A Faerie's Curse

Chapter 11

Eleven

An hour or so later, I’m curled in a dark corner of the lake house living room, tears continuing to wet my cheeks like a tap that can’t be turned off. I haven’t been back into the mountain. I can’t face explaining what’s happened and having to tell everyone that our one chance of finding a way to the Seelie Court has slipped away. But Chase … it’s easier to explain to him because I don’t have to say a word. So as he wakes up in his dark cell and calls my name, I shrink further into my dark corner and let every agonizing thought pour out of my mind and into his.

I wish I could be there for you, he says when I’m done. I wish I could hold you and kiss your hair and tell you that I understand the kind of pain you’re in.

I shake my head because as much as I wish for it too, I know I don’t deserve any comfort. My brother has always done everything he can for me—even risked his life for me—and how have I repaid him? By getting his daughter killed. He will never, ever forgive me for this.

He will. It might not be for a while, but one day he—

He won’t. And he shouldn’t. This isn’t something I should ever be forgiven for.

Don’t say that. You’re not the one who did this.

I may as well have been!

Stop it. You can’t hate yourself forever. That only leads to—

YOU STOP IT! I tug the ring off and fling it across the room, which makes me hate myself more. Chase is only trying to help, and now I’ve probably hurt him too. I wipe my tears away, stand up, and fetch the ring from the other side of the room. It sits on my palm for another few moments as I wrestle the beast that stinks of guilt into a cage in the furthest recesses of my mind. Then I return the ring to my pocket.

I stare blindly at the floorboards, my hands balled into fists at my sides as my brain begins to work again. Whether I should hate myself or not is debatable, but there’s someone else I can definitely hate: Zed. He fooled me into thinking he’d done nothing to Victoria. She’s fine, I swear, is what he said. But he was lying. He did something, performed some kind of spell or gave her a potion or cursed her. Something that slowly weakened her and caused her death. He must have had help, though. Zed hasn’t done anything recently without the help of someone more powerful. First he went to Amon, because he knew that Draven’s former right-hand man and spy would hate the Guild just as much as he does. But Amon was locked behind bars and couldn’t help Zed directly, so he must have sent Zed to the witches. I know they were the ones who gave Zed the dragon disease spell, which means they probably helped him with whatever spell caused Victoria’s slow death.

Zed is gone and I have no idea how to find him, but the witches … the witches did this magic, and I know exactly where they are. I might not be able to make Zed pay for what he’s done, but I will make sure those witches regret the day they decided to help him.

I slip into the mountain and arm myself with various weapons before heading Underground. It’s dangerous in these tunnels for a faerie who looks anything like a guardian, but I couldn’t care less. In fact, I welcome the possible danger. Try something, I whisper in my mind to the pair of reptiscillan men who narrow their eyes at me as I pass. To the man in the hood with the glaring red eyes. Just try something. I dare you to. But I make it to the area of the tunnels where Wickedly Inked once was, where the witches now have their store, without incident. I walk boldly up to the entrance—

And find a dark, empty room.

My cry of frustration is almost a snarl. Clearly this isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped, but I refuse to be put off. Someone must know where those two witches went. Someone must have seen or heard something. I begin my search of the wide, winding tunnels, walking into every bar, every shop, every area that doesn’t look like it’s a private residence. I discover nothing, and in several places I end up fighting my way out with the assistance of an illusion. In my current frame of mind, though, I don’t particularly mind. Punching and kicking seem like excellent outlets for my pent-up pain.

Eventually I reach Club Deviant, the place owned by the drakoni man Ryn’s team recently arrested. The drakoni man who knows Zed. He may not be around for me to question, but perhaps whoever’s managing this place now has information I can use. The club is almost empty, given the fact that it’s about midday. A smoky haze still hangs in the air, though. I doubt it ever lifts. I walk to the bar area and take a seat. The elf slouching against the counter behind the bar opens one sleepy eye and looks at me. “Mm?” he grunts.

“I’m here to see whoever’s in charge.”

“I doubt he wants to see you,” the elf says, making an effort to open both eyes so he can trail them down over my body and back up. “Or perhaps he does. Come back tonight and you’ll find out.”

“I’m not coming back tonight. I’m looking for information about a guy named Zed, and I want it now.”

The elf leans forward across the counter, close enough that I can see the glitter sparkling in his sleek black hair. “You want it now? Oh, well if you want it, then of course you can have it. That’s the way the world works, right?”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm.”

With lightning speed, his hand flashes forward and grabs my arm. “And I don’t have time for your faerie entitlement. Think you can walk in here and demand whatever the hell you want? Think again, sweetheart. Nobody—and I mean absolutely nobody—in this club is going to be giving you any information about anything. And before I kick you out of here on your ass, I’ll be teaching you a—”

“What’s going on here?” a sultry voice asks. A feminine hand snakes around the elf’s forearm. His grip on me loosens immediately. He sucks in a breath and tries to move backward, but the woman beside me—the woman I now recognize—yanks him closer. As he leans partway across the bar, gasping for breath, she whispers, “You don’t want any trouble, do you, Lucimar?”

“No, no, of … of course not.” He shakes his head and she releases him. He falls back, clutching at his throat and almost knocking over a row of brightly colored bottles on the back counter.

“You don’t want to be here,” the woman who is part siren tells him.

“I … I don’t want to be here.” He pushes himself away from the counter and staggers down a passage to the back rooms of the club.

The woman swivels on her seat to face me and crosses one leg over the other. Wearing a form-fitting dress, a long coat and heels, she’s as glamorous today as every other time I’ve seen her. “Looking for trouble, Calla?”

“Elizabeth,” I say evenly. “Or is it Scarlett? I never did ask which name I’m supposed to use.”

She lifts one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I answer to both these days.”

“Well, Elizabeth.” I stand. “Yes, I am looking for trouble, and so far I haven’t been able to find it. So while I appreciate you interfering in a situation I was in complete control of, I need to keep searching.”

She laughs as I turn away. “What an amusing way to pass the time. Perhaps I can join your search for trouble. Chase probably doesn’t like the idea of you hunting for it on your own.”

Chase doesn’t know, I admit silently. “Not unless you can help me find a faerie named Zed or the witches who vanished from Underground sometime in the past week.” And if she hasn’t stopped by the mountain yet to offer her assistance with the plan to rescue Chase, then I doubt she’ll want to help me. I don’t play well with others, she once said to Chase.

“Witches?” Elizabeth repeats, pulling a glove onto her bare hand. “Since when are there witches around here? They know they’re not welcome in this part of the world.”

“I don’t know,” I say as I walk away. “I just need to find them.”

“Hey,” she calls after me. “Do you know their names?”

I stop and look back at her. “No.”

She slides off her stool and sashays toward me. “Luckily for you and your trouble hunting, I might still be able to help you.” I follow her out of the club to the dim tunnel where she asks me to tell her where I last saw the witches. When I mention that they had a store down here where they sold their wares, she looks pleased. “If they occupied that space for more than a few hours, they’ll definitely have left traces of their magic.” She tells me to meet her there in half an hour. She vanishes into the faerie paths, and I turn around to wander my way back through the tunnels. I could go straight to the shop through the paths, of course, but then I’d have to wait for Elizabeth. And waiting means I’d have to occupy my mind with something—something that would no doubt be swallowed up by the guilt-beast straining at the cage my mind has locked it in.

I focus intently on everything I see and everyone I pass as I stride along the tunnels. Anything to keep me from giving in to the guilt that wants to consume me. In the end, I arrive at the empty Underground room only a minute or two before Elizabeth. I’ve just finished casting an orb of light when I hear her footsteps outside. I send the light floating up to the ceiling as she stops in the doorway with a book tucked beneath her arm and looks around. “So empty,” she murmurs. “I knew Chase moved out of here after you discovered his true identity. He mentioned a brief and unpleasant encounter with the new occupant of this space, but he forgot to mention it was a witch.”

“It was rather an unpleasant surprise to find those women here,” I say, remembering the day I came to look for Chase.

Elizabeth steps into the room and walks around the edge, running her hand along the stone walls. Near the back of the room, beside a door that leads to a second, smaller room, she pauses, running her fingers through faint grooves I can barely see. “Yes,” she whispers. “They definitely left traces of themselves here.”

She turns back and moves to the center of the room, steps out of her high-heeled shoes, and sits on the floor. Despite her figure-hugging dress, she manages to appear graceful and elegant as she tucks her legs beneath her body. She places the book on the ground in front of her, removes a bejeweled ring from a compartment carved into the back pages, and turns to a specific page. Then she removes a mirror from her coat pocket. “Should I sit?” I ask as she slowly enlarges the mirror, coaxing it to a size large enough to show one’s head and shoulders.

“Yes. Sit there,” she says, waving to the space on the other side of the book. She places the mirror beside it, removes one of her gloves, and puts the ring on. As I sit with my legs crossed beneath me, she begins reading from the book. The words don’t sound like any faerie magic I’ve heard before. They sound … harsher somehow. As she speaks, she waves her arms in sweeping motions toward the walls. Something that looks like dust separates itself from the walls and floats on invisible currents. Streams of this dust curl and dance through the air before arcing down and plunging into the mirror. The mirror itself begins to cloud over. When Elizabeth finishes her spell, a billowing mistiness fills the glass surface.

“If the witches are anywhere near a mirror, they’ll sense that they’re being called,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “As curious as I am to know why you’re so desperate to speak with them, I’ll give you some privacy.” She slips her shoes back on and walks out to the tunnel.

I pick up the mirror and balance it on my crossed legs. The misty surface slowly begins to clear, revealing moving shapes. One shape in particular—the shape of a person—grows larger and becomes still. The background comes into focus first. Endless sand dunes, and in the distance, a structure that looks like a pyramid with a second smaller pyramid sitting atop its apex. When eventually a woman appears, it isn’t the one I expected. Not dark eyes and pointed teeth, but silver hair and a smile I want to tear off with my bare hands.

Angelica.