creepy hollow 05 - a faerie's revenge

by Rachel Morgan

  “Yes. It’s sad to leave, but I’ll probably visit my family a lot. In secret, of course. My brother and his wife will be having a baby any day now, so I don’t want to miss out on that.”

  “So soon?” Zed asks in surprise.

  “Yes.” I frown at him. “Did I tell you they were having a baby?”

  “No, but I overheard your brother talking about it at the Guild. You know, during my many hours of hiding.”

  “Ah, yes.” I sift more sand through my fingers. “And now you and I are both fugitives.”

  “Yes. Here’s to the fugitive life.” He raises his other amber like a champagne glass. I lift the amber he gave me and tap it against his.

  “To the fugitive life,” I say with a laugh, because I may as well embrace it. “And to friendship.”

  “To friendship,” Zed repeats. Then he leans over and kisses me.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I try to jerk away, but Zed’s hand is already around the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. I place both hands against his chest and push hard. As he falls back, I scramble to my feet. “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  “I thought … I thought you wanted this.” He stands up.

  “I did, but that was months ago, and you told me I was too young for you. And don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “Not anymore. And I know I said you were too young, but … I don’t know.” He lifts his shoulders. “You seem different now.”

  “Different?”

  “Yes, like … you don’t seem like a little girl anymore.”

  I cross my arms tightly over my chest, still clutching the amber he gave me. “Well, thanks, but when I said ‘to friendship,’ I meant it.”

  “Are you sure?” He steps closer to me. “Are you sure you don’t want something more?”

  I look into the blue-green eyes I used to daydream about and wait for my heart to start pounding or shivers to race across my skin or sprite wings to stir deep inside me.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  “Zed,” I say. “I’m sure. I’m happy we’re friends again and that we’re not arguing about the Guild, but … that’s all I want. Just friendship.” I swing my arms awkwardly at my sides. “I think I should go now. Good night.”

  I walk quickly away toward the trees.

  “Calla?” he calls after me. I look back. “I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward. I’m happy with friendship. Seriously.”

  I dip my head. “Okay. Thank you. And thanks again for the amber.”

  I return to the mountain via the lakeside house. It’s late, but I’m not tired yet. I need to get my mind off Zed and all that awkwardness. How odd! What could possibly have made him think I still feel the same way I felt all those months ago? I rub the back of my neck and shoulders as I step out of my shoes, trying not to dwell on the way his lips felt odd against mine. It isn’t a memory I want to keep.

  I pad along the passage in my socks and walk into Chase’s bedroom. A lamp is still on, so I move it to the empty side of the bed where I like to sit and draw. I open my sketchbook and page through it to the one I’m currently working on: a section of the old Guild ruins covered in creeping vines and star-shaped flowers. This book is full of drawings now, ranging from brief, abandoned outlines to detailed, nearly finished pictures. Since my initial shock at having been kicked out of the Guild has worn off, I’m finding it easier to turn to a new page, place my pencil on the paper, and watch something take shape.

  Every now and then my hand stills as I look down at him. He seems a little calmer tonight. Less tossing and fewer mumbled words. I touch his skin. It isn’t burning the way it was a few days ago, but I can’t tell if it’s back to a normal temperature or not. “What are you dreaming?” I whisper.

  I turn back to my drawing and decide it needs some color. In fact, this whole book needs some color. Everything is black and white and grey so far. I set the sketchbook aside and stand up. There must be some color pencils in this bedroom. I walk to the table covered in jars of paint, tattoo ink, a pile of loose sketches, and other art-related bits and pieces. Beside several small canvases stacked on top of each other, I see a jar with pens and pencils sticking out of it like an artist’s version of a bouquet. I reach for it, but then my attention is caught by something else: The tiny ship inside the glass bottle.

  I carefully pick it up and take a closer look. The ship is sailing on stormy waters with minuscule raindrops pouring down and the occasional flash of lightning zigzagging across the scene. The first time I saw this bottle, I had no idea of the significance of this enchanted object. No idea that it was a tiny clue to who Chase really is. But now I know exactly what it represents: his powerful ability to create storms and control the weather. I try to find some part of me that’s still angry with him for not telling me the truth, but I don’t think there’s any anger left. I understand now why he had to keep his secret until he knew if he could trust me. I just wish there had never been any secret to keep in the first place.

  I lower the bottle gently back onto the table. Then I pull the jar closer and look through the pens, charcoal sticks and bits of chalk until I find a single rainbow pencil. I shake it to check that it’s still working, and it changes from orange to yellow. Perfect. Before I head back to the bed, I glance down at the pile of sketches. The one on top is of the greenhouse. Sliding it to the side, I see an ink drawing of a phoenix on the next page. Underneath that is a charcoal moon reflected on rippling water, and under that—a sketch of me.

  Surprise jolts through me, followed quickly by guilt. I shouldn’t be looking through Chase’s sketches. These are personal. I wouldn’t like it if someone went through my sketchbook without my permission. But I can’t help lingering for another few moments to examine the sketch more closely. With yellow and a bit of orange, he’s colored my eyes and parts of my hair, but the rest of the drawing is in varying shades of grey. There’s a shy smile on my lips, and I wonder what moment he was trying to capture in this drawing.

  As I shuffle the papers back together, I see the edge of a worn notebook sticking out from underneath the pile. I slide it out. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m so curious, and what’s another few moments of snooping? I open the notebook and find pages and pages of Chase’s handwriting. It isn’t a journal, though. This looks more like … assignment details. Names, dates, places. A tick next to every person who’s been saved or aided in some way. A record of all the good Chase has done since he left his dark past behind.

  I close the book and slide it back beneath the sketches, then return to the bed with the rainbow pencil. But my focus has shifted entirely, and I don’t feel like drawing or coloring anymore. I look at Chase. I place my hand gently on his wrist. I’ve avoided holding his hand so far. It seemed too … intimate. It made me think of that moment after the wedding when he slid his fingers between mine and my heart expanded to fill my entire chest because I believed, for just a little while, that happiness was ours.

  With my heart pounding heavily and my throat strangely dry, I lift his hand and fit my fingers between his. “Please wake up,” I whisper. And then quieter, almost inaudibly, as if it’s a secret no one else should ever hear: “I miss you. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. I miss you a lot. I missed you even when I was angry with you. And after you finally explained everything and we began talking again, I missed you even more because nothing was the way it used to be after that.” I rest my forehead against our clasped hands and close my eyes. “Is it crazy that I don’t want to leave you?” I murmur.

  Bright specks of light flash on the other side of my eyelids. Confused, I pull my head back and open my eyes. A haze of golden sparkles drifts around our interwoven fingers. I snatch my hand away in fright. Across the room, the pile of sketches on the table is swept into the air, while next to me, the flame in the lamp flares suddenly, setting the lampshade on fire. I extinguish it with a quick shield spell thrown over the fire to smother it. Darkness descends upon
the room. I cup my hands together and coax a ball of light into being. I expand it until a warm glow illuminates the room, then send it higher up so it floats near the ceiling.

  Then I sit with my hands tucked firmly beneath my arms, watching Chase while my heart rate slowly returns to normal. This hasn’t happened to me before, these sparkles, these uncontrolled bursts of magic. But I know what they are. Mom and I had a horrendously awkward conversation once where she explained the magic of physical attraction and … other things.

  “I’m not supposed to feel this way about you,” I murmur. “I’m supposed to keep reminding myself who you really are, and then I’m supposed to leave.”

  Instead of answering me, Chase remains lost in his dreams. I tell myself that this is a good thing, because do I really want him knowing how I feel? No. Not when he once crushed and nearly destroyed a world and could potentially do the same thing to me.

  I pick up my sketchbook and the rainbow pencil and begin adding color to my drawings. I’ll go to bed at some point, but for now, I need to let my mind drift.

  * * *

  I feel disoriented when I wake up. I’m on the wrong side of my bed and there’s no bedcover over me. Then I open my eyes enough to realize that this isn’t my bed. After blinking some more and sitting up, I find the sketchbook and rainbow pencil next to me. I must have fallen asleep here instead of going back to my own room. I rub my eyes before looking across to Chase’s side of the bed.

  He isn’t there.

  Startled, I look up and find him sitting at the desk, staring at nothing. His hair is wet and his clothes are clean. “You’re awake!” I almost jump up and run over to him, but I manage to restrain myself. I crawl to the edge of the bed instead. “When did you wake up?”

  He slowly turns in his chair to face me. “A little while ago. I had a shower. Now I’m … thinking.”

  “About?” I ask carefully.

  “The torture I just lived through.”

  I swallow, then say, “You’ve been unconscious for a week.”

  “Is that all?” he says with a humorless laugh. “It felt like forever.”

  “It was the morioraith.”

  “I know.” He lowers his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Calla. I should have remembered it. I should have been prepared. But Angelica and I used to travel straight into the chamber and out again. And the morioraith … I never dealt with it directly. Angelica found it somewhere. She used to control it with a gong. A great big one with a deep resonating sound. The morioraith couldn’t stand it. But even without a bell or a gong, I could have done so much more. I should have been ready with magic the second it shifted into bodily form, but it all became confusing so quickly. I couldn’t do anything, and I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” I ask. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was slowing you down. You could easily have got away without me. And then you jumped in front of that thing so it wouldn’t get me and you wound up with your entire body poisoned. That’s why I’m the one who’s apologizing.”

  “It would have taken me anyway,” Chase says. “I have far more to sate a morioraith’s hunger than you do.” He opens the top drawer of the desk and places something inside it. “I’ve spoken with Angelica,” he says. “She told me what she told you.”

  I bite my lip, then ask, “Are you mad at me for using the ring?”

  “No. I assumed you were only trying to help.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, though, so I can’t be sure if he’s telling the truth.

  I stand up and cross the room. I stop in front of him, but still he doesn’t look up at me. “Are you okay? I mean, are you really okay?”

  He rubs a hand over his face and stands. He looks over my shoulder as he says, “It feels like the past ten years never happened. I feel like the monster who woke up beside the Infinity Falls. The monster who could barely face living because of all the terrible things he did. All the memories are right there, just below the surface, so raw, so near. It’s all I can see. It’s all I am.”

  “No.” He still won’t meet my eyes, so I reach up and touch his face. The smallest of touches, just along his jaw, but enough to make him look at me. “You are so much more than your past. You’re this—” I pick up the nearest canvas, one of my favorites: sprites dancing in the rain “—and this—” I grab a few sketches from the floor “—and this—” I hold up the tattoo machine “—and this. This is what you are now.” I pick up his notebook and wave it in front of him. “And yes, I know I shouldn’t have looked at it, but it’s amazing. You’ve helped so many people.”

  He quietly takes the book from me and returns it to the table. “I think you should leave,” he says.

  I open my mouth, but I can’t come up with a response. Hurt stabs me in the chest, but I tell myself he didn’t mean it that way. I’ve been in his room from the moment he woke up, so it makes sense that he’d want a little bit of time a—

  “The mountain, I mean. You shouldn’t be around here anymore. You’re planning on leaving anyway, aren’t you? It may as well be now.”

  The imaginary knife in my chest starts twisting. “You’re … kicking me out?”

  “Calla.” He gives me an agonizing look. “You shouldn’t be around me. How have you not realized this already? I am a monster.”

  “No you’re not!” I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “A week ago you were the one trying to convince me that you’re not that person anymore, and now I’m the one trying to convince you. Thank goodness one of us came to our senses during this whole morioraith ordeal, otherwise we’d both be calling you a monster.”

  “As we should be,” he mutters.

  I grab his notebook and push it against his chest. “Read this.”

  “Calla—”

  “Read it! Then tell me you’re a monster, after all the good you’ve—”

  “This will never make up for everything I’ve done!” he yells, tossing the book onto the floor. “I can never go back to all the people I’ve wronged and apologize to them. I can never ask for their forgiveness.”

  “No, you can’t. And you can never change what you did either. So I’m going to remind you what you told me not too long ago when I was the one who needed to be pulled from the darkness: The only thing you have control over now is your future. So are you going to wallow in self-pity, or are you going to make a difference?” I bend and pick up the notebook. I push it into his hands. “And you really shouldn’t just chuck this around,” I add quietly. “It seems like something you probably want to keep.” And then, since I can’t think of anything else to say, I turn around and leave.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  Chase is gone when I wake the next morning. I go hunting for some food in the kitchen, and that’s where Gaius finds me to tell me the news that Chase has recovered and is out on another mission already. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to speak to him before he left,” he says to me. “I know you’ve been waiting anxiously for him to wake up.”

  “That’s okay. I actually spoke to him during the night.”

  “Ah, wonderful. Did he seem all right to you? He was very quiet this morning. I couldn’t get much out of him.”

  “Um …” I pick up an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table and roll it around in my hands, wondering how much Chase would want me to reveal. “Well, he did just spend a week trapped inside nightmares of the past. He probably needs a little time to get his head back in the right place. Did he say where he was going?”

  “To find the lighthouse outside Kagan City.”

  “Oh. I thought—I mean, I assumed—we’d go there together. But …” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He did tell me I should leave the mountain because he doesn’t want me anywhere near him, so I suppose that includes this little mission to find the Seers. Too bad he didn’t stick around long enough for me to tell him I still want to be involved until we’re certain we’ve stopped Amon’s plan. I continue rolling the apple between my palms. �
��Um, anyway, do you know Kagan City? Have you heard of it before?”

  “I haven’t, but we managed to find it in one of my books this morning. Have you seen this convenient little device for peeling apples?” He puts a ring down on the table, takes the apple from me, and places the apple in the air above the ring. Before I can tell him that I don’t usually peel my apples, the glossy red fruit begins spinning faster than my eye can follow. When it wobbles to a halt, the peel is gone.

  I pick up the apple and examine it with a frown, wondering where the peel went. And wondering why Gaius changed the subject so abruptly. I lower the apple and look at him. “Did Chase tell you not to let me follow him to wherever this lighthouse is?”

  Looking cornered, Gaius says, “Well, uh, we don’t think you should be getting too involved, seeing as how you’re leaving soon.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Have you chosen where to go yet?” he asks innocently.

  With a groan and a roll of my eyes, I walk out of the kitchen.

  Two days later, Chase still hasn’t returned. Gaius tells me not to worry about him, so I try to ignore the insidious voice that says, What if he never comes back? I choose some art schools and start getting a portfolio organized. We’re two months into the school year, but hopefully arty people aren’t as strict about those sorts of things as guardians are. I’ll show them what I can do, and hopefully one of the schools will accept me. I ignore the teeny, tiny part of me that hopes I don’t get into any of them.

  In the afternoon, I go into the human realm for some exercise. I jog around a park alongside the humans, comfortable in the knowledge that they can’t see me. When I pass someone eating a bagel, I start laughing and almost trip over my own feet. Then I wish I had human money so I could buy one for Gaius. After my warm-up, I stand in the middle of the park and practice fighting using a stick I’ve transformed into a long, straight staff. I spin it in front of me and behind my back and over my head. I sweep it through the air and then lunge forward to smack it down against the ground. I repeat every single move I know. It feels so good to be active that I can barely stand the thought of spending the rest of my life in front of a canvas or bent over drawing paper. I wanted art to be a hobby, not a career, and now everything is going to end up the wrong way around.