[Creepy Hollow 02.0] The Faerie Prince

by Rachel Morgan

  I sit down in one of the chairs. “So, are they thinking the storm and the murder are connected?”

  “Yes.” Ryn stands back as a surprisingly non-burnt pancake flips itself. “I mean, it could be one seriously big coincidence, but I doubt it.”

  “And do you know anything new about the murder?”

  He shakes his head. “My mom isn’t saying anything. Anyway, the big question everyone’s asking is who could possibly have enough power to control a storm this big?”

  I look down at my hands as my heart squeezes out a few painfully hard beats. I know someone. Someone who only recently discovered his special talents with the weather.

  Nate.

  As if it were only yesterday, I hear Zell’s voice replaying in my mind. He can’t quite control it yet, but his storms are certainly impressive, don’t you think? Can Nate control it now? Is he the one creating the massive storm currently raging through Creepy Hollow forest? But there’s no way he would murder someone. Never. I might not know everything about him, but I’m sure I know that much.

  “You okay, V?” I look up to find Ryn watching me closely.

  “Yeah, I’m just worried, I guess.”

  Liar, liar.

  “Well, why don’t you put a few more clothes on—” he gestures in the general direction of my exposed legs “—and then we can have breakfast and go kick this assignment’s ass.”

  “And don’t forget that when you’re pretending to be human you cannot be seen using magic,” Tora says.

  “Trust me, I’m not about to break that rule again.” I’m sitting on the floor of her office, the contents of my emergency kit spread around me as I do an inventory.

  “Right.” She stops pacing and sits on the edge of her desk, bouncing her leg. “Oh, and did you ever replenish your burn healing potion after your assignment with the drakoni?”

  “Right here.” I hold up a jar of clear gel. “Okay, I think all I’m missing are those insta-heal patches for deep cuts, but they’re not really necessary. I’m sure this is the kind of assignment where I’ll have enough magic to heal my own—”

  “I’ll go get some from Uri,” Tora says, jumping up. She’s out of the door before I can tell her not to worry about it. I pack away all the vials, bottles, jars, and bandages—and the Forget potion I hid in my pocket. I couldn’t have Tora seeing that. I should get rid of it, but it seems a waste to throw away a potion made from such expensive ingredients.

  Tora returns with five round, blue patches in her hand. I pop them into the emergency kit and close it up. I stand and survey my things.

  “Okay,” Tora says, moving to stand beside me. “You’ve got your emergency kit—”

  “Check.”

  “—your potions kit—”

  “Check.”

  “—and some clothes and personal items so you don’t stink by the time you get back.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Check.”

  She shakes her head at the questioning look on my face. “You don’t want to know about the hygiene habits of some of the people I went on assignment with back before I became a mentor.”

  “Well,” I say with a laugh, “I like to be clean, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Tora says. “I hope for your sake Ryn feels the same way.”

  “Feels the same way about what?” Ryn asks, stopping in the doorway of Tora’s office.

  “Hygiene,” Tora tells him.

  “Are you ready to go down?” Bran calls from the corridor as he walks past, Asami at his side.

  “Almost,” I call back. “Just resizing.” I hold my emergency kit in my hands and say the words to make it shrink. I repeat them until the kit is the size of a small nut, then do the same with my other two bags. I lift my right foot and click open the hidden compartment in the sole of my boot, then put the three bags inside and close it. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Come on,” Tora says, already at the door. We hurry out of her office to catch up with Bran, Asami and Ryn.

  “Feeling confident, Vi?” Bran asks.

  “I think so,” I say, trying not to sound too confident. I doubt that ever works out well for anyone. “It doesn’t seem that complicated or dangerous. We just have to get some information out of a human.”

  “Well, don’t be fooled. You can’t always tell when spells have been placed on humans.”

  “Yes, I know.” I pat my pockets, trying to rid myself of the feeling that I’ve forgotten something important. I’m being paranoid, of course. I know I’ve packed everything.

  “And we’re allowed to contact you, right?” Asami asks.

  “Yes, but try not to,” Bran says. “On real assignments, guardians obviously remain in contact with the Guild, but since this assignment is a test for you and we want to see how much you can do on your own, contacting anyone will, unfortunately, cost you some points.”

  We reach the stairs and head down toward the main foyer of the Guild. I trail my hand lightly over the vines twisted around the banister, feeling the leaves brush between my fingers. “Bran, do you have anything else to tell us about the murder and the storm?”

  Bran pushes his hands into his pockets. “There’s nothing to say except don’t worry about it. Security has already been increased, the protective enchantments are currently being strengthened, and you have more important things to think about over the next few days.”

  I glance at Ryn to see what he thinks of Bran’s words, but his face is turned away from me. Surely he must be more concerned about this whole thing than I am; his mother is involved in investigating the murder.

  We reach the foyer to find most of our classmates and their mentors already there, some receiving last minute advice, some chatting to their assignment partners, and others simply standing around looking nervous. Dale looks over at us, shakes his head, and mouths something at Ryn that looks like Bad luck, dude. I turn my back on him without waiting to see if Ryn mouths anything back.

  “Okay, trainees. Here it is.” Bran stands on the first step and looks down at us as he waits for silence. “Your big moment. Your final assignment. What happens over the course of the next few days will determine the direction your life takes after graduation.” His eyes move from one trainee to the next. “Remember that you can receive bonus points for completing the assignment and returning safely before Friday, but that doesn’t mean you should rush it.” His gaze stops on Dale. “You’ll likely make a stupid mistake and lose points instead.” He claps his hands together. “So, good luck, and off you go.”

  Noise fills the foyer as trainees and mentors say goodbye and begin writing doorways on walls and the floor.

  “I know you can do this,” Tora says, pulling me into a tight hug. “But remember to be careful.”

  “Always,” I say. “And try not to get struck by magical bolts of lightning while I’m gone.”

  Tora steps back. “Don’t worry about the storm. We’re all going to be—”

  “Oh, for the love of all things Seelie,” Ryn says. He opens a doorway in the air, grabs my arm, and pulls me in after him.

  “Hey! I was still saying goodbye.”

  “No, you were wasting time. Now keep your mind blank; I’m trying to direct the paths.”

  I bite back a retort and try to think of nothing. The darkness melts away, and Ryn and I find ourselves standing in bright sunlight on a perfectly manicured lawn. Looking across the expanse of grass, I see the Harts’ home. It’s far bigger than I expected, and everything seems to be white and glass. White walls and pillars, square angles everywhere, and glass from floor to ceiling in just about every room. A wooden deck stretches across the side of the house, looking out over the garden. Umbrellas and loungers are arranged around a swimming pool with sparkling turquoise water that disappears over one side of the deck. All in all, it seems an obscene amount of space for two people to live in.

  “Flip,” Ryn says. “I thought our mentors said this assignment was b
oring.”

  “Well, that was probably because we didn’t get to go to Egypt or Thailand or somewhere equally exotic like everyone else in our class.”

  “But they’re probably staying in a shack in Thailand. This looks like it belongs on the cover of a property magazine.”

  I look at him. “What do you know about property magazines?”

  “I read.”

  “While on assignment?”

  “Of course. It gets boring waiting for the bad guys to show up.”

  I shake my head and turn my gaze back to the house. “Okay. Day one: observation. Let’s get inside there and assess the situation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ryn says. Before I can take a step forward, he pulls me into a doorway in the air, and a second later we’re standing on the deck.

  I shake his hand off my arm. “I wish you’d stop doing that. It would have taken us, what? Fifteen seconds to walk up here? But no, you always have to show off by opening doorways in the air.”

  Ryn leans toward me with a grin and whispers, “Jealous.” He walks past me and through an open sliding door. I take a deep remember-you’re-supposed-to-be-friends-now breath and follow him.

  “Are you glamoured?” I ask. “We don’t want anyone seeing us now.”

  “I should be asking you that,” he says with a glance over his shoulder at me. “Of the two of us, you’re the only one who’s broken that rule.”

  “I did not break that rule,” I say with a huff. “He just happened to be able to see through my glamour.”

  “Speaking of halfling boy,” Ryn says as we walk past a white lounge suite that looks as though no one’s backside has ever graced it, “what’s he up to these days? Heard anything from him since he decided to hand you over to the Unseelie Court?”

  I pick up a strange elephant statue and pretend to examine it. “No comment.”

  We wander through the house, taking our time. Every room is perfect, not a cushion or tall-stemmed flower out of place. Even the art on the walls and the framed black and white family photos are perfectly in line. It’s hard to imagine anyone lives here.

  We come to a circular stairway leading both up and down. Ryn decides to go down, so I follow him. We may as well see everything together.

  “Ah, looks like we’ve found the fun part of the house,” Ryn says as we enter a room decidedly less tidy than the rooms upstairs. A pool table fills half the room, and squishy grey couches are arranged in the other half. The table between the couches is covered in junk food and DVDs.

  “Hey, Pixie Sticks,” Ryn says. “Look here.” He holds up a long, pink straw, sealed at both ends, and shakes it. “Someone who can’t spell named a candy after you.”

  “Look here.” I grab a DVD off the table. “Someone with no imagination named a movie after you.”

  He stares at the cover. “Dumb and Dumber? Ha! You need to try harder than that, V.”

  I throw the DVD back onto the pile and sigh. “I’m having an off day.” I start climbing the stairs, leaving Ryn to roll a ball across the pool table.

  I follow the smell of bacon and coffee and find the kitchen, a spotless room where every appliance seems to be from a matching set and every surface is free of fingerprints. A young woman in an apron hums quietly to herself as she prepares a meal.

  “A bit late for breakfast, isn’t it?” I say to Ryn as he walks into the kitchen behind me.

  “Not when you don’t have to be at work early in the morning. Man, these guys must have the latest in every kind of human technology.” He leans in to take a closer look at the computer screen on the front of the fridge. “Their TV must be amazing.”

  “You watch television on assignment too?” I demand, putting my hands on my hips.

  “Yeah, you should try it, V. There are some highly addictive series out there.”

  “Ryn! We’re supposed to be protecting humans when we’re on assignment, not hanging out in front of their televisions.”

  “And how about if I’m not on assignment? Can I do it then?” He trails his hand over a marble countertop while watching me. I glare back. The woman continues humming, completely unaware of our presence.

  “Cecelia, please bring the sugar,” a man calls from the next room.

  The woman puts down a fork and hurries over to a cupboard, dodging past Ryn—though of course she’ll have no idea why she decided to do that—on her way. She grabs a pretty glass bowl that already has sugar in it. We follow her into a small dining room where a distinguished-looking man is sitting at a rectangular table reading a newspaper. A mug sits on the table in front of him.

  “Here you go, sir,” Cecilia says, placing the sugar bowl near a collection of jars already on the table. “I’m sorry I forgot to put it out.”

  “Not a problem,” the man says, barely glancing up from his newspaper as Cecilia returns to the kitchen.

  “And this must be Mr. Hart himself,” Ryn says, leaning over the man’s shoulder to get a closer look at the article he’s reading.

  “What on earth?” Mr. Hart drops the newspaper and jumps up, knocking his chair to the floor in the process. Ryn stumbles backward into me, clearly horrified that this man can see us.

  “Oh crap,” I mutter. “Not a good start.”

  “P-please,” Mr. Hart stutters, backing away from us. “Not now.”

  I’m about to reassure him when I feel a tug on my arm, and, for the third time today, I find myself pulled into a doorway in the air.

  “What the flipping hell was that?” Ryn demands when we step out behind a tree in the Harts’ garden.

  “Well, obviously he can see us.”

  “Yes, Violet, I gathered that. But why? He’s human.”

  I shake my head. “This had better not be another Nate case. I don’t want to deal with more halflings.”

  “Do you think we’ll be accused of breaking rule number two now?” Ryn asks as he runs a hand through his hair.

  “Probably not. That man already knows about faeries, and not because of us.”

  “I guess so. But how are we supposed to observe him if he can see us?”

  “Um …” I twist a strand of hair around my finger while thinking. “Okay, what if we take the faerie paths back to the dining room, but instead of opening a full doorway, we open a space that’s just large enough to peek through?”

  Ryn looks at me like I’m stupid. “So instead of two faeries in his dining room, he’ll see an eyeball floating in midair? Wow. Brilliant.”

  “Obviously I’d try to be as inconspicuous as possible.” When Ryn doesn’t say anything, I add, “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Fine. We can try it.”

  I open a new doorway. We walk through while I think about the curtain in the room Mr. Hart is sitting in. Hopefully my floating eyeball will be less obvious against the pattern of the fabric. The darkness in front of us begins to dissolve away, but I catch the opening with my fingers, pinching the edge and closing it back up until there’s only a small opening. I look through it.

  “Well, this is great,” Ryn says beside me. “I can’t see a thing now.”

  I widen the opening with my fingers until it stretches in front of Ryn’s face, then I close up the space between us so that two separate openings exist. “Happy now?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  I put my eye to the tiny window and see Cecelia place a mug on the table in front of Mr. Hart. “Thank you,” he says as he straightens the pages of his newspaper. “I’m sorry I was so clumsy with the first one.”

  She bobs her head and leaves the room. Mr. Hart glances around nervously, then pulls a phone from his pocket. He jabs a few buttons before bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello? David?” he says after several seconds. “It’s happened again. Two of them just appeared right here in the breakfast room.” He pauses. “Yes, faeries! What else would I be talking about? You haven’t forgotten our last few conversations, have you?” Another pause. “No, your mother doesn’t know anything. I don’t want to alarm her. B
ut listen—” his eyes dart around the room “—we’re entertaining tomorrow night. Please come. I desperately need to—” He breaks off as a woman with a phone at her ear enters the room. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He slides the phone back into his pocket and clears his throat as he reaches once more for his newspaper.

  “We’re fortunate to see quite a lot of them,” the woman says into her phone as she pulls out a chair and sits down. “They’re actually staying with us at the moment while my son and daughter-in-law are overseas.” The woman’s skin appears flushed, and her hair, which is tied tightly on top of her head, is a deep shade of auburn that can’t possibly be natural given her age. She’s barefoot and wearing workout clothes. She leans back in her seat as Cecilia places a bowl of fruit salad in front of her. “Oh, no, they’re older than that now. Grace is thirteen and Jamie is eight. Mm hmm. Yes. Yes, we really must, it’s been so long since I saw you.” She looks at her husband and rolls her eyes. “Okay, goodbye now. Bye.” She drops the phone onto the table with an exasperated sigh.

  Mr. Hart, who has regained his composure since his wife entered the room, says, “Something wrong, dear?”

  “That woman!” Mrs. Hart picks up her spoon. “I don’t know why she keeps pretending we have anything in common anymore. I’m just going to have to ‘forget’ once again to make a plan to see her.” She spoons some fruit into her mouth. “Are Grace and Jamie up yet?”

  “I haven’t seen them this morning,” Mr. Hart says. He puts his newspaper down and reaches for his mug.

  I pull my eye away from the hole and look over at Ryn. “Aren’t children supposed to be at school at this time of day?”

  “Maybe they’re on holiday.”

  I return my gaze to the window and hear Mrs. Hart asking, “Who were you talking to when I walked into the room?”

  “Oh, that was David.” Mr. Hart takes a sip from his mug and disappears behind his newspaper.

  “David? You’ve been talking to him a lot in the past few days. Is something going on?”

  Mr. Hart lowers the crinkled pages just enough to look at his wife over the top. “Of course not, dear. Can’t I have a simple conversation with my son?”