creepy hollow 02 - faerie prince

by Rachel Morgan

  The laces of my boots untie themselves as I step quietly toward his bed. He’s facing away from me, his shoulder rising and falling in time to his steady, quiet breaths. I slip out of my boots, climb onto the bed, and crawl across the covers. I’m about to lean over him and kiss his neck when he says, “Do you think you’re sneaking up on me, Sexy Pixie?”

  Damn. “Yes, that’s exactly what I think.”

  He rolls over and pins me beneath him. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” He brings his lips down to meet mine while I wrap my arms around his neck. Sparks and tingles flash across my tongue, my face, my arms. I still don’t know if Ryn’s doing that on purpose, or if it happens spontaneously when people with magic kiss. Either way, Ryn has never been more right than when he told me I was missing out.

  “Did you catch the bad guy?” he whispers into my ear.

  “Of course. Did you . . . fix Egypt?”

  “Of course.” A kiss on my earlobe. “Has Jay hit on you yet?”

  I place my hands on either side of Ryn’s face so I can look at him. “No, but it’s cute that you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous? Ha! Don’t make me laugh.”

  “You are so jealous.” I push him off me so I can slide beneath the covers. “But it’s okay. I’ve been jealous before. Back at the palace when you were flirting with Opal whatever-her-name-is.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember that.” He sits up against his pillow and pulls me to his side. “Your jealousy actually hurt my chest.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” Seems his ability is useful for something.

  “Come on, I was just being friendly to her.”

  “Yeah, right. I bet you were trying to make me jealous.”

  Ryn chuckles. “I think I was.”

  I punch his thigh, and he has the decency to pretend it hurt. “Anyway, why are we sitting up? I was just getting comfortable before you brought up the subject of my teammate.”

  Ryn yawns, then says, “I have some bad news. I thought it would be better if you weren’t distracted while I told you.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Yeah.” He rubs his eyes. Poor guy must be tired after his long assignment. “I was at my father’s house this evening. Turns out his griffin disc has been stolen.”

  “What?” I sit up straighter. “How do you know? Did he tell you about it?”

  “Not exactly. He was quite agitated. You know, moving things around and looking everywhere. So I asked him what he was searching for. He described the disc so I could help him look, but he didn’t tell me anything about it.”

  “Crap,” I murmur. “That’s bad. Does he know when it went missing?”

  “I asked him that. He doesn’t know. The last time he saw it was a few months ago.”

  I shake my head. “You know, I thought the protective magic we had on our homes was supposed to keep unwanted people out.”

  “Yeah, so did I.”

  “Maybe back when Angelica was stealing the discs, she was able to get into our parents’ homes because they were her friends and had already granted her access. But now that Zell’s the one stealing discs, how did he do it?”

  “Maybe he knows ways around the protection,” Ryn says. “There must be ways to break those spells if you’re powerful enough.”

  “Or if you have a powerful friend who seems to like breaking into places.”

  “Halfling boy,” Ryn mutters. “I suppose he could have stolen the disc before he deserted Zell a month ago. Have you heard anything from him since?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Nate must have listened to me when I suggested he take his parents and run. I went to his house about a week after our confrontation in the gargan tree, and neither he nor his parents were there. Instead, a man who looked remarkably like Nate’s father was sitting at the dining room table making a phone call. On the table beside him lay an open newspaper with an article about a missing family. There were three pictures: Nate, his father, and his step-mother.

  I kind of regret being so harsh to him, but I couldn’t trust him anymore. Parts of his story made sense—the details match up now that I think about it—but he could have simply made up the story to fit the details. It’s better if Nate just gets on with his life somewhere far away. He could even start over in a new place and pretend he’s a normal human.

  Ryn laces his fingers between mine. “Now that I’ve shared the bad news, would you like to hear something good?”

  After kissing the back of his hand, I say, “Definitely.”

  “I may have a lead on your missing box.”

  “Really? From your Underground contact?”

  “Yes.”

  With all the excitement of discovering my father still alive, followed by Ryn and me getting together, and Nate showing up out of the blue, I actually managed to forget about the missing box from my mother for an entire week after Zinnia told me about it.

  After Ryn reminded me about the box, he broke into the office of the guardian who led the investigation into Reed’s death and found the relevant file. Since there was no mention of a box, we went back to the spot on the forest floor where Reed fell. I could tell it was difficult for Ryn to revisit the place his brother died, but he seemed to handle it well. We took a good look around, digging up parts of the ground to see if the box may have become buried over time. I even went back later and walked along the Tip-Top Path itself to see if Reed perhaps let go of the box as he fell and it landed somewhere other than down below. I searched every crevice in the surrounding branches but found nothing. Not surprising, really. Did I honestly expect it to still be there eight years later?

  So Ryn decided to go Underground and search for it the way he searched for my necklace: Find a hint of a rumor of a story and follow it.

  “And what did this Underground contact of yours tell you?” I ask.

  “He knows someone who knows someone who sells, uh, redistributed handcrafted items.”

  “In other words, stolen handcrafted items?”

  “Yes. And apparently he sold a wooden box with the name Violet on it several years ago.”

  I sag back against the pillow. “Several years ago? The box could be anywhere in the entire fae realm by now.”

  “Hey, I found your necklace, didn’t I?” His fingers brush the gold key resting against my chest. “I’ll find your box.”

  The feeling of warmth and safety that Ryn always manages to bring to me washes over my body. I look into his eyes, and I’m overcome by the urge to tell him something. Something big-deal and scary and so not me. Something involving a word that starts with L.

  No. I can’t say that. It’s too soon. I’ll freak him out. I’ll freak myself out.

  “Can I talk to you about something else?” Ryn asks.

  “Sure.” As long as you aren’t about to use the scary L-word.

  He frowns. “Are you okay? I feel like you’re freaking out about something.”

  “Nope.” My voice comes out like a squeak. “Just . . . stressing about the Zell situation, I guess.”

  He gives me a funny look that tells me he doesn’t quite believe me, so I lean forward and press my lips against his. He obviously forgets whatever he was going to say because his hands slide around my waist as the kiss becomes more heated. His hands skim across my back, beneath my top. I press my body closer to his.

  “Wait,” he says against my lips. “Wait, I’m supposed to be telling you something.”

  Reluctantly, I pull away from him. “It had better be good.”

  “It’s always good when I’m talking.” He caresses my cheek as I roll my eyes. “Okay, so, I have a theory,” he says. “A theory about why some of us have extra magical abilities and others don’t.”

  I snuggle closer to him. “I’m listening.”

  “You know how everyone loved Reed? I mean, people always say—”

  “—there was just something about him,” I fill in. I’ve heard so many people say. I’ve even said it.

  “Yeah. There
was something about him. And I don’t think that something was natural. I think it was his special ability. Like mine is sensing others’ emotions, yours is finding people, Calla’s is to make people see what she’s imagining, and Nate’s is power over the weather.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “And didn’t Zell say something to you in his dungeon about the griffin discs being connected to fae with special abilities?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t explain what he meant.”

  “Well, here’s my theory: People who use the griffin discs extensively have children with special abilities.”

  I let his words sink in.

  “Think about it,” Ryn says. “Your parents had discs, my parents had discs, and Nate’s mother had a disc. My father is the only one who still has a disc, and look at Calla. She turned out special too.”

  I nod. This could be what Zell was referring to. “So, the reason there are a lot of fae with special abilities is because the discs have had so many owners over the centuries.”

  “Yes. And since Zell has been hunting for the discs for a while, he probably has a long list of people who’ve owned a disc at some point. Once he figured out there was a connection, it would have been easy enough for him to go back and find out who their children were.”

  “Yeah, and then abduct them.” I tilt my head back and stare at the galaxy. “So, it’s like we have a little bit of Tharros’ power in us. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

  Ryn nods. “It is weird to think of it like that.” He looks down at me. “But don’t go freaking out about his magic making us evil because I don’t believe that at all. We’re on the good side, V. It doesn’t matter what kind of magic we were born with.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Tora leans forward and rests her elbows on her desk and her chin on her hands. “And as I walked in, hundreds of butterflies rose off the table and fluttered away, leaving the most amazing arrangement of flowers on the middle of the table.”

  I clasp my hands together beneath my chin. “That’s so romantic, Tora.” Not as romantic as a magic carpet ride and a gazillion glow-bugs, but not every guy can pull off something that epic.

  “And the food was glorious.” Tora tips her head back and leans it against the cabinet behind her desk. “He sure can cook.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” I think of Tora’s abysmal cooking skills. You’d think that as someone with magic, she’d be able to do a mediocre job, at least, but no. “He sounds perfect for you. Do you think he’s going to ask you to form a union with him?”

  Tora’s cheeks turn pink. “Um, I have no idea.” She sits forward and starts moving things around her desk that probably don’t need to be moved. “I mean, we haven’t exactly known each other very long, and unions are a big deal amongst our kind. I’d have to think about it very seriously because no union should be broken lightly.”

  It shouldn’t. In fact, unions are rarely broken at all. That’s why it was such a scandal when Ryn’s father left and formed a new union with someone else. People didn’t say much, of course, because they all knew about Reed’s tragic death and how difficult it was for his family, but you could see it in their expressions whenever Ryn’s family was mentioned.

  “Okay, but if Oliver asked you now, what would you say?”

  Tora opens her mouth but is saved from answering by a hurried knocking on her door. “Come in,” she calls.

  A dwarf marches in with a stack of note-sized pages in his hand. “Urgent memo for all guardians,” he says. He hands one to Tora and another to me. As he leaves, I see another dwarf hurrying down the corridor in the opposite direction.

  “Oh no!” Tora claps a hand to her mouth as her eyes scan the note. “This must have happened after I left last night.”

  I look down at the small piece of reed paper in my hand.

  An enchanted fire was lit by black-clad faeries outside the London Guild last night. While the internal entrance connected to the faerie paths remained intact, no one could enter or leave through the exterior entrance. After a number of unsuccessful attempts to extinguish the fire, it vanished—seemingly on its own. The black-clad faeries were gone. No Guild members were hurt.

  Guardians, be prepared. This is the third attack on a Guild, and the second Guild to be attacked. You never know when you might be needed urgently.

  So the note I got in my pigeon hole was real.

  I look up. Tora is tapping her small circular mirror. “Oliver! Is everything okay there?”

  “You’ve heard about the fire?” says a male voice.

  “Yes. Only just.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier. Things have been crazy here this morning, but everyone’s okay.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  I stand up to leave. It would be rude of me to hang around and listen to Tora’s conversation with Oliver. Besides, I feel the need to check my pigeon hole again because something tells me I’m going to find another mysterious note there.

  I head to the corridor lined with pigeon holes. As I reach mine, I see a folded note with my name on one side, written in the same stylus-printed type as before. With my heart pumping faster than normal, I unfold the paper.

  VF,

  Now that you know I can be trusted, it is your turn to prove to me that you can be trusted. I will not risk my life to give this information to someone too afraid to come and get it from me. If you can go to Diviniti, an Underground club, and fetch something from the man with the ram’s horns, then I will know you are brave enough for this task.

  D

  I imagine a big question mark hanging over my head. Diviniti? A man with ram’s horns? This is getting weird. I should either throw this note away or give it to someone like Councilor Starkweather. What I shouldn’t do is follow the instructions D has given me in the hopes that I’ll end up getting important information from him or her. Important information that I can then use to show Councilor Starkweather just how wrong she was to exclude me from the Zell investigation.

  I shouldn’t do that. I really, really shouldn’t. I can almost hear logical me chanting, don’t do it, Vi, don’t do it.

  Ugh, but I so badly want to prove myself. And what good would it do to take this note to someone else in the Guild? This D person only wants to communicate with me. I’m the one who needs to get the information that could save everyone.

  I insert the note into my pocket as I head back down the corridor. At the very least, I’ll try to find Diviniti and the man with the ram’s horns. Then I’ll decide what to do after that.

  *

  Ryn is stuck in his new cubicle at the Guild writing a mile-long report on his Egypt assignment, so I don’t bother him with questions about how to get to Diviniti. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I sift through my clothes at home and try to transform them into something colorful and whacky. I know deep down that my real reason for keeping this from Ryn is that he won’t approve of me going off on my own to follow up on this lead. He hasn’t been above breaking rules in the past—like when we rescued Calla—but something tells me he’ll say I should get the Guild involved for this one.

  And I don’t want that. I want to do this on my own.

  I manage to change my black boots to an acid green color, and my black tank top to something that looks like a child’s painting set threw up on it. Then I attempt to transform a pair of short, black hot pants into a short, black skirt. A little more challenging than just changing color, but I manage it. I’m getting better at this clothes casting thing.

  My hair needs help now. I ask Filigree to shift into the form of a large bird, which he dutifully does. He flaps around until my bedroom floor is covered in feathers. I pick up a few, change their color, and stick them into my hair. Lastly, I add my jacket to the outfit. I don’t need anyone seeing the guardian markings on my wrists.

  Right. Now I look weird enough to party Underground.

  Since I have no idea where Diviniti is, I’ll have to start with the only Undergr
ound club I know: Poisyn. I found my way there accidentally after fleeing Angelica’s labyrinth. If I can picture it accurately in my mind, I should be able to get back there through the faerie paths.

  Darkness surrounds me as I step through the doorway on my wall and picture the Underground room with the flashing colored lights and the mass of bodies writhing in time to the music. When a slow, seductive beat reaches my ears, I know I’ve arrived. I open my eyes, and I’m right in the middle of it. Bodies sway and twist, arms in the air, heads thrown back. Some fae are entwined around each other. Others pour brightly colored drinks down their throats—and over their chests and heads—as they dance.

  I try to look like I’m totally comfortable here as I push my way through the sweaty bodies toward the edge of the room. Difficult, when all I want to do is shudder each time someone rubs against me. I stand on tiptoe, search the room for the bar, and make my way toward it. I try to sway my hips as I walk, copying the other girls I see. It feels stupid.

  I lean my elbows on the bar’s luminous green counter and look around. Okay, now I need to find someone I can ask—

  “Hey, do I know you?” A guy with a bald head and eyes that seem to have no irises leans on the bar beside me. His hands are covered in fur, and his fingernails are sharpened to talons.

  “Um, I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, sorry. I must have met you in my dreams.” He gives me a cheesy grin, showing off pointed teeth.

  Wow. Was that a pick-up line? If so, I’m glad I’ve avoided bars and clubs until now. Even though I’d like nothing more than to walk away immediately, I push down the urge to gag and flutter my eyelids at him instead.

  “So, do you want to dance?” He takes a step closer to me.

  “Sure, if we can go somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else?” His eyes light up, and I’m pretty sure he just read way more into my words than I intended.

  “Yeah, my friend told me about this place called Diviniti. Do you know it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He looks a little disappointed, probably because the ‘somewhere else’ didn’t turn out to be more private. “I can take you there, if you want.”