creepy hollow 05 - a faerie's revenge (18 page)

Vi and I spoke, though I don’t know what we said. We fought and that, too, is hazy. And then, right at the end, everything became clear—because she did what only she could do: She
found
me. The real me, beneath all that power I’d consumed. It was like waking up after a long sleep. Like breathing again after being trapped under water.

And that was the moment she killed me.

I don’t remember pain; I only remember light. I don’t know how long it blazed for, but when it subsided … I wasn’t dead. I was lying on the grass near a waterfall. The Infinity Falls, I discovered later on. I remembered the eternity necklace—the necklace I’d stolen from Vi—and found it still around my neck. The white teardrop pendant was cracked down the middle, and I was fairly certain it had performed the job it was created for: It saved me from death.

But I was me again, and I remembered all the atrocities I had committed, and the weight of my countless wrongdoings was almost too much to bear. How unfair was it that this second chance at life had been given to
me
, a selfish coward who’d turned the world into a terrible place, rather than someone else far more worthy? I wanted to end my life. I came close to doing it, but as torturous as I found my waking moments, I was too afraid of death to choose that route.

I dragged myself through life for those first few weeks, existing more than living. So many fae were putting the scraps of their lives back together then; I was just one more struggling, homeless, broken-hearted person, surviving on handouts from the very people I had forced into hiding during my reign. Slowly, as if it was a subconscious idea rather than an intentional plan, I made my way back to Angelica’s labyrinth. I didn’t know what had happened to her. She’d been living at the Unseelie Palace, and, from the bits of information I’d picked up, almost everyone there had been arrested. When I found her labyrinth deserted, I assumed she had met the same fate. I continued on until I reached her chamber in the center, where I found everything I could possibly need: stores of food, money, spare styluses and other magical supplies. I took what I needed and left.

I holed up in an abandoned room Underground. I drowned my misery in the bliss of confusion spells and alcohol from the nearby pubs. My life had no meaning other than surviving from one day to the next. I wasn’t brave enough to face what I’d done and move on, and I wasn’t brave enough to pull the plug and end everything. And in that miserable, self-destructive state is where Scarlett found me.

She wanted to help me fix up my life and move on. I essentially told her that I wasn’t worth her time and to get lost. She kept trying, but I made no effort whatsoever, so eventually she left, saying it was up to me to pull myself together.

I didn’t. I passed out in a tunnel one night after too much drinking, and when I woke up, I was in a home I didn’t recognize. A little Underground home filled with old fashioned furniture and the smell of paint. An elf woman with wisps of grey in her hair was the one who woke me up and fed me—and then told me that collapsing in a drunken state outside old ladies’ front doors was a waste of a perfectly good life. I told her my life wasn’t perfectly good. It was a black hole and I was happy to waste whatever was left of it. She told me to stop being an ungrateful child. That shocked me enough into telling her the truth, or part of it, at least. “I did terrible things after The Destruction. Terrible, horrendous things you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Not looking disturbed in the slightest, she leaned closer and said, “So did everyone else. Now get off your self-pitying backside and do something to make up for it. You can start by helping me carry this pot to Sivvyn Quarter’s homeless shelter.”

I didn’t know what she saw in me. I didn’t understand why she cared. But something about her tough-love approach made me get off that couch and help her. Her name was Luna and she cooked food and sewed clothes for the nearby homeless shelters when she wasn’t painting. It turned out she was more familiar with those shelters than she originally let on. She was an orphan who married later in life than most elves. Tragically, her husband died early on in their marriage, leaving her alone with the baby they had adopted. She numbed her sorrow with illegal-strength pain-killing spells to the point where she became addicted. Due to her neglect, her son wound up malnourished and ill, and by the time Luna went looking for help, it was too late. He was too young and weak, and the illness finished him off within days.

Luna lost herself in her addiction, burying her sorrow where she could no longer feel it. It was only due to the kindness and persistence of a woman at one of these Underground homeless shelters that she eventually managed to crawl out of the darkness and piece her life back together. She turned to her art and found that she could make a living that way. I don’t know if she ever forgave herself for letting her own child die, but she somehow found a way to move on. Years later, as a tough but kind old woman, she managed to help me do the same thing.

It was hard, so hard, facing every day with a smile when just beneath the surface was the burning guilt of all the ruin I had caused. And there were constant reminders of it at the homeless shelters we helped out at. Their purpose wasn’t simply to provide food or a safe place for people to spend the night; they also served to connect people. Family members or friends who’d lost touch with each other after The Destruction, after fleeing into hiding or being captured and marked and forced to work for me. I always kept quiet as Luna chatted to everyone, passing on messages to friends of friends, helping people find one another. She had some sort of Seeing ability, dampened by her years of addictive spell use, but still there. Sometimes she’d See things about people’s lives, things that would help them find their loved ones, or things that gave them hope for their futures.

And then, just as I came to care for this tough, gutsy old lady, I lost her. What she hadn’t told me was that the illegal spells she’d been addicted to years before were the kind that slowly poisoned the body long after she stopped taking them. She knew she was dying, but she had hoped old age would catch up to her first. In the end, though, it was the poison that took her. She left her house to me because she thought it was about time I moved out of ‘that dingy little hole,’ as she called it. And just before she died, she gave me her artistic ability. “So you can always paint your way out of the darkness,” she said.

And there was plenty of darkness after she died. I never allowed myself to be completely sucked under again, though. I felt I owed Luna that much. I waded through the darkness, pulled myself together, and contacted Scarlett. There was no way I could ever seek forgiveness from all the people I had wronged, but I could at least start with her. We had looked out for each other before The Destruction, but now we became genuine friends. I told her about my life before, and she told me about hers. Where she came from, why she’d run away, what her real name was. I told her the plans that had been slowly forming in the back of my mind. My plan to help people in the same way guardians did. To try and make up for all the wrong I’d done.

I wanted to fit in more easily than a halfling, so she helped me with my hair and eyes. And of course, neither of us ever mentioned the name Draven. Everyone called me Chase by then. It was the name I gave Luna when she asked. Calling myself ‘Nate’ felt like a lie. I wasn’t that guy anymore. I never would be.

I started paying more attention to what was going on around me. I’d listen to the whispers in the bars and the clubs Underground. If something wound up stolen, I’d find it. If someone planned to hurt someone else, I’d be there to stop it. If guardians showed up, I’d keep out of the way, but often they didn’t. It felt good to be helping people instead of hurting them. It felt good to make a difference. Initially, I worked alone, acting in secret wherever I could. But as time passed, I found people I could trust. People who had almost as much to make up for as I did. Somewhere along the line I became a tattoo artist as well. I loved drawing, and I needed an income—as well as the appearance of a regular, Underground day job—so it seemed like a good choice.

Years passed, and that brings us to the present, when a girl with gold hair accidentally stumbled into my life and became entangled in my dangerous endeavors. It began with a chance encounter but, in the end, I think we would have met anyway, one way or the other. In the beginning, you were just another person to protect, but you soon came to mean more to me than that. You were brave, honest, idealistic, strong. You were the bright palette of colors in a dark world. You told me your secrets, and I wanted to tell you mine. I wanted to tell you everything. But with a secret as great and terrible and ugly as the one I hid, would I ever have been brave enough to tell you? And if I had, would you have been understanding enough to hear me out without running away screaming?

We’ll never know, because that’s not the way it happened.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Chase’s hands are clasped tightly together in his lap when he finishes. I wonder if he’s ever told this story in its entirety to anyone else. It must be draining to relive it all. The pain and the suffering and the guilt. When we’ve sat in silence for a while, he raises his eyes and whispers, “Please say something.”

Say something? There are so many ‘somethings’ running through my head, it’s hard to know where to begin. “Um … thank you?”

He gives me a half-smile. “I suppose there are far worse things you could say.”

“It’s just … a lot to think about.”

“I know. I’ve never told anyone all of it. Not in detail like that. Most of the time I just get on with life. I protect whoever needs to be protected and then move onto the next project or mission without allowing myself any distractions.”

I play with the laces on my boots and ask, “Where did the name Draven come from?”

He looks down. On the back of his right hand, sticking out below his sleeve, is part of a tattoo I haven’t seen before. “It’s silly,” he says. “It was the name of the street I lived on. Vi called me Mr. Draven Avenue back when I was just an assignment to her. When she didn’t know my name yet. I chose that name so she’d know exactly who it was that caused The Destruction.” He swallows. “That’s how full of hate I was. I wanted her to suffer, to believe that everything I did was her fault.”

I nod to show that I’m listening, but I don’t know what to say to that. I know he isn’t like that anymore, but it’s hard to hear that these monstrous feelings were once the motivation for everything he did. “Um …” I clear my throat. “How did you find me earlier? When I was with the witch, and then just now, in the tunnels.”

“Do you remember my assistant at the tattoo shop? She’s been hanging out in that area, looking out for any of my old clients so she can warn them away from the witches. She told me when you went there the first time, last week. It scared me to know how close you were to danger, but at the same time I was so happy you’d come looking for me. Part of me thought you were probably only there to yell at me, but at least you weren’t staying away anymore. I wondered if I should look for you so I could try to explain everything, but when I saw you later that night at your assignment, you made it clear you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Well, I was still very angry.”

“Yes. I noticed. Anyway, that’s how I knew you were there earlier. My assistant told me you’d been inside the witches’ shop for far too long. And then later on when you were in the tunnel outside my front door … well, you didn’t think I’d leave my house unwatched, did you? I left a surveillance device there. I wanted to know who would come looking for me.”

I see beyond his words to the real meaning. “You wanted to know if I’d give you away to the Guild.”

He hesitates a moment, then says, “Yes. I didn’t know if I could trust you not to. And I would have understood if you had.”

I bite my lip—noticing that the cut from earlier is now healed—and shift my position on the floor. I’m not sure how to explain why I never gave Chase away to the Guild. I was angry and upset and confused, but something about handing him over didn’t feel right. “Why were you at my assignment anyway?” I ask. “What did you want with that wolf-man? And what were you doing at the Liberation Day Ball?”

“That was all part of finding Gaius. I tracked down anyone who’d been seen in Saber’s company recently. That’s what led me to the wolf-man who was part of your assignment last week. I questioned him, and his answer—that Gaius was being held on Ratafia Island, though he didn’t know exactly where—led me to the woman at your Guild’s Liberation Day Ball. She owns Ratafia Island, and I needed access to all the documentation that details who owns which properties. She unknowingly told me where I could find all those documents.

“By the time you sent a message to me this morning, I had narrowed it down to six different locations on the island. Your message confirmed that it was Piker’s Inn, and I left immediately to find Gaius. The rescue mission was quick, and we were back at the mountain in under an hour—just in time for me to find out you were with one of the witches.”