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.
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t know the first time,” she says, “but I do now. You’re wearing something that gives you away. Something that reeks of Guild magic.”
My trainee pendant. I can feel the metal resting against my chest beneath my T-shirt. I remind myself that the pendant contains protective enchantments. I hope they’re strong enough to protect me from this witch. “If the stench of Guild magic is so strong, then I assume you’re aware that guardians were in the tunnels yesterday looking for you.”
“Of course.”
“Why couldn’t they find you?”
She tilts her head and says simply, “We didn’t want them to.”
“So you used some sort of glamour or trick to keep them from finding you?”
“Yes.”
“But you have no problem with me finding you?”
She moves closer, and I take a step back. “You’re not here to threaten us,” she says. “You want something from us.”
I swallow and remind myself that people are in the process of dying right now. I need to hurry up. “On Friday night, a girl wearing one of those rings—” I point at the bowl “—died. Her skin turned green and scaly, she became ill, and then … she died. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Ah, the dragon disease,” the witch says. She walks to the bowl of dragon-eye rings and dips her hand into it, sifting through the rings. “Just so you know, these rings are harmless. They’re simple trinkets. It was the client’s idea to place a spell on one of them.”
“Who was the client?” I ask immediately.
“That,” she says, “is none of your business. Our client information is strictly confidential.”
“Fine. All I need to know then is whether you have a cure for this dragon disease. It’s spreading quickly.”
She gives me a calculated smile and says, “We had a feeling someone would come in search of a cure soon. How fortunate we cooked up a pot last night.”
“A pot? So you have a lot of it then?”
“I have enough for your Guild, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Of course. I’m not going to save only a few and leave everyone else to die.”
She smiles once more. “How noble of you.” She disappears into the back room while I bounce impatiently on my feet. Moments later, she returns with a black pouch, the contents clinking together within it. “The disease begins with a potion made from Lisorna dragon venom mixed with a few other secret ingredients,” she says as she places the pouch on the table beside the bowl of dragon-eye rings. “It’s lethal to most magical beings. Contact with the potion is enough to begin poisoning a person immediately, but the symptoms only become visible and take full effect a day or two later. The first girl would have died the fastest, since she received the most potent dose—we dipped the entire ring in the potion. Green powder exuding from the pores is the first visible symptom. It changes the skin’s color, subtle at first, which is why many don’t notice until hours later, when the scales start to form and the nausea takes over. Death isn’t far off after that, and then the disease spreads to anyone who comes into contact with the green powder, which contains the same poisons as the original potion.”
I’m horrified by the witch’s calm, detached explanation. “Do you not feel guilty at all? Knowing that you’re responsible for the deaths of almost twenty people so far?”
She seems confused. “I’m not responsible for anyone’s death. I serve my clients by doing my best to give them exactly what they ask for. It’s up to them what they choose to do with the resulting product.”
I let out a shaky breath. I open the pouch and find a number of small glass bottles containing clear liquid inside. “How much of the cure is needed to heal someone?”
“A drop on the tongue will suffice. If a person’s mouth can’t be opened, then a drop injected beneath the skin works just as well.”
“And how do I know this really is the cure for dragon disease? You could be selling me bottles of water.”
She narrows her eyes at me and something seems to flash across them. With an annoyed huff, she returns to the back room. When she walks out again, she’s holding a cage with a rat inside it. The cage looks like a miniature version of the cages Prince Zell hung his prisoners in. I immediately feel sorry for the rat. From a hidden pocket in the folds of her dress, the witch produces a tiny vial containing a translucent green liquid. She taps a few drops between the cage bars onto the rat, then returns it to her pocket. “Since the creature is small and the dose is large,” she says, “it won’t take long.”
Every second of waiting is painful as I wonder if it might be too late for Gemma. I need to be certain this cure is legitimate, though, otherwise I may not be helping anyone. After a few minutes, the rat begins scratching. Its hair starts to fall out, and the skin beneath has a green tinge. Tiny scales start to form.
I rub my left hand, thinking of the mysterious smear of green powder that somehow found its way there just before Saskia was killed. “That powder got onto my hand when the first girl di
ed,” I say to the witch. “That was over four days ago, so why am I not dead yet?”
“The cure must have already been in your system.”
“But I didn’t take any cure.”
“Then it shall remain a mystery,” she says as she allows a drop of the cure to fall onto the rat. “One I’m not particularly interested in solving.” The rat rolls onto its side, breathing erratically for several more moments before the scales vanish. After another minute, its skin becomes pink once more. “Good enough?” the witch asks.
“Yes.” I close the pouch and pick it up. “Thanks.” I turn to go, but she grabs hold of my arm with a grip far stronger than I would have imagined.
“Not so fast,” she says. “You haven’t paid yet.”
“Oh. Right.” I place the pouch on the table and reach into my boot for my purse. “How much?” I’m willing to spend everything I have on this if I have to. People’s lives are at stake.
She gives me that calculating smile once more. “We don’t deal in money here.”
I hesitate. “Okay. What do you want then?”
She purses her lips and walks slowly around me, examining me as she goes. She touches my hair and I try to repress a shudder. “So pretty,” she murmurs. “Like real gold.”
“So … you want some of my hair then?”
“No. Perhaps another time. I want some of your blood.”
“My blood?” A quiet warning ripples through me. It doesn’t sound like a good idea at all to hand my blood over to a witch.
“That’s the price. Take it or leave it.”
Dammit. “What are you going to do with my blood?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. What if you use it to weave some kind of dark spell over me?”
“So what if I do? Does that change how badly you want the cure?”
I press my lips together and breathe out sharply. She knows it changes nothing. She knows she can ask for anything and I’ll give it to her.
“What we do with your blood needn’t concern you,” she says, her tone businesslike. “All that should matter to you is that your friends are dying. Are you willing to take a risk for them?”
Of course I am. Everyone I care about is connected to the Guild in some way, and they’re all going to wind up dead if they don’t get this cure—as am I. Which means that either way, whether I hand over my blood or not, I’m in danger.
“Fine,” I say. “But do it quickly. I’ve wasted enough time here already.”
The witch’s hand disappears into the smoky folds of her dress, and when it reappears, she’s holding a small knife. She takes my arm and pushes my sleeve back. I look away and clench my teeth as she cuts a line into my forearm. When I look again, I see blood dripping from my arm into a glass vial.
“Are you crazy?” A voice demands from behind me. In the next second, a powerful gust of wind sweeps through the shop, forcing the witch to stumble back and drop the vial. It smashes onto the floor, creating a splatter of blood around it.
“You pesky nuisance,” the witch growls. “I should have finished you off last time.”
I spin around, though I already know who I’ll see in the doorway. “Funny,” Chase says. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about you.”
“Oh, of course you’re here,” I yell as the witch conjures up dark smoke that transforms into ferocious pecking birds. Chase sweeps aside the birds—and half the contents of the shop—with more hurricane-like wind. As jars and bottles shatter all around me, I grab the pouch of cures and drop to the floor, shouting, “Why can I never seem to get away from you no matter where I go? Are you stalking me or something?”
He holds his hand up and moves into the shop, forcing the witch and her cloud of pecking birds back against the wall with a strong shield. “You call it stalking, I call it saving your life. Again.” He sweeps his hand through the air in a quick circle. Snow descends, whipping into a blizzard within seconds. I feel a hand on my arm, tugging me toward the door. I stuff the pouch into my hoodie’s front pocket, jump to my feet, and go with him. “You were giving your blood to a witch?” he demands as we run from the shop. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m trying to save everyone!” I yell at him. “Dragon disease, remember?” I’m about to accuse him of being the one who put this entire plan together when it strikes me that it’s highly unlikely Chase is one of the witch’s clients, given the confrontation he just had with her.
“What the hell are you going on about?” He stops running and lifts a stylus to the tunnel wall. “I don’t know anything about a dragon disease,” he says as he writes a doorway spell.
The sound of flapping wings reaches my ears. I look over my shoulder and see the screeching flock of birds flying toward us. They morph together into a hairy beast with curved silver talons that roars as it leaps toward us. But instead of being devoured by this monster, it’s the faerie paths that swallow us up as Chase wraps his hand around mine and tugs me into the darkness.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
We hurry out of the paths into a moonlit living room. I step away from Chase, looking around to get my bearings. Through one of the large windows I see a bright moon reflected on a lake, and there’s that distinct magic-less feeling in the air that I’ve come to associate with the human realm. Whose home are we in? What time zone are we in? I don’t have time to ask, though. Chase unlocks a door and pulls me through it—but instead of entering another room of the house, we’re inside the faerie paths once more, running again, as though it’s possible the witch might be following us.
I slam into the back of Chase as he stops abruptly. A moment later, a door opens in front of him. We run into an empty room with stairs and Chase slams the door shut behind us, locking it with the gold key I’ve seen him use before. I realize we’re in the entrance hall of Gaius’s mountain home.
“No, no, no,” I say breathlessly, wringing my hands and ignoring the cut on my arm. It’s still bleeding, but I’m not too concerned about it. It’ll heal soon. “What are we doing here? I need to get to the Guild.”
“We’re here because it’s safe.”
“It isn’t safe.” I back away from him. “You’re here.” The hurt in his eyes is unmistakable, but I don’t have time to regret my words. I take the key from his hand and turn back to the door. “I need to get to the Guild.”
“Wait.” He catches my arm.
“I can’t wait! People are dying! Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Calla, just calm down for a minute and—”
“Let me go!” I tug my wounded arm out of his grip and run back to the faerie door.
“Wait!” a different voice shouts, but I ignore it. I don’t have time to wait for anything else. But as I turn the key, a hand that isn’t Chase’s wraps around my wrist. I try to pull away, but Gaius says, “It’ll only take a moment.” He closes his eyes and frowns in concentration.
I realize what he’s doing. My magic, my Griffin Ability. He’s giving it back to me. Oddly enough, I suddenly feel like crying.
“Go,” Gaius says, releasing my arm and stepping back. “And I’m sorry you found out about Chase the way you did. He didn’t want it to be that way.”
I risk a brief glance over my shoulder and meet Chase’s gaze for a second. Then I pull the door open and run into the darkness.
Being a faerie door, it has a fixed destination, so I wind up back in the dark, quiet house beside the lake. I leave the key in the faerie door for Chase or Gaius to find, noticing as I turn to face the rest of the room that some of the furniture looks oddly familiar. Not important right now, I remind myself. With one hand still holding onto the pouch inside my hoodie’s front pocket, I lean against the wall and write the spell for a normal doorway. Seconds later, I’m running into the Guild’s entrance room, pulling my sleeve down over my bleeding arm.
“Whoa, hold on.” Two guards, both of whom seem to be surrounded by a transparent, body-hugging bubble, bloc
k my way. “Didn’t you hear about the quarantine? You’re supposed to stay at home.”
Another two bubble-covered guards join the first two. I wonder how they breathe inside those things. “No, wait,” one of the new guards says. “This is the girl they want. The one who set off the house arrest alarm.”
“Yes, that’s me,” I pipe up, pulling the black pouch out of my pocket. “I heard that more people were getting sick, so I went and found a—Whoa!” Four sets of guardian weapons are pointed in my face. I hold my hands up, being careful not to let go of the pouch. “A cure,” I say carefully. “This is a cure. It’s nothing dangerous.”
“The Council will decide whether it’s dangerous or not. We’ve been ordered to deliver you straight to them.”
“Oh. But there’s no time to waste. Can you take this—” My words are cut off as two guards grab me by the arms and drag me into the foyer. As I struggle to break free of their grip, I notice the carpet covering the grand stairway. Instead of its normal green, the carpet is black. The color of mourning. “You need to take the cure to the healing wing,” I say with more urgency. “Please. I’ll go wherever you want if you—”
“Our orders are to take you to the Council. Nothing more.”
“But people are dying! Please!” My struggling turns to thrashing as I think of Gemma. I don’t know where she is, but I have to get this cure to her before it’s too late.
Behind the guards, I see a flicker of an image of Gemma. My flailing stills for a moment as I hastily slam a mental gate down around my mind. Be careful, I remind myself.
“Calla!” I hear a shout behind me as I’m dragged toward the stairs. I look over my shoulder and see Perry hurrying across the foyer. He must have got here this morning before they announced the quarantine.
“Perry!” I yell. I manage to twist out of one guard’s grip for just a moment. I drop to my knees, pull a bottle from the pouch with my free hand, and slide it across the floor toward Perry. “Give that to Gemma,” I shout as someone yanks me to my feet again. “Just a drop.”
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