A Faerie's Secret (Creepy Hollow Book 4) (9 page)

I’m proven correct as the tunnel curves and widens, and a wooden cart, its contents covered by a blanket, comes into view. It’s pushed by a tall elf dressed in tight green pants and a green waistcoat. He slows when he sees me, but soon regains his speed. His eyes remain trained on me as we draw near to one another. His eyebrows—pierced with a row of silver rings—draw together.

As we pass each other, I point my eyes forward and tell myself not to run. That would look suspicious. I quicken my pace slightly, but keep it to a walking speed.
Don’t panic. Don’t run. Nothing is wrong.

The rattling of the cart stops.

A shiver runs up my arms. Why has the elf stopped? Is he watching me? Is he coming after me? I long to look over my shoulder, but I don’t want it to appear as though I have anything to be concerned about.

Keep walking. Keep walking, keep walking.

The cart rattle starts up again. I risk a glance over my shoulder. The elf and his cart are moving in the opposite direction. A few moments later, they disappear around a curve in the tunnel.

I release my anxiety in a long, slow breath. Then I remove my stylus from my boot and prepare to alter my outfit. I’m certainly no clothes caster, but I know a few basic spells from an introductory course I took at Ellinhart. In my first year there, I tried out everything from painting, drawing and sculpting to fashion design, interior design and architecture. I almost failed the architecture section, but fashion design was fun.

I remove my boots, then run my stylus from the bottom of my pants all the way to the top of my thighs, watching the fabric disappear until I’m wearing shorts that are shorter than anything my mother would approve of. With another couple of spells written across my clothing, the shorts become bright blue and the tank top becomes the peachy pink of an early morning sky. I ruffle my hair up, pull my boots back on, and get moving down the tunnel. When I pass two reptiscillan girls, neither gives me more than a disinterested glance.

After another few minutes of walking, the tunnel widens before coming to an intricately carved stone archway. Curling letters painted onto the top of the stone structure spell the words
Sivvyn Quarter
. Beyond that, the tunnel forks into three separate lanes. With no indication of which one might be the best option, I choose the middle lane.

Glowing stone tiles continue to light the way as I walk. I pass a door on the left, and then another on the right. Presumably these doors lead into homes, but how am I supposed to break in? And what if I find someone on the other side? Am I supposed to grab something and run? I place my ear against the next door I come across and hear voices within. I move on. The next home I come to is silent, but I can’t bring myself to attempt anything. Breaking in just
isn’t right
. How can Saskia and Blaze expect me to do this? I continue along the tunnel, trying to figure out what to do.

And then I smell it. Sharp but familiar, it makes me feel instantly at home. It’s the smell of the art studio back at Ellinhart where I spent many hours on my own, absorbed in my work. It’s the smell of our living room every time I brought home a newly finished canvas.

Paint.

Different kinds, their scents mingling together in the air. I stop beside the only door in the vicinity and listen. No sound comes from within. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to just sneak in, grab a paintbrush, and leave. I carefully try the handle, but, as I expected, the door doesn’t open. I try the simple spell for turning a lock, but nothing happens. Obviously an enchantment to prevent tampering. I place my hands on my hips and stare at the door as I consider what to try next. As far as I know, only glamoured faerie homes are protected against unauthorized entrance via the faerie paths. After all, only faeries can travel that way. Which means if I could just
see
what’s on the other side of this door, I could get to it.

I crouch down and peer through the keyhole. In the dim light, I can make out the arm of a couch along with the blue and brown striped cushion leaning against it. I can’t see much else, but that’s all I need. I open a faerie paths doorway on the door itself and walk into the darkness. It closes up behind me while I imagine the room. I picture it
right here
, only feet away from me. I look down, imagine the striped cushion beneath me, and will the faerie paths to open. Light appears below my feet. I drop out of the darkness and bounce onto the couch.

Well, that was surprisingly easy.

I stand and look around the cosy living room. The source of the dim light is a tall lamp in the corner of the room, covered by an old-fashioned lampshade with tassels hanging from its scalloped edge. The furniture looks just as old, as does the rug on the floor. This is probably the home of some old lady. The artwork, however, seems out of place here. Canvases drenched in streaks of bright color fill the room. Some are hanging, while others lean against the walls. A blazing sunset; rainbow-tinted spray rising from a waterfall; a woman wandering across clouds of pink, orange and mauve; sprites dancing in the rain. I drink in their beauty, thinking I could stare at them forever. They’re so much better than anything I’ve ever done. So much more
alive
.

Surprisingly, the paint smell is far less noticeable inside here. When I see the large nimph lily sitting on a low table in the corner, it makes sense. Nimph petals absorb odors in the surrounding air while giving off a fresh scent. They’re collected by faeries in the exotic province of Driya and enchanted to remain alive. My second-year painting teacher had one in her office at Ellinhart.

Focus, Calla.

Right. I’m here to take something and leave. I blink and look around with renewed purpose. An old writing desk standing against one of the walls is covered in small items that should be easy to take. Jars of different colored pencils, reed paper scrolls, several books, a strange device that looks like a metal pen with coils, springs and screws attached to it, and a miniature ship sailing on an enchanted stormy sea inside a glass bottle. Small note-sized pages with quick pencil doodles litter the desk, and an unfinished charcoal drawing of a horse sits to one side.

Then my gaze alights on something I recognize: a bronze bangle covered in green gems and clockwork cogs and gears. A bronze bangle I saw in Councilor Merrydale’s office just this morning. A fake, Councilor Bouchard had called it. An exact replica, the annoyed woman had told him. Which means that the bangle on the table in front of me, the bangle with stones that shimmer like hot coals in a green fire, is the real thing.

“No way,” I murmur, my heart picking up speed as excitement races through me. Is it possible I can complete Saskia’s silly initiation
and
retrieve an important artifact that was stolen from the Guild—all in one night?

I hear a click from the door behind me.

Shoot!

I grab the bangle and spin around as the door handle turns. I have to hide—or extinguish the light—or open a doorway back to the—

Too late. The door swings open, and instead of a reptiscilla or a dwarf or any of the strange halfling creatures I might have expected to find down here, in walks a faerie. A rather good-looking one at that. His eyes are pale but bright, and they land on me immediately. He frowns. His hand tenses on the jacket slung over his shoulder, and his gaze darts around the room before returning to me.

“Who are you?”

A valid question, and one I’m entirely unprepared to answer. The hand hiding behind my back clenches the bangle. I wonder how quickly I can get my stylus out of my boot and open a doorway. “I’m … an admirer of your art.”

“I see.” Slowly, and without removing his eyes from me, he closes the door behind him.

Damn, that’s not good.

He takes two steps forward and drapes his jacket over the back of an armchair. As he crosses his arms, I notice the dark outline of a phoenix tattooed across his upper right arm. A twisting vine of thorns snakes down his left arm.

“Why do you look familiar?” he asks, snapping my attention away from his body art and back to the fact that I’ve just been caught breaking into his home.

“Familiar?” I laugh, attempting to make it sound carefree rather than panicked. “Have you met many gold faeries?”

“No,” he says. “I haven’t.”

My hand twitches, preparing to dive for my stylus. Something tells me I won’t be able to reach it before he reaches me, though. Which means I’ll have to fight my way out of here. Or put up a shield strong enough to hold him back while I open a doorway. Or … the other option. My secret weapon.

“How did you get in here? The door has some powerful protection on it.”

“I guess I’m just that good,” I say as I begin drawing power from deep within me. The simplest way out of here is with a shield. I just need a few moments to gather a sufficient amount of power to make it a strong one.

The man looks amused. “Just that good, huh? I doubt it. You’re a faerie, which means the most likely way you got in here is through the faerie paths. But this home has no name or number for you to whisper to the paths, and I’ve taken great care to make sure there are only two other people who know what the inside of it looks like. So how did you get in?”

If I wasn’t in such a dangerous situation, I’d probably roll my eyes. This guy thinks he so clever, yet it took me less than a minute to get in here. “You might want to block your keyhole,” I tell him.

“It is blocked. No magic can get through it.”

“Well, I guess you forgot about light.” And with that, I throw up my arm and raise a shield of invisible magic between us. Still gripping the bangle in one hand, I drop down, retrieve my stylus, and—

A wave of power knocks me backward. I crash into the desk chair before landing on the floor. My shield is gone, the man is striding past the couch toward me, and I’m blinking in confusion. How the freak did he call upon so much power so quickly?

He’s only feet away from me when my recent training kicks in. I grab a throwing star from the air—which, miraculously, is there the second I need it—and throw it at him. It nicks his arm as he dodges to the side. I scramble to my feet and launch myself over the couch. I run for the door, but nothing happens when I twist the handle.

“Not only an
art admirer
, but a guardian and a thief as well,” the man says.

Knowing now that there’s only one way out of this, I spin around—and let go of my mental wall.

It crumbles into imaginary dust as I focus hard on showing this guy exactly what I want him to see. I picture a dragon breaking through the door behind me. In my mind’s eye, I see the dragon’s powerful talons rip the door apart and fling it to the side, knocking me out of the way in the process. The dragon lumbers into the room, letting loose scorching flames. It grows larger and larger until its head brushes the ceiling and all the furniture in the room is not only burning, but crushed against the walls. The man jumps out of the way and flattens his body against the wall. He holds his hand up, probably to do some kind of magic that will have no effect whatsoever on the imaginary dragon, while edging toward the splintered, burning remains of the door.

With his attention no longer focused on me—at least, not the real me—I can safely get out of here. I turn and hold my stylus up to the door. Gritting my teeth and breathing hard against the effort of holding together such a detailed scene in my mind, I quickly write the words to open a doorway. I step into it and wait for the darkness to close up behind me before finally releasing the image of the dragon and the destroyed living room. Weariness tugs at the edges of my mind, but I can’t give in to it just yet.

I push the bangle onto my left arm and think of Club Deviant. Since I have no image to hold onto, I repeat the words in my mind until the darkness ahead of me lifts and the silence pressing against my ears gives way suddenly to a hammering beat and a magically enhanced repeating melody. Just outside the faerie paths, fae of all kinds dance and sway beneath a lingering haze of sweet smoke.

Don’t hesitate. Be confident. Pretend you belong here.

I push the bangle further up my arm and walk into the club. It isn’t as packed as the few clubs I visited back at the beginning of my Ellinhart schooling when I still had some friends. I don’t even have to push past anyone to get to the bar area. I perch on a stool and look around for Saskia and Blaze. They’re not at the bar, and I don’t see them on the dance floor. Darkened booths line one side of the club, but something tells me I probably don’t want to take a closer look into any of them.

A reptiscillan man leaning against the other end of the bar seems to be watching me. Or is it someone behind me? Not wanting to encourage him, I avert my eyes and angle my body away from him. I eye the bottles of varying shapes, sizes and colors behind the bar. Should I order a drink? How long do I need to wait for Saskia before I can call an end to this initiation thing? Surely I’ve proved myself by now. She’ll be able to see from the tracker band that I broke into someone’s home, took an item, and—

Oh, shoot.

I projected while wearing a tracker band.

No! How could I be so stupid? I stuff my hands beneath the bar’s counter, as if that might hide the evidence that’s wrapped around my wrist. Then I pause in my panic. Exactly what information will show up on the tracker band? When Saskia and Blaze hold it under a replay device, they shouldn’t be able to see the dragon. After all, the dragon was never there. So instead they’ll see a guy who suddenly began fighting off nothing, and that’ll only serve to fuel the rumors that I can somehow make people crazy.

Fantastic. So I’ll still be an outcast, but at least I won’t be on the Griffin List. Unless … what if a mentor sees what’s on the tracker band? What if a Councilor sees it? What if everyone at the Guild starts to think I have a special ability to make people go insane, and I wind up on the Griffin List anyway?

Stop panicking!

The solution is simple. Take the tracker band off and destroy it. That way no one will ever—