creepy hollow 05 - a faerie's revenge (4 page)

The book goes on to detail Draven’s mark and the way he brainwashed everyone into following him. It tells of all the areas he conquered and how those who managed to escape him gathered in hiding to form a resistance. The resistance had a weapon, a sword protected for centuries by a group known as the Order of the Guard. It was that sword that finally put an end to Draven and the power he was wielding. The textbook includes the prophecy that was written onto the sword, but as for who the ‘finder’ and the ‘Star of the high land’ actually were, the author has only this to say:

When the blinding light and tornado-like winds subsided, Draven, the sword, and the one who delivered the final blow were gone. Witnesses believe that the power released at the moment of Draven’s death consumed all three.

I’m one of the few who knows the truth, though. I know that Vi was the finder and that Tilly was the one who, along with Vi’s help, delivered that final blow. Together they ended Draven, but they didn’t stick around afterwards to answer questions. Vi had a secret to keep, and Tilly had a normal life to get back to. They left quickly, and Vi’s dad, a spy for the Seelie Queen, stayed behind to tell the tale—minus any names—of what happened at the very end.

All brainwashed fae were free of Draven’s influence. The winter lifted. The Guilds were rebuilt. Our world put itself back together. The end.

Except that wasn’t the end. Because he isn’t dead after all. An enchanted necklace saved him, and now I have no idea who he really is.

* * *

I don’t stop this time. I don’t tell myself I’m a foolish idiot, and I don’t consider what I’m going to say when I get there. One foot in front of the other along the stone-paved tunnel of Sivvyn Quarter, each step pushing my anger up another notch. I reach the door behind which I thought I had found someone I could trust. Hurt pierces my chest, but I smother it with anger. Then I raise my fist and bang on the door.

No response.

I wait several moments before pounding my fist against the door again. Then I bend down and bring one eye to the keyhole, just as I did the first time I stopped outside this door. But instead of seeing an old couch and a striped cushion through the gap, I see nothing but darkness. Standing, I take hold of the handle and push down. The door opens easily, confirming what I knew in my heart all along: he’s gone.

I push the door open fully and step into the empty room, light from the glowing tiles outside illuminating the bare corners of what used to be Chase’s home. Nothing remains aside from the lingering smell of paint. Deep down I know that this is the only thing I could have expected to find here. Of course he’s gone. Of course he ran the moment someone found out who he really is. But I still feel an aching disappointment as I stand in the middle of this empty space.

Disappointment that I soon manage to replace with anger. Anger at Chase for having made a fool of me, and anger at myself for letting him. I spin around, walk out of the house, and yank the door shut behind me. Then I lift my stylus to the tunnel wall and write a doorway spell onto it. There’s somewhere else I need to go, even though I already know what I’ll find there.

I walk out of the faerie paths into another Underground tunnel, this one not too far from a place called Wickedly Inked. My suspicions are confirmed as I round a corner and see that the sign for Chase’s tattoo studio is gone. I reach the open doorway and find two women unpacking boxes and organizing the contents on shelves around the shop. Jars of herbs, bottles of colored liquids, bowls of dried flowers, a collection of dragon-eye rings, and an assortment of other ingredients used in potions and enchantments. Their long black dresses swirl around them like smoke, and when one turns to speak to the other, I see her black eyes and pointed teeth.

Witches? In Creepy Hollow?

A tendril of fear wraps itself around the core of anger heating my chest. Witches live in lands so distant that, at least half the time, their existence is thought to be a myth. I’ve never met one, though I’ve heard the stories. Stories children whisper to frighten each other.

The younger and prettier of the two women lowers a jar of teeth back into a box and comes toward me. “Can I help you with something?” she asks. Her voice sounds … odd. It’s sweet and feminine, but something reverberates beneath it. Something deep and ancient and threatening. It sends a chill crawling up my spine.

“I’m looking for the previous owner of this shop,” I say, noticing that the lower part of her dress is, in fact, made of smoke.

“Oh.” She scratches her arm with fingernails as pointed as her teeth. “I can’t help you then. We moved in yesterday, and the previous owner disappeared days ago. The sale was conducted through a third party.”

“Can you point me in the direction of this third party?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t.” She offers no explanation, and I don’t think I’m brave enough to pry further. Over her shoulder, I notice gouge marks in the wall beside the door leading to the back room. Marks that I’m pretty sure weren’t there before.

The chill creeps further up my neck. “Well, thanks anyway.” I turn and walk quickly away, waiting until I’m around a corner before hastily writing a doorway onto the tunnel wall. I hurry into it, unable to rid myself of the eerie feeling that someone is about to grab hold of me.

CHAPTER

FOUR

“So I looked it up in the rule book,” Gemma says, “and there’s a limit to the number of assignments a mentor is allowed to give you. Not because it’s too much work for you, but because of the rankings. You could spend all your free time doing assignments and earning points, and that way you’d be top of the class, even though you may not be the best guardian.” She idly drums her fingers across the book in front of her on the library table. “You should find out if Olive’s exceeded that limit with all the assignments she’s been giving you. If she has, you can submit a formal complaint.”

I fold my arms on top of the transformations manual I’m supposed to be reading. “I doubt Olive’s breaking any rules. She does
everything
by the book. And she schedules training for me far more than she schedules assignments. Is there a limit on training hours as well?”

“Yes,” Ned says from the chair at the end of the table. He’s so quiet I’d forgotten he was sitting there writing notes on his amber.

“Yes,” Gemma adds. “I mean, if
you
want to spend all your time training, that’s fine, but your mentor isn’t allowed to give you more than a certain number of training hours per week.”

“Well, I’m sure Olive is giving me the absolute maximum,” I say as I flip through several more pages without bothering to read them. “I don’t mind, though. I like training.”

“We noticed,” Gemma says, picking up her book once more, the cover of which depicts a woman winking while surrounded by a cloud of sparkling pink hearts.

“Ah, and what do we have here, Gemma?” Perry, who decided it was too boring to wait in the library for our assignments, reappears and drops into the seat beside Gemma. He scoops her book from her hands and reads out loud. “‘Her breast heaved beneath the corset as the duke slowly dragged his fingers—’”

Gemma snatches the book from his hands and whacks him with it. “It does not say that.”

“Oho, how the lady doth protest,” Perry crows. “Perhaps because that’s exactly what it says.”

“This is an autobiography and step-by-step guide by the runner-up of last year’s Create A Potion contest. It’s basically a textbook, not a romance novel.”

“Oh. Well if my textbooks were full of heaving breasts, I might open them more often.”

“There are no heaving breasts in this book!”

“That’s disappointing,” Perry says. “Why on earth are you reading it then?”

With a groan, Gemma throws the book onto the table and stalks off. Feeling like I need to support her on this, I pick up the book, lean across the table, and smack Perry’s arm.

“Hey!” he complains.

“You know,” Ned says quietly, “that at some point you should probably tell her you like her instead of teasing her all the time.”

“I—what?” Perry looks so startled that I find myself laughing. “What?” he asks again.

“Do you really think it isn’t completely obvious?” I say to him.

“What is?” he asks.

I look at Ned for confirmation. He nods. “It’s completely obvious.”

“You—that’s—ridiculous.”

Ned sighs. “And you say I’m scared of girls.”

“I’m not scared of anyone,” Perry protests.

“You really should tell her,” I say, “otherwise she’ll keep pining after Mr. Perfect from upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Perry frowns. “Who’s upstairs?”

Oops. I guess it isn’t common knowledge that Gemma has a gigantic crush on one of the Seer trainees. I prepare to give Perry a vague answer, but all thoughts of Gemma and the Seer upstairs vanish from my mind as Ryn and Violet walk into the library and stop beside our table.

“We need to talk,” Ryn says.

Shoot.
I’ve managed to avoid him all day, probably because he’s been busy catching up on the work he missed while on honeymoon. I had hoped that work would keep him busy for longer.

“Do we really?” I ask. “I have an assignment race just now and I don’t want to be late.”

“You won’t be,” Ryn says, putting his hand on my arm. I have a feeling he’s going to drag me out of my chair if I don’t willingly go with him. I’d prefer not to make a scene, so I stand and follow him and Vi to a quiet corner of the library. Ryn sweeps his arm briefly around us. I sense a ripple of magic.

“Did you just put a shield up?” I ask.

“Yes. A sound shield. I don’t want anyone overhearing the conversation we’re about to have.”

“You’re so paranoid, Ryn. No one is anywhere near us.”

“It’s not the people he’s worried about,” Vi says. “It’s the surveillance devices all over the place.” I follow her gaze as she watches an insect with needle-thin legs and a bulbous body zoom past us.

“Oh. I thought that was a real bug. I thought all the bugs I’ve seen flying around here were real.”

“Some of them might be,” Ryn says, “but most of them aren’t. Now stop stalling and start explaining.”

“Explaining what?” I demand. “It isn’t my fault this guy turned out to be
Lord Draven
.”

“Why was he there? What was flipping
Lord Draven
doing visiting you at our union celebration?”

“We’re
friends
, okay? At least, we were before he turned out to be the supreme halfling prince of evil.”

“Friends?” Ryn asks, eyeing me closely. “That’s it?”

I’ve never been the blushing sort, but I can’t help the heat that rises to my face as I remember Chase taking my hand and sliding his fingers between mine. I so badly wanted it to be more. Ugh, how could I have been so deluded?

“Wonderful,” Ryn says with a long sigh, his eyes on the betraying flush in my cheeks. He looks at Vi, who seems to be refusing to meet his gaze. “The awkward moment in which I discover that both my wife and my sister have made out with the same guy.”

My brain stumbles over Ryn’s words and comes to a horrified halt. “WHAT?”

Vi glares at her husband and crosses her arms. “Thank you, Oryn. Probably not the best time to bring that up.”

“Is there a more appropriate time to mention something like this?”

“You
kissed Lord Draven
?”

“Hey, so did you,” she replies defensively.

“I did not. I might have wanted to—” Ryn interrupts with a groan “—but fortunately it never happened.”

“Look, he wasn’t Lord Draven back then. He was just a regular guy I’d saved on one of my assignments.”

“Whoa.
Whoa.
One of your
assignments
? How do I not know this?”

“Because you didn’t need to,” Ryn says. “Barely anyone knows that all of this started when one simple assignment went wrong and a guy who thought he was human accidentally ended up in our realm.”

“He … he was …” Words fail to form as my brain rushes to fill in some of the gaps of Chase’s story. The gaps I was wondering about just this morning. He grew up in the human realm. He thought he was human. And then Vi tried to save him from something, and he ended up here in our world. “You knew him,” I murmur. “You knew him before everything went wrong.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “He was a good guy.”

Amidst the confusing mess of emotions already pulling me in a hundred different directions, I find myself feeling oddly … left out. As though I’ve arrived in the middle of someone’s retelling of a story and missed out on part of it.

“Okay,” Ryn says, his tone suggesting that this is the point where he attempts to take control of the situation. “We obviously have to inform the Council of this, but we need to know more. There’s no sense in creating mass panic for no reason. So the question is, what kind of guy is he after having destroyed half our world? Calla?” He looks at me. “You’re the one who knows him now.”

I lift my shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. He kept a lot of secrets from me, and I don’t know if what he did tell me was the truth. The only thing I know is that you won’t be able to find him. I went to his house Underground—”