous spells could be on these rings, I refrain from touching them and move on. Near the back of the room, on a wooden podium, I find an old leather-bound book. The gold embossed title has faded with age, but even up close I’m unable to read it, given that it’s written in a language I don’t recognize. After looking around to make sure I’m still alone, I carefully lift the cover. It appears to be a spell book. Tiny hand-written letters beneath each title give the name of the spell in English, but the instructions are in another language. The accompanying pictures give me a good idea of what each is about, though. Disturbing pictures detailing strange, dark spells. Magic that should never be performed. Communication with the dead, piecing different body parts together to form new creatures, a summoning spell, a changeling spell, a—

“You again.”

Startled, I almost knock the book off the podium as I swing around. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I hurriedly reposition the book and close the cover.

“See anything you like in there?” the woman asks with a twisted smile, her black eyes seeming to gleam. She’s the younger witch, the one I spoke to last week. Her dress today is deep red instead of black, but the bottom of the skirt seems to shift from fabric into smoke in the same way the other dress did. She watches me as she runs her tongue over her pointed teeth.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest so she can’t see my hands shaking. “I didn’t like anything in there.”

“You’re from the Guild,” she says. That strange, deep vibration that rumbles subtly beneath her sweet voice sends a shiver up my arms.