A slow, mocking laugh pulls my attention away from the blood. I look around and see a prisoner on the ground nearby, wounded and probably flung all the way over here by someone’s magic. “You’re too late,” he rasps. “The witches performed the ritual as soon as they got here earlier. If it makes you feel any better, there were prisoners in there too. Convicted criminals.”
Dead. They’re all dead. A tower full of people just … dead.
“The witches have even more power now,” Chase murmurs. “They’ll be even harder to defeat.”
“Oh, it’s our princess who has all the power,” the prisoner says, then breaks off as he starts coughing. “Our Queen,” he corrects when he’s recovered. “Our Queen Angelica. The witches absorbed it all and then channeled it into her. They gave us power as well. They said there was so much, such an overwhelming abundance, that they were afraid it would be too much for the Queen. They gave her everything they could, and then strengthened as many of us as time allowed before the first guardians arrived.”
My stomach heaves. I’m utterly horrified and sickened. “We have to stop them. We have to stop them.” But I can’t move. All I can see is the blood seeping out from under the door. All I can think of is the crushed bodies inside.
“Yes, we have to stop them!” Chase says, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the tower. I shake the horror off as best I can. I know I’ll be useless if I continue to focus on it.
We race around the edge of the fight, dodging sparks of magic. Reaching the edge of the witches’ dome-shield, I look through the silvery layer and see how close we are to being too late: the two people who have to be sacrificed—the blood from one side of the veil and blood from the other—are already draped across either side of the statue. A man on the right and a woman on the left.
“Look away,” Chase tells me. “I’m bringing it down.”
I cast my eyes over my shoulder, squinting into the melee as light flashes behind me. When I look back, the dome is gone. I don’t stop to think. With howling wind and the constant rumble of thunder as my battle cry, I run at Tilda, forcing both magic and an illusion out ahead of me. Sparks to sting and burn, and an illusion of screeching harpies. They dive at her, flapping and screaming and slashing with clawed feet, and my hope is that the witch will end up cowering, shielding her face from the attack and giving me a chance to take her down.
This doesn’t happen. “Your illusions are weak!” she shouts, dancing out of reach. “You can’t fool me.” And with that she runs and tackles me. I wriggle and shout and kick as she pins me down, but I was tired before this fight even began, and she has the strength of many men. “Why aren’t you dead yet?” she growls into my ear as she traces a finger around my wrists. Narrow black ropes appear. I try to kick her as she moves to my feet, but she sits on my legs and traces around my ankles with her pointed nails. “I’ve felt it coming on for days now, but you’ve been fighting it somehow.”
Over her shoulder, I see Chase battling with Sorena and Angelica. The older witch raises a glowing crystal above her head, and I recognize it as the same kind of crystal Angelica threw in the ballroom. “No!” I shout as the crystal lands at Chase’s feet. The resulting explosion throws him backward and toward the grove of trees, out of my sight.
I writhe against my bonds, but it makes no difference. “I’ve thought of a use for you,” Tilda says. “You wanted to stop us from bringing the veil down? Well guess what. Now you’re going to help us do it.” She drags me across the ground and pushes the man off the right side of the statue. Then, using magic, she lifts me up—and I realize exactly what she meant. I know there are no words that will convince her, so my screams are wordless. On and on and on I scream and struggle. I don’t want to die like this, helping perform some terrible spell, not knowing if Chase survived the crystal’s explosion.
“It’s almost time,” Tilda says. “We can’t see the moon beyond this spectacular storm, but we know it’s there. We know it’s rising.”
“Please just stop!” I shout. “Why are you even involved in this? Do you plan to rule a mixed-up, half magical world alongside Angelica?”
“Rule?” she repeats with amusement. “Of course not. We’re not interested in that kind of power.” She looks out at the crowd where the Velazar prisoners with their increased magical strength are still managing to hold back the guardians and gargoyles. “Feel the energy,” she says. “Taste it on the air. That’s the kind of power we seek.”
Her words send a chill through my bones. “You’re twisted and sick,” I tell her.
She ignores me, her gaze moving to the other side of the statue where Sorena stands with an axe in her hands. Amon, the man who sat quietly in prison waiting for his big moment while the rest of us chased Angelica around, stands beside her. On top of the monument, grasping a spear in one hand and holding onto the trident part of the statue with the other, is Angelica. “Ready?” Tilda asks.
“Yes,” Angelica answers. “I’m ready.” She nods to Sorena. Sorena raises her axe, but instead of bringing it down on the woman lying across the other side of the statue, she swings it around with all her might—straight at Amon.
I see a spray of blood and hear the crumpling thud of his body hitting the ground. I’m so shocked I stop squirming. “What … what did you …”
Angelica looks down at me. “You didn’t think I was planning to share, did you? Especially not with someone like him. No ambition. Always hanging onto someone else’s success. First his father, then Zell, then Draven. No. He rallied the prisoners for me while I was gone, and he set everything up after the explosion, but his use has now come to an end.” Her gaze moves to Sorena. “Now,” she says, “we are ready to begin.”
As Sorena brings her axe down toward the unconscious human woman, I start screaming again. Screaming and wriggling and tearing at the bonds. Tilda holds me down with magical strength as Sorena moves toward me, raising her bloodied axe.
Then, behind her, a glittering weapon flashes though the air. Sorena is thrown aside as a guardian spins around and kicks. Tilda lunges for him, but he slashes at her with two knives and kicks again, sending her flying behind the statue. Then he lifts me. Ryn, my brother—what is he doing here?—lifts me from the statue. How did he get past all the fighting? He runs a short distance away and places me on the ground near the trees, then slices through my bonds with one of his golden, sparkling knives. Knives that can cut through almost anything. A moth, one of those creepy moths from the gargoyle cave, flits past his head. Then his hands are on either side of my face, searching my eyes. “Are you okay? You have to be okay. Please, I can’t—”
Taloned fingers wrap around his arms and yank him away with magical strength. He goes flying through the air and lands at the base of the statue, his head whacking the ground with a sickening thud. Tilda runs after him. Get up, Ryn, get up, I plead silently as I push myself shakily up onto my knees and press my hand against my neck. But it’s all Ryn can do to roll weakly onto his side.
“You want to interfere with our magic?” Tilda demands. “Fine. I’ll show you what happens to people who interfere.” A flick of her hand flips him into the air and onto the statue. “It’ll be better for me if the girl dies naturally anyway.”
“No,” I gasp, the word too quiet for anyone to hear. I force myself up onto my feet. Tilda looks about for Sorena. She’s on the left side of the statue, being helped to her feet by Angelica. But the axe is lying on the ground where it fell when Ryn attacked Sorena. Tilda bends and picks it up. “No!” I shriek. “Stop!” I run toward her, but something grey rushes past me. A gargoyle. It leaps at Tilda with claws outstretched and pulls her to the ground.
I expect her to stay down longer, but she fights back immediately. Her blast of magic throws the gargoyle aside. It whimpers as it slides across the ground and comes to a stop, its form rippling and—changing? “Filigree?” I whisper as the gargoyle shifts into a cat and limps toward me. But I tear my eyes away from him as Tilda crawls across the ground and rea
ches for the axe. I rush toward her, but I’m too late, because Angelica’s spear is already flying through the air and—
—and piercing straight through Ryn’s abdomen.
Time seems to stop. I know I’m screaming, but I can’t hear anything. Then suddenly everything moves again, and my scream is so loud it almost deafens me. And when finally I run out of breath, the scream goes on—but it isn’t mine. I twist around, searching the ever-present, ever-advancing crowd desperately. I don’t see her, but she must be here somewhere. She’s the only other person who would scream like that for Ryn.
I turn back and stumble toward my brother—just as Angelica, standing atop the monument once more, her spear discarded and both hands wrapped around the trident, goes rigid. Light shoots from the top of the trident. Blazing and blinding, lighting up the stormy sky. A horrendous ripping, shredding sound tears past my ears. And there in the sky, an opening appears, as if a gargantuan claw ripped right through it. And on the other side—a field on the outskirts of a town. Early evening, with a sprinkle of glowing lights in the distance.
She did it. Angelica actually did it.
Behind me, everything goes still. The shouting, snarling, and clanging of weapons—it all comes to a halt. All attention is fixed on that tear in the sky. Not just a tear, but a widening gap. And in the field beyond, sparks sizzle in the grass, turning it to ash. A car stops on the road beside the field and people tumble out, staring, pointing, shouting, and I should be trying to stop all of this. But my attention is tugged back to Ryn. To his motionless body and that spear sticking up, and the blood running down the side of the statue.
Is he dead?
My heart splits open at the thought, and I run for him—just as a figure slams into Tilda and knocks her to the ground. Chase. My relief that he’s okay clashes with my terror that Ryn is already dead. As Chase forces both Tilda and Sorena away from the statue and Angelica stares in rapture at the growing tear in the sky, I rush to Ryn’s side. I grab hold of the spear and tug it free. It falls from my hands to the ground. I’m about to move him when something soft touches my legs. Filigree, cat-shaped a moment ago, starts shifting into a bear. He scoops Ryn up. I run beside him as he lumbers away from the statue into the nearby trees. I drop to my knees as Filigree places Ryn on the ground. I push his shirt and jacket up and press my hands against his stomach, looking away from the wound and the gushing blood and squeezing tears from my eyes. I release magic into his body. I don’t care that I have little left. I’ll happily give him everything if it’ll save him.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmur as Filigree becomes a mouse and hides beside Ryn’s neck, below his ear. “You have magic. You can heal from this.” But he was thrown against the ground with such force just minutes before he was stabbed. And the sound of his head hitting the ground … I shudder remembering it.
I glance up as shouts and the sizzle of magic break through the silence. The guardians surge forward once more and the prisoners fight back. Though gifted with extra power from the witches, the prisoners are weakening, and the guardians, far more skilled in combat, are pressing ever closer to the monument. I’m about to turn my eyes back to Ryn when finally I see her.
Violet. A whirling fury. Blades flashing and purple hair whipping around as she kicks, dodges and slashes her way through the army of prisoners. She breaks through the battle and races toward me, falling onto her knees on Ryn’s other side. “No no no no no,” she gasps, tears streaking her face as her hands join mine. She lowers her head and presses her forehead against his chest, whispering words I can’t hear.
Lightning flashes and cracks of thunder draw my attention back to where Chase and the two witches are battling within the spinning winds of a mini tornado. And not too far away—finally—the first few guardians make it past the prisoners.
“Tilda!” Angelica shrieks. “Stop the guardians!” But I doubt Tilda even hears her.
Angelica leaps off the monument, runs past Chase and the witches, and throws her hands into the air. I blink against the flash of light. When I can see again, a translucent layer, the same kind of shield the witches are able to produce, stands between us and the guardians. Not a dome this time, but a wall. A wall of magic stretching right across the island and as high up into the sky as I can see. With the guardians stopped for now, Angelica turns her attention to the tornado. She bends and picks up her spear.
With a shout, I push myself up and run. With whatever strength I have left, I force a pulse of magic from my hands. It’s horribly weak, but enough to force Angelica to stumble forward a few paces. I drop the mental wall around my mind, but I’ve barely thought of an illusion when she cries out in anger and sweeps her hand in a wide arc through the air. I’m knocked off my feet, spinning and tumbling through the air, and—
Whack.
Every part of my body screams at me as I hit the ground. I cough and gasp for air as I struggle to raise my head. Chase is beside me, groaning and pushing himself up. We’re amidst the trees, even further from the monument than Vi and Ryn. And the witches … they’re nearby, moaning on the ground, probably knocked here with the same rush of energy we were. “Are you okay?” Chase asks as he helps me to sit.
Before I can answer, Tilda shouts, “What was that for?”
“You were in the way,” Angelica shouts back. “Help me strengthen this shield. The guardians are almost through, and we still need time before the tear reaches the ground here.”
I look past Chase and see the silvery shield struggling and stretching against the magical assault of hundreds of guardians. Amidst the crowd, I make out Olive, and Councilor Bouchard. “They’re here. Everyone who was at the Seelie Court.”
“It’s time to end this,” Chase says.
“They’re so much stronger,” I say, still breathless, still barely able to hold myself upright. “We keep fighting and they keep forcing us back.”
“They won’t be strong for much longer. I’ve been waiting, holding back, allowing them to deplete their energy. And look at them, pouring everything into that shield. They’re growing weaker by the second. All three of them.” He looks down and holds his hand out to me. “It’s time, Calla. We can end this now.”
“Okay.” I try to stand, but my legs seem to be too weak to hold me, so I end up collapsing back onto the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Chase asks immediately, crouching down, examining my legs. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just … a bit weak.”
“Are you sure it’s not—”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like you need my help, Mr. I-single-handedly-destroyed-large-parts-of-the-fae-realm.” I smile at him. “You’ve got this.”
His face twists in concern. “Calla …”
“Go,” I tell him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Do your hero thing. Save the world, and everyone watching will finally know what I know: you’re fighting for the right side now.”
His expression turns to one of amazement, a quiet laugh upon his lips. “That was it,” he murmurs. Then he grasps my shoulders and presses a kiss to my lips. He pulls back and stares into my eyes. “I love you. Fiercely and desperately and with everything inside me. I love you.”
My heart leaps into my throat, but he’s up and running before I can say a word. I love you too, I whisper silently.
As the edges of my vision grow darker, and everything becomes oddly quiet, I see the whole scene as if from a distance. Vi bent over Ryn; the guardians pressing against the shield; Angelica, Tilda and Sorena with their hands raised toward the silvery layer, and Chase racing toward them with lightning crackling around him. I know as I watch them that they no longer stand a chance against him.
Blinding light flashes again and again, and thunder deafens me as I reach with shaking fingers for the zip of my jacket. Wind scurries down from the sky and blasts across the ground, pushing me down with its strength. Through the hair whipping around my face, I see Chase standing outside a spinning
vortex of air and dust, the three women trapped inside and the wind so powerful they can’t get past it. As I fumble with my zip and manage to pull it halfway down, light zigzags down from the sky and straight into the center of the whirlwind. The deafening crack that follows sends a shudder through the ground.
Everything becomes still. The wind quietens, the silver shield vanishes, and Chase looks down at the three women lying on the ground. Electrocuted, probably. Or stunned, perhaps. Not dead. Not when magic runs through their bodies and can heal them. Not when Chase is the one standing over them. Chase, the man who will fight and protect and save, but who won’t kill. And I don’t want him to, even if the witches’ deaths would mean an easy escape from my curse. Killing isn’t something I’ve ever wanted anyone to do for me. Angelica, Tilda and Sorena are incapacitated, and that’s good enough for now. The Guild can deal with them, and we’ll figure out another way around the curse.
Chase looks around—and suddenly, with a collective roar, the guardians rush forward. “Chase!” I scream, but I can barely hear my own voice. They’re upon him within seconds, magic sparking and weapons glittering. Mist, snow, hail, lightning—I can’t see a thing through the violent mix of stormy elements. I push myself up, fighting the lightheadedness. My fingers finally free the bottle from my pocket. A crack runs down the side, and the outer surface of the bottle is wet, but it’s still more than half full of undiluted, full-strength tonic.
The storm settles. Someone shouts, “Move back!” The crowd of guardians obeys, moving out of the way to reveal Chase kneeling in front of the monument, restrained by several guardians and their glittering ropes. And I realize suddenly that this will never end. No matter how much good he does, they’ll never forget the devastation of the past. Even if he escapes them now, they’ll never stop hunting him, and this will go on and on until eventually, one day, they catch up to him.
Unless I do something.
I remove the lid of the bottle and tip the contents down my throat. I’m aware of familiar voices calling my name, but my every sense is focused on the herbal-sweet burn rushing down my throat. As energy shoots through my body, shocking me back to life, I know there’s only one way for me to end this.
A Faerie's Curse (Creepy Hollow #6) Page 25
