Masquerade (Creepy Hollow, #4) Page 7

  “What? Ryn, we can’t leave you—”

  “Go! You’re exhausted, Vi. I’m not. I can do this.” He focuses his attention forward, his eyes narrowed.

  “Ryn, he’ll kill you. It’s us he wants, not you.” Without looking away from Zell, Ryn pushes me backward. I stumble on my heeled boots, losing hold of my shield as I catch myself against the wall.

  “Go!” he yells once more.

  I grab Calla’s hand and run.

  I sneak Calla out of the kitchen door and into the gardens. Wisps of cloud move slowly across the moon, but the stars are bright, and it’s light enough for us to see our way. “Do you have one of those metal bands on your ankle?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “They were still making a small one for me.”

  “Okay, so you have to be very careful not you use any magic, all right?”

  “I—I’ll try.”

  We creep along in silence while I try to figure out what to do next. When we round a corner and come upon a row of carriages and those long black cars with the stretched middle part, it seems to me that the best way out of here is probably the same way we came in.

  I open the back door of the nearest car and Calla climbs inside. I get in after her and close the door as quietly as I can. The light inside the car fades out, but not before I notice the dark patch of blood along the bottom of Calla’s nightdress. “You’re hurt,” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m not,” she says. “It isn’t my blood. I . . . I did something bad.” I can just make out the tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, flip. What am I supposed to do with a crying child? I have no idea what to say! Her lip starts wobbling. “Is Ryn going to die?”

  “What? No, of course not.” I take Calla’s small hand in my own. “He’s a really good fighter. He’ll get out of there.” He damn well better get out of there.

  “But we just left him with that bad man.”

  “Yeah, we did . . .” Something I’m feeling intensely guilty about. It’s not what I’ve been trained to do. Guardians fight together. “But I can’t leave you alone, Calla.”

  “What if I promise to stay right here? Will you go back and get him?” Her gold eyes beg me.

  “Okay,” I say. I’ve barely got any energy left, but I agree with Calla. We can’t just leave Ryn down there.

  I climb out the car and head back to the kitchen. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I should have just hidden Calla outside and gone back to the dungeon immediately. Ryn could be dead by now because I wasn’t there to help him.

  I’m almost at the kitchen door when a shape detaches itself from the shadows and staggers toward me. I form a fist, pull my arm back, and—

  “It’s me,” says Ryn.

  “Jeez, Ryn. How about you say that before you come lurching out of the shadows like some kind of zombie.”

  “Why aren’t you . . . gone?” He stumbles like a drunk person.

  “Why do you think, idiot? I came back for—Whoa.” I catch him as he sags against me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Glass,” he says. “In my . . . back.”

  I hold onto his arm and turn him. Moonlight glints off the shards of glass protruding from his back. “Seriously, Ryn? Did you have to go and get yourself shot with poison?”

  “I was trying to . . . piss you . . . off.”

  “Well, congratulations. You succeeded.” I half drag him to the car, not allowing myself to panic yet.

  Calla opens the door. I try to get Ryn inside, but he collapses before he’s all the way in. I climb over him, grab his arms, and pull. Calla gets his legs inside, pulling one of his shoes off in the process. She closes the door—a little too loudly for my liking. “What happened?” she whimpers. “What’s wrong with him?”

  The light fades out again. “Dammit, why won’t that stay on?” I put my hands over the light and feel around until I find a switch. When I can see again, I sit down, pop open the compartment at the bottom of my shoe, and take out my miniature emergency kit. And then I remember that in order to enlarge it I have to use magic, which will set off that blasted alarm. I press my lips together to stop myself from swearing out loud.

  I breathe in deeply, noticing the smell of stale cigarette smoke. “He’s been poisoned,” I tell Calla. “See the glass in his back? It’s got poison on it. And I basically can’t do a thing without magic. I can’t send my own power into his body to help him, and I can’t use anything from my emergency kit because it’s currently the size of an acorn. I guess I could wrap fabric around my fingers and try to remove the pieces of glass, but the poison—”

  The car door opens. A man with a weird hat pokes his chubby face in. “What is going on in here?” Before I can get across Ryn’s body to knock the man out, Calla grabs Ryn’s shoe and whacks the man on the head. He jerks away with a cry. I jump out after him and force him—with some difficulty—into the front seat.

  I whip my stylus out of my boot and point it at him in a manner that’s meant to be threatening. “Are you the driver of this thing?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “Well then.” I press the stylus against his thick neck. “Drive.”

  “Y—you can’t hurt me,” he stammers. “I know you can’t use magic here. There’s a—an alarm or something.”

  “You think magic is the only thing I can do with this stick?” I lean close to his ear. “Trust me. Things are going to get extremely uncomfortable for you if you don’t do exactly what I say.” He swallows, does something with a key near the steering wheel, and the car purrs to life. We follow the paved path to the front of the house, around the circle, and down the driveway. The gate is open, but one of the guards stands in front of it. He holds a hand up.

  “Slow down,” I tell the driver. “Slower . . . slower . . .” We’re almost at the gate. The guard, looking bored, moves toward the driver’s window. “Now go!” I slide back in the seat as the car jumps forward and passes beneath the glare of the stone dragons.

  We’re free!

  “Keep going. Don’t slow down unless you want to feel pain.” I write a doorway onto the window and climb through it, arriving a second later in the back seat of the car. Calla is holding Ryn’s arm to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Without warning, he sits up and pulls her into a hug. I suck in a breath of surprise. But then his form flickers and he’s lying on the floor of the car again.

  Calla’s eyes meet mine. “I—I’m sorry. That was me.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That was certainly weird. “Um . . . you keep holding onto that arm, and I’ll take this one.” I grip Ryn’s lifeless hand, then open a doorway on the floor near his feet. I widen it so that three of us can fit through. “Okay, come around this side.” She moves, never letting go of Ryn’s hand. “Now we’re going to jump in at the same time and pull him with us. Ready? One, two, three!”

  We disappear into the darkness. I focus my mind on the largest couch in my sitting room, and a moment later all three of us bounce onto it. Calla topples off, and Ryn’s legs stick over the end in what would most definitely be an uncomfortable position if he were awake to feel it. I push the table out of the way and drag him onto the floor, making sure to keep him on his stomach so the glass doesn’t press into his back.

  “All right, Calla.” I remove my emergency kit from my shoe and transform it back to its normal size. “You need to stop crying so you can help me, okay?” She nods, but looks terrified. “You see these?” I hold up a bottle of flat green squares no larger than my pinkie nail. “You need to put one on his tongue every few minutes. They’re going to speed up his body’s healing process.” They won’t do the job nearly as well as my own magic would, but I don’t have much to give him right now, and Calla needs something to focus on to keep her calm. After emptying some of the squares onto my palm, I pass the battle to her.

  I fish around in my kit and find a small tweezer. While Calla seats herself by Ryn’s head, I set about the painstaking task of removing the shards of glass. A
fter every few pieces, I pop a green square into my mouth and let it dissolve on my tongue.

  When I’ve finally removed every piece of glass I can see, Calla has fallen asleep, and my body has begun to replenish its store of magic. Time to share. I remove Ryn’s jacket with difficulty. When I get to his shirt, I don’t bother. I slide my finger from his neck down to the bottom of his spine, neatly slicing his shirt open. Pulling the pieces of fabric aside, I see numerous blue-tinged wounds covering his back. I gently place my hands over his skin, take a deep breath, and try to relax. I also try not to think about the last time I did this—for Nate. He must have already decided to betray me at that point.

  Pushing aside my anger and hurt, I concentrate. I can feel the magic leaving my body, like trails of rainwater escaping off the tips of leaves. Slowly, the blue fades away and the wounds begin to seal themselves up. I don’t stop until I’ve almost completely exhausted myself.

  I remove my hands. Ryn’s back seems perfectly healed, but I don’t know what’s going on inside him. I can’t do any more though. With an enormous yawn, I collapse onto the floor beside him and fall asleep.

  *

  There is a bird chirping in my ear. A really irritating bird. I swat sleepily at it, knowing it’s only Filigree in one of his most annoying forms: the I-will-chirp-at-you-until-you-wake-up form. I try to turn over and find myself lying on a hard surface. That’s when I remember what happened the night before.

  I sit up and run a hand through my hair. I feel like I’ve only been asleep a few hours. Looking around, I find Ryn sitting up against one of the couches. He’s watching Calla as she sleeps. He also happens to be shirtless. “Whoa, this isn’t the Training Center, you know,” I tell him. “There’s a certain level of clothing etiquette in this house, and you’re currently violating it.”

  He reaches for his jacket. “I believe you’re the one who tore my clothes off in the first place, and now you’re complaining?”

  “Trust me, there was no tearing involved. You’ll have to get that fantasy fulfilled somewhere else.”

  Instead of a quick comeback, he stares at me until I begin to feel uncomfortable. I look at Calla instead. “So . . . how did you get her out of that cage?”

  “With magic. I heard you and Zell attempting to blast each other apart and realized there was no alarm in the dungeon. I just drew the cage over to the edge of the water and forced it open. It was pretty easy.” He stands up and puts the jacket on. “Well, I’d better get her back to my father. Can you take care of the Council stuff? You know, telling them what we saw?”

  “Uh, yes. Of course.”

  He carefully lifts Calla into his arms and walks to the wall. “And V?” I look up. He hesitates, then, with more sincerity than I would ever have thought possible for him, he says, “Thank you. I mean it.”

  *

  The head of the Guild Council, a stern woman with steel grey eyes that—unfortunately for her—match the grey in her white-blonde hair, leans back in her chair and crosses one leg over the other. “So let me get this straight.” She tucks a stray wisp of hair back into her bun. “You snuck into the home of the youngest Unseelie prince, you found your way to his dungeon where you saw people locked up in giant bird cages, you rescued Mr Larkenwood’s younger sister, and the three of you escaped unharmed.”

  Well, not entirely unharmed, but I didn’t think it was necessary to tell her about Ryn’s experience with the poisoned glass. “I know it sounds far-fetched, Councilor Starkweather, but please, you have to believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you, all right. The Unseelie prince has been under investigation for quite some time. Do you have any proof though? Because without proof, it will be very difficult to take further action.”

  “Only this.” I hand over the folded papers I stuffed into my boot the night before. “I can’t prove that I got them at Zell’s home, but perhaps some of the names written there will help you. Or maybe you have a sample of Zell’s handwriting that you can match these pages to.”

  “Hmm.” She unfolds the first page and scans it. “Well, it’s better than nothing. Thank you.”

  I push my chair back and stand.

  “One more thing, Miss Fairdale.” She rises and looks directly into my eyes. “You are not to speak of this to anyone, do you understand? Not even your mentor. Please pass the message on to Mr Larkenwood, after which I do not want either of you to even think of the matter again. We now know there is at least one spy within the Guild, and we cannot afford for information to fall into the wrong hands. This is a matter for the Council to deal with.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand.” I turn to leave.

  “And another thing.” She waits until I’m looking at her once more. “The Guild does not approve of trainees—or fully trained guardians, for that matter—conducting their own private missions. I understand Mr Larkenwood’s desperation to find his sister, but he should have come to the Guild with his information. Please tell him to come and see me during the week.”

  I leave Councilor Starkweathers’s office with a smile on my face. I’m looking forward to the conversation with Ryn in which I get to say ‘I told you so’.

  I head down to the training level where the lockers are located. Most fifth years haven’t used their lockers since lessons ended for us a few months ago, but my locker is where Uri delivers the occasional extra potions I ask for. I write my code onto the metal surface with my stylus and pull it open. My heart flutters uncomfortably when I see the small brown envelope.

  I tear it open and turn it upside down over my palm. The same vial with the word Forget on the side rolls out. The color is different though; instead of being clear, the potion now has a pink tinge. I slip my fingers inside the envelope and pull out a note covered in Uri’s awkward and untidy handwriting.

  What you asked of me is very complicated. I have tried my best to concoct a potion that will allow you to forget your feelings for a specific person, but I have never done that before, and obviously have no way of testing the final potion. I strongly suggest that you do not take it. Please consider my advice.

  I fill the pool in my bathing room with multicolored bubbles. The orange ones smell like peach, the pink ones like raspberry, and the green ones like lime. The green bubbles are my least favorite, the ones I pop first while soaking in the water and mulling over Uri’s note.

  I want to forget the hurt Nate has caused me. Of course I do. But if Uri isn’t sure of what he’s created, then it’s probably a bad idea to take the potion. I certainly don’t want to wind up with some nasty side effect, like a third arm or a heart of stone. But . . .

  Ugh, I hate this!

  I slap at a few bubbles that have drifted into the air, wishing I could slap Nate instead. Every time I think of him, every time I remember Scarlett whispering into his ear, I feel a physical pain tightening my insides. It was easy enough to forget while I was fighting for my life in Zell’s dungeon, but that’s over. There’s nothing now but training, our final assignment, graduation, and whatever comes after that.

  I cross my arms on the edge of the pool and rest my chin on them. I stare at the tiny vial balanced on the stone a short distance from my head. I should just take the potion and deal with whatever the consequences may be. Perhaps if I’m lucky, I won’t even wake up after taking it.

  “No,” I tell myself out loud. I lean out of the water, grab the vial, and toss it into the emergency kit sitting open by the doorway. “Stop being utterly pathetic. You’ve killed monsters. You’ve fought evil faeries. You can certainly handle a few hurt feelings.”

  Filigree, curled up in snow leopard form in the grass at the edge of the room, raises his head and gives me a quizzical look.

  “Never mind me,” I mutter as I slide back into the water. “Just talking to myself again.”

  I climb out of the pool once I’ve popped most of the large bubbles. The rest disappear with a flick of my hand and a few whispered words. After putting some clothes on, I sit on one of the roc
ks and conjure up some hot air. As I run my fingers through my damp hair, I wonder if Tora is back yet and whether I can convince her to give me an extra assignment tomorrow. I need to make up for whatever I missed in the past week.

  I wander back into my room while sifting through my emergency kit. Nothing seems to be broken from the vial I threw in just now. I close it up and leave it on my dresser.

  “I was right.”

  In shock, I swivel around. Ryn is lying on my bed, one hand behind his head, the other holding one of my poetry books open. “‘The colors and the lights that glow, the music and the masks. The people swaying to and fro in the enchanted dance’. By A. R. Thorntree.” He snaps the book shut and lets out a contented sigh. “I love it when you’re wrong.”

  “How did you get in here?” I demand.

  He flexes his fingers and grins. “I have skills.”

  I cross my arms. “You have skills that outweigh centuries-old protective magic?”

  “Fine. My skills aren’t that good.” He puts both hands behind his head. “You gave me access, remember?”

  “Uh, no. I certainly don’t remember giving you, of all people, access to my home.”

  “It was a long time ago. You got tired of always having to come down the stairs to let me in. And after you gave me access we never spoke about it again, because it was, after all, against the rules, and your dad would have flipped if he found out.” I stare at him. That does ring a very tiny bell in the back of my mind. “Didn’t you notice you didn’t have to let me in yesterday when I came back with your ‘borrowed’ dress?”

  Crap, how did I miss that? I’m a guardian, I’m supposed to notice everything. Speaking of which . . . I abruptly become aware of the fact that I’m wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. I grab the nearest object—my empty training bag—and hold it in front of my legs.

  “Oh, relax,” says Ryn. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”