Creepy Hollow 7
Page 23
Twenty-Nine
I open the wardrobe, and instead of reaching for pajamas, I pull out the warmest jacket I can find. I don’t know how cold it is where I’m going, so it’s best to be prepared. “Sorry, Bandit,” I say to the wolf cub sleeping on the chair in the corner, “but you won’t be coming with me this time. It’s safer for you to stay here.”
I remove my T-shirt and grab a clean one off the top of the pile—just as I hear footsteps outside my door. “Hey, Em.” It’s Calla’s voice. The door clicks open. “I wanted to ask you if—Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say with a nervous laugh, turning away as I fumble with the T-shirt.
“I’m sorry, I should have knocked.”
“No, no. It’s my fault for getting changed without closing the door properly. I didn’t think.” I pull the T-shirt over my head before turning to face her. But instead of a smile, I find her staring at me, her face devoid of color. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She can’t possibly know what I’m about to do, can she?
“I …” Her hand grasps the doorframe, and she grips it tightly, as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Calla?” I take an uncertain step toward her.
She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and lets out a faint laugh. “I’m sorry.” She opens her eyes, blinks, and gives me a half-smile. “I must have had more to drink than I thought. Just a dizzy moment. That’s all.”
“Um, okay.”
“Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I just, uh, came up here to ask you if you want to go running around the edge of the oasis with us early in the morning.”
“Oh. Actually, I think I’d rather sleep in tomorrow. It’s been, you know … quite a day.”
She nods, still looking at me a little oddly. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Um, okay. Well, goodnight.”
“Night. Hey, Em?” I look up. “That’s a pretty tattoo on your shoulder. I didn’t notice it before.”
“Oh, it isn’t a tattoo. Needles freak me out.” I reach up and touch my left shoulder. “It’s actually a birthmark. My clothes usually cover it, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen it before.”
She nods, gripping the door again, and I start to wonder if whatever she’s drunk tonight might have had its origin in the human realm. “How interesting,” she says faintly. “It looks just like a flower.”
“Yes, it does.” I frown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Definitely.” She smiles. “Sleep tight, okay?”
I nod, feeling guilty for lying to her. “You too.”
She closes the door. Bandit, watching curiously from the chair, lowers his head and watches me through half-closed eyes. Once I’m sure Calla’s gone, I slip my hand into my left front pocket and take out the mirror.
I feel bad for stealing a stylus from Ryn and Vi’s kitchen, but I don’t have much of a choice since I don’t have my own. I don’t pass anyone on my way down the stairs, or when I’m walking across the grass. It’s almost too easy to slip through the dome layer and into the desert.
I write the faerie paths spell into the sand several times without it working. I don’t lose my patience, though. Seeing the words glow this morning gave me confidence that I’m almost there with this faerie paths thing. I try yet again—and excitement races through me at the sight of a dark space opening up. I slide into it, whispering the name I was given.
I’m greeted on the other side by the scene I was told to expect: a natural rock pool in a forest clearing with beams of afternoon light shining through the nearby trees.
“Emerson,” a voice says from behind me. “I was a little surprised to hear back from you so soon. You seemed adamant you wouldn’t be changing your mind.”
I turn to face Roarke. “Circumstances change. I’ve decided I might be willing to believe that you can help my mother.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Interesting.”
“There’s just one thing. I’m going to require proof before I accept your proposal. Proof that you know what’s wrong with my mother and can fix her.”
“That might be difficult,” he says, “considering I won’t be telling you anything until after we’re married.”
“But she needs help now. I’ll … sign a contract or something. A contract saying that I agree to marry you if you can first heal her.”
“A contract?” He laughs. “The kind of contract you’re referring to doesn’t mean much in this world. What if I heal your mother, and then you decide not to follow through?”
“What if I marry you and then you decide not to heal my mother?”
A hint of amusement touches his lips. “I suppose one of us is going to have to learn to trust the other.”
“Well then. I look forward to earning your trust.” Because I certainly don’t plan to marry this Unseelie Prince without first seeing my mother healthy. “Did you bring the magical device you spoke about?”
“Yes.” Roarke reaches inside his long coat and produces a small coin-shaped item. He steps closer and brushes aside the hair behind my ear. It’s unsettling having him stand so close, but I pretend it doesn’t bother me. He presses the coin to the skin behind my ear, and when he pulls his hand away, the coin remains. I raise my fingers and gently touch it, making sure it doesn’t move. “You’re certain no one will be able to find me while I’m wearing this? I don’t want anyone … interfering with our arrangement.”
“Completely certain. The Unseelie Court has been making use of items like this for a very long time.”
I let out a slow breath. “Okay then. I guess I’m ready to go with you.”
Emerson’s story continues in Creepy Hollow, Book Eight! Coming in 2017!
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Acknowledgments
THANK YOU …
To God, for every blessing, and for getting me to the end of another book.
To Jo Mundell, for your proofreading eyes.
To those who read early copies and take the time to write reviews (and for your extra proofreading eyes!).
To all the Creepy Hollow fans out there who look forward with great enthusiasm to every new book in this series.
And to Kyle, for your unending support and encouragement.
ABOUT RACHEL AND HER BOOKS
Rachel Morgan spent a good deal of her childhood living in a fantasy land of her own making, crafting endless stories of make-believe and occasionally writing some of them down. After completing a degree in genetics and discovering she still wasn’t grown-up enough for a ‘real’ job, she decided to return to those story worlds still spinning around her imagination. These days she spends much of her time immersed in fantasy land once more, writing fiction for young adults and those young at heart.
Rachel lives in Cape Town with her husband and three miniature dachshunds. She is the author of the bestselling Creepy Hollow series, and also writes sweet contemporary romance under the name Rochelle Morgan.
Find more info on Rachel’s website
www.rachel-morgan.com
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