creepy hollow 05 - a faerie's revenge (11 page)

“But they have no solid evidence!” Perry repeats.

With a sigh, Gemma says, “If you’re found at the scene of a crime, it looks suspicious. You know that. So even though the Guild has no solid evidence, they have enough reason to believe she might have been involved, so they can’t just let her go.” Gemma looks across the room at me. “No offense. I know you didn’t do it. I’m just saying I understand why the Guid has to proceed the way they’ve proceeded.”

“Yeah,” I say dully. “Because I might vanish through the faerie paths and never come back, and then a murderer will be on the loose.” I finally stop my pacing and flop into an armchair. “I suppose I should be grateful Councilor Merrydale took ‘pity’ on me, as he put it, and decided on house arrest instead of throwing me into a cell in the detainment area.”

“Yes,” Gemma says. “That is something to be grateful for.”

I stare at the ceiling and murmur, “Saskia is dead.” The words sound strange to my ears. “I didn’t like her, but I never wanted her to
die
. It’s so strange that she’s just … gone. I’ve become used to her constant degrading comments, and now she’ll never be there again in the training center or the dining hall or any lesson …”

Perry moves around in his seat and says, “I hope you’re not implying that you’re actually going to miss her.”

Gemma smacks him and mumbles something about being disrespectful of the dead.

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just strange, that’s all. A shock. Something so unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Gemma says quietly. “Do you think she just got sick somehow, or do you think someone actually … murdered her?”

“Who would do that?” Perry asks. “I mean, people might have joked about it, but who would actually go through with it?”

Suddenly, I realize why Saskia’s ring looked familiar. I sit up straight as several things click into place at once. Things that are obvious but were most likely overshadowed by shock until now. “That big ring she was wearing,” I say. “Is that the jewelry she received as a gift from her secret admirer?”

“Yes,” Gemma says. “Didn’t you see it this morning when she was showing it off to everyone? That’s why she changed her outfit at the last minute. She wanted to match the ring.”

“The ring is what made her sick. I’m almost certain of it. And it wasn’t a coincidence that I was the one who found her.” My fingers dig into the armrests as I realize the truth of what I’m about to say. “Someone set me up.”

Gemma and Perry blink at me. “Set you up?” Gemma repeats, sounding doubtful.

I quickly explain that I also received a letter from an anonymous secret admirer. A letter that told me to come to the stained glass clock at nine o’clock tonight. “Which is exactly where I found Saskia, and it was just after nine. Her secret admirer must have been the same person, and he—or she—gave Saskia a ring with some kind of disease or spell on it. I saw the exact same rings in an Underground shop run by witches. They would know dark spells to create lethal diseases, wouldn’t they?”

“Witches?” Gemma looks horrified. “There are
witches
in Creepy Hollow?”

“She had the ring for more than twenty-four hours,” Perry said. “Why did it take so long for her to get sick?”

“One of her friends did say that she was already starting to look green when they all arrived at the ball,” Gemma says, “but he’d put it down to the green light in the ballroom.”

“If it was the ring, then why are none of Saskia’s friends dead?” Perry asks. “I’m sure some of them touched it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a slow-release spell and it only started affecting Saskia this evening while she was wearing it. And maybe it was specific to her, so that’s why her friends are fine. Is it possible to make a spell like that?”

“Perhaps,” Perry says, “but if I were you, I would not have touched her. What if you get sick now?”

I rub my hand against my leg. “Yeah. I’m trying not to think about that possibility.”

“If only you hadn’t followed the instructions in that letter,” Gemma says.

“I didn’t, actually. I’d forgotten all about it at that point. I was only there because I was—”

Looking for Chase.

My blood turns cold at the realization. Did Chase do this? Did he set me up somehow? And the green powder … did he put it on my hand while we were dancing?

“Gemma? Perry?” Dad says from the kitchen doorway. “It’s getting very late. Thank you for being here for Calla, but I think you need to go home now.”

Perry retrieves his butterfly mask and Gemma reaches for Rick’s jacket, which he must have wrapped around her before she left Estellyn Tower. “I’m sorry I ruined your big night with Rick,” I say to her as the three of us stand.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she says, pulling the jacket on. “It wasn’t your fault. Besides, we got a few dances in before … you know.”

“I know, but if I hadn’t just been accused of murder, you and Rick might still be hanging out somewhere.”

“Maybe. Probably not, though. I don’t think either of us would be in the mood to simply hang out after something so awful just happened.”

“I guess not.”

Gemma and Perry walk to the wall, and Dad opens a doorway for them. They make a comical pair, Gemma with all her feathers and Perry with his silly butterfly wings still attached to his back. I smile as they wave goodbye and head into the faerie paths. The edges of the doorway melt back together. I lower myself into the armchair, my smile gone. Dad perches on the couch opposite me. “I left a message for Ryn, but I don’t know when he’ll see it. I don’t know all that much about Kaleidos, but it seems the only way of communicating with anyone there is the old fashioned way.”

“Well, there’s no point in sending a letter. He’ll probably be home before it gets there. Besides, it’s not like he can do anything about this.”

“No, I suppose not.” Dad hesitates, then says, “I heard what you said to your friends. Your theory about what happened. Do you really think you’ve been framed for this?”

“It seems that way, doesn’t it?” I rub my hands up and down my arms, feeling colder now that I’m not pacing around the room. “It makes me wonder if it will be harder to prove my innocence than I thought.”

“It will be fine, Cal. They’ll question you, you’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll know it’s the truth because of the compulsion potion.” He gives me an encouraging smile. “Guardians are the good guys, remember? They’ll get to the bottom of this.”

I try to return his smile. “I know. But in the meantime, what am I supposed to do? I can keep up with lessons if my friends tell me what work they’re doing, but I can’t train. I’m not allowed to leave the house.”

“You could paint,” Dad suggests. “You hardly do that anymore.”

I shake my head. “Painting isn’t going to help me when I get back to the Guild.”

“Neither is complaining about the training you can’t do. Painting is something you enjoy, so why not spend your free time doing it?”

I consider that, then decide it’s time to stop considering things and go to bed. “Maybe,” I say as I stand. “I’ll see if I feel inspired tomorrow.” I hug Dad goodnight, and he tells me once more that everything will be fine. But as I head for the stairs, I glance back over my shoulder; the worry on his face is unmistakeable.

With my hopes dropping lower and lower, I climb the stairs to my bedroom. It’s late and my head is starting to ache, so I don’t spend long in the bathing room pool. When I’ve washed off all my glittery makeup, I leave the pool to clean itself, dig out my favorite blue and yellow winter pajamas from the bottom of a drawer—because it really is starting to get colder—and climb into bed.

Then I lie awake thinking about the person I’ve given up trying
not
to think about. Did Chase kill Saskia? I don’t want to believe he could have done it, but it’s entirely possible. And why would he frame me? Is he trying to get me in trouble with the Guild before I can tell them he’s alive? Discredit me so they won’t believe anything I say?

An hour later, I’m burning with anger and no closer to falling asleep. I reach for my amber and consider sending Chase a message demanding to know if he did it. But I force myself to put the amber down. I’m not certain I want to reopen any lines of communication between us, and I doubt he still has the same amber. He probably got rid of it minutes after Vi revealed who he was, just in case someone figured out how to get past whatever anti-tracking spells were on it.

I turn over yet again, breathe in a long, calming breath, and wish for sleep to come.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

I’m trapped inside my house. I try to open a doorway to get outside, to breathe fresh air, but something keeps my hand from writing the spell. Even my legs feel like they’re stuck in syrupy thickness, unable to move. The walls start sliding toward me. My chest tightens and panic sucks all the air from my lungs. I struggle to breathe as the walls come closer, closer, closer, transforming into the bars of a cage. A scream climbs up my throat but can’t seem to make its way out of my mouth. I drop to my knees and curl in on myself as the bars form a cage around me.

I’m hanging above the black water again. I remember escaping earlier after I tricked a man into opening my cage. I showed him an image of his master, the scary Unseelie prince, telling him to let me out. I ran through the other room, the round room with the papers and the table, and tricked someone else into opening the sliding stone door. But outside in the passageway, someone caught me. I was carried back in here, struggling and screaming, and thrown into my cage.

I’ll never be free. I’ll be locked in this terrifying place forever, listening to the wails of other prisoners and forgetting what it feels like to not be afraid. I hug my knees and shudder as sobs overpower me.

“Hey, it’s okay,” someone says. “Everything will be all right. They don’t want to hurt us.” I rub my eyes and see a young man in the cage next to mine. “I’m Zed,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Calla!”

The shout isn’t mine. I look around and see a lanky man with disheveled hair standing at the edge of the water. Gaius? What is he doing here? Abruptly, I become aware that I’m dreaming. I realize this is nothing more than a mixture of memories that can’t hurt me.

“Calla!” Gaius shouts again. “Please don’t wake up yet. I’m in—”

* * *

My eyelids slide apart and my blurry gaze tries to focus on my bedroom wall. I blink and rub my eyes and find my body damp with cold sweat beneath my pajamas.
Only a dream
, I remind myself as the fear slowly melts away and relief takes its place. That last part seemed so real, though. I push myself up and rub my eyes again. I lift my sticky hair away from my neck and try to remember the last part of the dream, what Gaius looked like and exactly what he said. But the details that seemed so clear at first are already beginning to fade, in that way that dreams do.

I drop my head back onto my pillow, closing my eyes and telling myself that it isn’t gross to lie here in this cold, sweaty mess and that I don’t need to get up and have a bath and that the best thing to do is go back to sleep.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon I’m called into the Guild to have a ‘chat’ with Councilor Merrydale. The vague memory of my dream comes to mind, and I half expect something to hold my hand back when I try to open a doorway to the paths. Then, as I step into the darkness, I expect some kind of siren or alarm to go off. Nothing happens, though. I wonder if, somewhere inside the Guild, guards have just been alerted that a person under house arrest has left her home.

I direct my question to the guard who escorts me from the Guild entrance room up to Councilor Merrydale’s office. “Yes, an alarm goes off at one of the stations in the surveillance department if you cross the tracker spell boundary,” she tells me. “But someone will have been informed that you were told to come here, so the alarm would then be disabled. And the spell tracks your location, of course, so the person on duty can check that you’re on your way here and not running off somewhere else.”

She waits with me outside Councilor Merrydale’s office, saying nothing more. In the expanding silence, I grow more nervous as each second ticks by. When the door opens all of a sudden and Councilor Merrydale calls me in, a spike of fear makes me queasy. His message said this was a ‘chat,’ but I’m certain it’s more than that.

“Please sit, Miss Larkenwood,” he says as he returns to the other side of his oversized desk. This office is familiar to me. I came here several times during the process leading up to my admittance to the Guild. Councilor Merrydale settles into his chair and looks at me. His face lacks its usual cheerfulness, but there’s still a small smile there as he asks, “May I call you Calla?”

“Um, okay.” He’s only ever called me Miss Larkenwood, which makes me wonder why he’s being extra friendly now.

“Don’t look so nervous,” he adds. “This isn’t an interrogation. I just wanted to explain a few things and give you a chance to tell your side of the story. When something like this happens and there’s a hearing to determine whether a person is guilty or not, a Council member is appointed to assist in the defense of that person and represent him or her where necessary. I volunteered to be that representative, and Head Councilor Bouchard approved. If you also approve, then we can proceed.”