A Faerie's Curse (Creepy Hollow #6)

by Rachel Morgan

  “Don’t panic,” I say again. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking …” And my head is pounding and the only thing my body wants to do is lie down.

  Focus! I yell at myself. “Okay, I’ve got it,” I say.

  It’s dangerous, terribly dangerous, but I picture Princess Audra herself. She slips into the ballroom through the door behind the guard and grasps Ana’s arm. “There you are!” she says. “I’m so glad you could make it. I feel like it’s been forever since I last saw you.”

  The guard immediately straightens, his arms going rigid at his sides. He tilts forward in a quick bow, then says something to the imaginary princess. Something that I, of course, can’t hear.

  “She’s quick, that’s how,” Ana says with a laugh, answering whatever question the guard must have directed at Princess Audra.

  Another voice sounds in my ear—Lumethon, I think—but I’m too focused to pay attention to it. “I have to be,” my imaginary princess says, “if I hope to greet everyone tonight. And we have so much to catch up on.” She smiles at Ana, then sends a somewhat annoyed look in the guard’s direction. “That will be all, thank you.”

  He bows again before marching hurriedly away. Instead of vanishing suddenly into nothing, I imagine the princess slipping back out the door before I let go of the illusion of her.

  “That was awesome,” Ana says. “I thought I was going to be whisked into a hidden room and never seen again.”

  “You’re welcome,” I mumble as I sink onto my knees in the shadows, my eyes sliding shut.

  “Lumethon, is something wrong?” Gaius asks. “You called Calla’s name just now.”

  Crap, have I managed to mess up already?

  “It’s fine, we made a plan.”

  “A guard saw all of us,” Darius says, “but he’s now locked in an intimate embrace with our half-siren accomplice. I think he—Ah, the intimate embrace has come to an end.”

  “Shut up,” Kobe growls.

  “Do you know what I heard?” Elizabeth purrs, presumably to the guard she just had to make out with. “I heard there was a very special prisoner being kept down here. A prisoner more important to the Queen than any other. Do you know who I’m talking about?” Silence fills my ears as I wait for Elizabeth’s next words. “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean. Would you perhaps consider telling me all about him? I’d love to hear everything you know.”

  The silence stretches on after that as we wait for Elizabeth to relay whatever the guard is telling her. I slouch against the wall, listening to the chatter and laughter, the swish of ballgowns, and the joyous lilt of the music. With my eyes closed and the irresistible pull of exhaustion tugging me toward sleep, I’m barely conscious by the time Elizabeth swears loudly in my ear. “Chase isn’t here.”

  Her words shock me into sitting up. “What? Where is he?”

  “This useless guard doesn’t know. He said no one went near Chase for almost two weeks. Then a few days ago, the Queen … she …” Elizabeth’s voice falters. “They began torturing him.” Nausea overwhelms me. “He was moved either today or yesterday. The guard doesn’t know because yesterday was his day off, and he only began his dungeon rounds this evening.”

  I breathe deeply past the nausea. “Do you think … are we too late?”

  “He must be here somewhere,” Lumethon says, her voice wobbling just a little bit. “We need to find the torture rooms.

  “Keep looking,” Gaius says. “We’ve still got time. This party will go on all night.”

  “I’m coming to help,” I say, cloaking myself with another illusion before standing. “I can’t—”

  “No, Calla, we need you focused,” Gaius says.

  “I’m focused on rescuing Chase! We should all be underground looking for him. Why do we need you guys in the ballroom anyway? You’re just—”

  “Something’s happening,” Ana says, speaking just as the music changes. “I think the Queen’s here.”

  I look back through the window. Sure enough, everyone stops dancing and turns to face the dais. It’s a wide platform with several thrones upon it. The center throne is, of course, the largest, and it’s this throne that the woman sweeping out of a side door heads toward. She stops in front of it and remains standing, looking around at the various royals who walk out of the crowd and seat themselves upon the smaller thrones. Then she faces the rest of the ballroom. A serene smile settles upon her face. Her dress—black lace over bottle green fabric—is exquisite, and her hair is twisted into an elegant knot. Her personal guard—men and women dressed in a dark plum-colored version of the Seelie guard uniform—line up in an arc behind her throne.

  The Queen spreads her arms out toward her guests and speaks. “Welcome. It’s an honor to have you gathered here tonight to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.” She looks to her right where Princess Audra sits upon one of the smaller thrones. “I have a gift for you, my darling daughter.” Turning again to her guests, she continues. “There have been rumors in recent years, whispers of enchanted storms and a power that should have ended a decade ago. Tonight, I shall lay the rumors to rest.” She pauses before delivering her final shocking statement. “Lord Draven did not die ten years ago.” Gasps and whispers ripple across the gathering like waves. “But,” the Queen adds, her voice ringing out above the murmurs, “I have him in my clutches, and my gift to you, dear daughter—” she holds her hand out toward the door she entered through “—is his head on a platter.”

  The world tilts. My legs weaken. I blink and grasp the window ledge to keep from falling. My team members’ voices clash against my ears, but my brain makes no sense of their words as I struggle to figure out what this means. She didn’t … she wouldn’t … but we’ve heard nothing from him in days, so …

  “Here, for all to see,” the Queen shouts, “is the once-powerful Lord Draven.”

  I see him then, finally, not a head on a platter, but a whole person. Dirty, bloody and bound in chains, but alive nonetheless. My utter, all-consuming relief clashes with the horror of the state he’s in, sending my head spinning once again. Guards drag him into the ballroom and dump him on the dais. Every royal except the Queen and Princess Audra bolts from the platform.

  “Calla! CALLA! Can you hear me?” I finally become aware of Gaius’s fierce whisper in my ear. “You have to do something. I don’t know what, just something. Distract the Queen while we try to reach Chase. Bring a dragon flying through here if you have to, but—”

  “You can see Chase?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Calla!” Gaius repeats. “Can you—”

  “I—I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m thinking. I’m …”

  “He will no longer threaten our rule,” the Queen says. “He will be gone for good, and one day when the time comes, you, my daughter, will safely ascend the throne.”

  Think, I tell myself. THINK! But I’m so tired and shocked and—

  “Not so fast, mother dear.” I assume at first that it’s Princess Audra’s voice ringing out, but she’s looking confused—looking up—and the guards are shouting—and a flash of silver is falling from the domed ceiling—dropping from a rope—landing on the throne—shrieking and swinging back a mighty sword and—

  —a spray of blood—

  —a scream of horror—

  A moment of absolute silence.

  The Seelie Queen’s head strikes the marble floor. Her body crumples beside it. Her emerald-studded crown rolls off her head, comes to rest, and shrinks to the size of a bangle.

  “Holy crap, Calla,” Ana whispers. “That was some illusion.”

  “I—I—” I’m so horrified I can barely speak. “I—That wasn’t me.”

  “What’s happening?” Elizabeth demands.

  A piercing scream issues from Princess Audra’s mouth. The plum-clad guards, however, are frozen as still as statues. Princess Angelica leaps off the throne and spins around, her sword slicing cleanly through the air and then through her sister’s neck, cutting off that chilling scream in an instant
. A woman stalks up the right side of the dais, and another on the left. They seem almost to glide in their dresses that billow and curl about them like smoke. Even without being close enough to see their depthless black eyes, I know exactly who they are. As every remaining guard in the ballroom rushes toward the dais, the witches throw their hands out. Brilliant, blinding light fills the ballroom for a moment. When it subsides, a translucent layer, glowing faintly silver, surrounds the dais and those upon it.

  Angelica bends and picks up the crown. At her touch, it expands to its original size. With magical strength, she stabs her sword into the platform and leaves it standing there. She raises the crown with both hands and places it on her head. “Behold,” she shouts, “your new Queen.”

  The madness that follows is almost comical. The screams, the running, Gaius and just about every other member of my team shouting at me to project something! Save Chase!

  But the fatigue is finally too much to bear. Perhaps that last illusion pushed me over the edge, or perhaps it’s my close proximity to the witches, but it’s all I can do to remain conscious. As my legs give in and I drop onto my side behind the rosebush, I fumble with the zip of my jacket. My shaking fingers find the bottle of Elizabeth’s tonic. I screw the lid off as the world around me begins to blur and Angelica’s wicked screech of a laugh echoes in my ears. I raise the bottle to my mouth, and I think I’m drinking the contents, but I can’t quite tell because I’m falling, falling, falling into darkness …

  PART III

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  I’m pulled slowly toward consciousness by the growing ache in my neck. My eyelids peel back a fraction, revealing a mottled pattern of light and dark, before sliding shut again. I try to stretch out of the painful position I seem to be lying in, but a rustling prickliness obstructs my limbs. I become aware of the smell of soil and the texture of hard earth beneath my cheek, and that’s when every horrifying detail of the Seelie Palace party slams into me.

  The Queen is dead.

  Princess Audra is dead.

  Princess Angelica has claimed the crown.

  And the last I saw of Chase, he was lying motionless upon the dais, his body battered, bloody and broken.

  My head swims as I push myself up into a sitting position. I blink a few times before I can focus on anything. Through the rosebush leaves, I see the morning sun peeking out from behind streaks of lavender-peach clouds. I shift so I can see past the bush. The Seelie Palace gardens spread out before me, serene and still with the pink flush of morning light. Against this beauty, last night seems like nothing more than a nightmare.

  As I climb to my feet, using the wall to help me up, I step on something hard. Looking down, I find the small bottle my shaking fingers were clutching as everything faded to black last night. It’s empty. That, combined with the fact that I don’t feel utterly drained and exhausted, must mean I managed to drink it all before passing out—and that it’s still effective enough to keep the curse at bay.

  I turn and look through the ballroom window. It’s as still and quiet as the gardens, but frozen in disaster. Smashed glass and platters of food; scattered masks; feathers, sequins, and the odd shoe lying here and there. My eyes move to the dais, to the two bodies still lying there. The sight of them turns my stomach, so I look away and notice the guards frozen in place behind the throne. Are they dead? Is it a spell that keeps them in place? And where is everyone else? The other guards, the remaining royals, the rest of my team.

  “Gaius?” I whisper. “Lumethon?” I peel back the sleeve of my jacket and find that the words I wrote there have vanished. The communication spell has faded.

  I turn back to face the garden. With no idea where any of my team members are or if they’re even still alive, there seems to be only one course of action left to me: complete the mission on my own.

  I step around the rosebush and set off across the grass toward the open room with the decorative pillars. There are so many uncertainties, I don’t know where to start with my search for Chase. If Angelica left the palace, would she have taken Chase with her? If not, would she have sent him back to the dungeon? Would she have … killed him? No. Not if she plans to use his power to bring down the veil. He can’t be dead. I refuse to consider the possibility. I will search, and I will find him.

  I start by returning to the passageway painted midnight blue and decorated with stars and moons. No guard stands beside the unicorn tapestry, and the door, I discover when I pull the tapestry aside, isn’t locked. Stepping beyond the door is like entering another world: I leave behind delicate architecture, white marble finishes, and fresh-scented air, and walk into a world of cold stones, lamps flickering in darkness, and the smell—the smell. Darius mentioned it was bad, but I can barely breathe as I descend the stairs.

  I find no guard at the bottom. I continue past cells of stone and metal. In those that are empty, chains trail across dark, dried stains. I start to call Chase’s name. Prisoners look up at the sound of my voice. Some reach through the bars for me, but none of them are Chase. I pass torture rooms in between the sections of cells, pausing only long enough to ensure Chase isn’t inside any of them before cringing away from the spikes, whips, tools, and more blood stains.

  It’s ridiculous how long it takes me to reach the other end of the dungeon. What does the Seelie Court need so many cells for? Don’t most criminals end up in normal prisons rather than down here? And I can’t do a quick scan of the area. I need to search every single space, just in case Chase is in the next one. When I eventually find myself at the end of the dungeon with nowhere else to go, I turn and run all the way back, aware that time is ticking by.

  The sun has moved substantially when I get back up to the palace, indicating that I’ve been down in the dark for hours. Flip! How did that happen? A spell? Some form of magic making me wander the dungeons far longer than I thought? I continue my hunt with renewed fervor. As I search through endless empty lounges, bedrooms, bathing rooms and more, I start to lose my sense of direction along with my sense of time. Have I been this way already? That chaise longue beneath the painting of a faun looks awfully familiar.

  I move up to the next level and keep going. Why does this palace have to be so big? Why? I find myself in an area with no windows to the outside, and no matter which way I turn or which passages I run down, I can’t seem to get myself out. Panic rises along with the irrational certainty that the walls are closing in, trapping me, suffocating me.

  Stop.

  I force myself to stand still in the middle of a room and close my eyes. Breathing in shaky breaths, I imagine Lumethon’s voice. I picture my lake. I know I’m wasting time with this silly exercise, but I’m of no use to anyone in a state of panic, so I remain still, breathing in and breathing out. When finally I’ve calmed myself, I open my eyes and continue on. Several minutes later, I reach a corridor where I can once again see outside. I note the afternoon light and instruct myself firmly not to freak out about how much time has passed. It’s fine, I tell myself. You’ll find him. Just keep looking.

  I enter another bedroom—and I’m startled to see a dark-clad figure on the other side of the room. I freeze—and so does the figure. It takes another moment for me to realize I’m looking at a tall mirror and seeing my own reflection. I almost laugh. I’d forgotten about my mask-like black makeup, coal-black hair, and even the tattoos across my hands. Elizabeth was right. I do look totally badass—and nothing like myself.

  I glance around the unoccupied room. I’m about to leave when I hear voices. Swinging around, I look toward the sound. An open doorway beside the mirror leads onto a balcony. I hurry to it, duck down, and creep outside. Peering out between the balusters, I see them: the two witches and Angelica. She walks tall with the crown upon her head, pausing to look up at the sky. I follow her gaze and see something that either wasn’t there this morning, or was somehow less visible in the light of sunrise: A great silvery dome sitting over the palace and part of the grounds. Trans
lucent, like the layer of magic that protected the dais last night, but not invisible like normal shield magic. Still, I’m almost certain it’s a shield of some sort.

  The witches stop to admire the shrubs clipped into shapes resembling winged creatures. One of them reaches out to touch the red petals of the little flowers hidden amongst the topiary creations. My hatred for these women burns anew. While they walk around, free and unconcerned, my brother sits at home in the dark, mourning the loss of a child who will never grow up to know the beauty of this world, and the wife who may never return to him. Did the witches consider this when they sold the spell that would kill a child? Did the thought even flit across their minds? I doubt it.

  But despite my hatred for them, I can’t kill them. The image of the decapitated former queen is too fresh in my mind. Too horrifying. I may have entertained the fantasy of the witches’ deaths. I may have tried to embrace the dark part of my soul that craved revenge. But witnessing the violent end of a life was a shocking reminder that I do not want to do that. I’ll happily blast them with stunner magic and dump them in the Guild’s hands, though. Problem is, I can only stun one of them. I’d have no time to gather enough power to stun the second, and there’s Angelica to worry about too. I could certainly injure the two I don’t stun—I have a knife in each boot and several throwing stars secured inside my jacket—but with their magic, the two of them might still overpower me.

  “How long can you hold it in place?” Angelica asks, still squinting against the midday sun as she looks up at the silver layer.

  “A week,” one witch says. “Perhaps longer.”

  “Without growing any weaker?”

  “Yes. We prepared for this before leaving Creepy Hollow, remember? Together, we have the magical energy of at least fifty men.”

  Fifty men? What kind of magic could give them so much power?