Calla's Story

Chapter 13

Thirteen

I’m clawing my way through dark water with a serpentine beast chasing me. I can see the edge of the pool, but my arms move in slow motion. The serpent is catching up. I know it; I can sense it. My fingers reach for the edge of the pool, almost there, almost there. They graze the edge—and something bites down on my ankle, tugging me back into the depths. I scream in pain and terror, my voice lost in a stream of bubbles. A hand wraps around my wrist and tugs upward. With a great splash, I’m pulled from the water. As I lie dripping wet on the stone floor, looking up at my rescuer, I realize that this is just another nightmare. With the realization, the pain fades away. The edges of the dream become fuzzy, and the person kneeling beside me comes into focus.

“Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island,” Gaius says quickly. “If you remember nothing else when you wake up, remember that. Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island. Tell Chase.”

I blink at him as he becomes clearer. Why does this part of the dream seem so much more real than everything else? “This is a crazy question,” I say, “but are you real?”

Gaius looks startled. “You’re still asleep. You’re still here.”

“I … I know.”

“Yes, yes, I’m real,” he says hurriedly. “It’s a Griffin Ability. One of the many I’ve been forced to take. They didn’t realize I could use it to travel into dreams. I tried contacting Chase, but he has so much protection around his mind, it’s impossible. I tried others on the team as well, but I don’t know if they heard enough before they woke.”

“This is crazy,” I murmur.

“No!” He grips my hand. “It’s real. I’m real.” He starts to grow fuzzier and smaller, as though I’m being pulled away from him. “Piker’s Inn, Ratafia Island!” he shouts. “Don’t forget when you wake up! Please don’t forget!”

I’m awake before my eyelids open. I sit up, pushing my hair away from my face and rubbing my eyes. This is the real world. This—me sitting on my bed, my blurry eyes focusing on the clock—is real. And yet … the end of that dream felt more real than anything else I’ve ever dreamt. What if it was real? I lean over and pick up my amber and stylus from my bedside table. I stare at the blank amber for several more moments. Then, before I can change my mind, I write Chase a message.

You probably won’t get this, but if you do, and you haven’t found Gaius yet, check Piker’s Inn on Ratafia Island. P.S. I don’t want to hear back from you.

That last bit sounds rather childish, but I send the message anyway. Chances are that Chase won’t even receive it, so there’s no point in agonizing over the wording. I drop the amber onto the bed beside me and rub my temples. Dad will be off to work shortly, if he hasn’t left already, and I’ll be spending another day trapped inside a house that’s beginning to feel smaller and smaller. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday … and now Wednesday. My fifth day under house arrest. I wonder how long it will be before I start feeling claustrophobic inside my own home.

My amber vibrates and pings, and I open my eyes to see a message from Ryn. I pick up the amber and take a closer look.

Eleven more people dead. The Guild is under quarantine. No one here is allowed to leave. Those still at home have been ordered to stay put and restrict contact with family members. I told Vi to return to Kaleidos. She finally agreed for the baby’s sake. She’s staying on her own near the island for another twenty-four hours. When she’s certain she isn’t sick, she’ll go through the shimmer. Will keep you and Dad updated.

With shaking fingers, I pick up my stylus and write, Stay in your office and don’t touch anyone. Don’t you DARE get sick. Then I jump off the bed and rush out of my room, calling Dad’s name. Based on the answering silence, he’s already left for work. I run back into my room and grab a mirror from my desk. I’m about to call him when my amber emits another ping. I lean over the bed and see a message from Perry. My heart plummets as I read his words.

Gemma’s sick. I’m so scared I can’t even think properly. I don’t know what to do.

A shiver of fear races through me. I drop the amber and press my hands to my face. “No,” I murmur. “No, no, no.” This is all spiraling out of control way too quickly. We need a cure NOW, dammit! If eleven more people are dead, then the healers obviously haven’t found one yet, which leaves the witches as the only other option.

I rush to my closet and grab the first clothes I find: a pair of pants, a T-shirt and a hoodie. After dressing, I tug my boots on, then throw all the money I can find into my smallest purse and slide it into my left boot. I fetch my amber and stylus and open a doorway on the nearest wall. Screw the house arrest and the tracker spell. If I manage to get hold of a cure, it’ll be worth whatever consequences I have to deal with when I get back. I imagine the Underground tunnel where Wickedly Inked used to be and hurry into the faerie paths.

The tunnel is silent when I step into it, but I know that somewhere inside the Guild, an alarm has just been triggered. I’m thankful for the quarantine. If it weren’t for that, guards would probably show up here within minutes, and I doubt they’d give me time to explain that I’m looking for a cure. I hurry toward the witches’ shop—exactly where I found it last week—but slow down as I near it. Something tells me it wouldn’t be wise to run in there demanding a cure they may not even have.

I wander through the doorway and into the shop as if I’m merely browsing. It’s properly set up now, with all the jars and bottles and bowls in their correct places, and candles and lanterns sitting at the end of each shelf. A table decorated with strings of flowers stands in the center of the room with more items displayed upon it. As I walk around, I smell rosemary, lemongrass, cinnamon, and other herbs and spices I can’t remember the names of. The witches are nowhere to be seen, but the door to the back room is ajar, so I assume they’re nearby. The gouge marks I noticed in the wall last time are gone.

On the table, I find the bowl with the dragon-eye rings. I bend to take a closer look. Each ring is made of silver, and the part that holds the eye is shaped like a claw. The eyes are different colors, but other than that, the rings are all the same. Saskia’s ring looked exactly like these.

Having no idea what kind of dangerous spells could be on the rings, I refrain from touching them and move on. Near the back of the room, on a wooden podium, I find an old leather-bound book. The gold embossed title has faded with age, but even up close I’m unable to read it, given that it’s written in a language I don’t recognize. After looking around to make sure I’m still alone, I carefully lift the cover. It appears to be a spell book. Tiny hand-written letters beneath each title give the name of the spell in English, but the instructions are in another language. The accompanying pictures give me a good idea of what each is about, though. Disturbing pictures detailing strange, dark spells. Magic that should never be performed. Communication with the dead, piecing different body parts together to form new creatures, a summoning spell, a changeling spell, a—

“You again.”

Startled, I almost knock the book off the podium as I swing around. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I hurriedly reposition the book and close the cover.

“See anything you like in there?” the woman asks with a twisted smile, her black eyes seeming to gleam. She’s the younger witch, the one I spoke to last week. Her dress today is deep red instead of black, but the bottom of the skirt seems to shift from fabric into smoke in the same way the other dress did. She watches me as she runs her tongue over her pointed teeth.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest so she can’t see my hands shaking. “I didn’t like anything in there.”

“You’re from the Guild,” she says. That strange, deep vibration that rumbles subtly beneath her sweet voice sends a shiver up my arms.

“How do you know that?”

“I didn’t know the first time,” she says, “but I do now. You’re wearing something that gives you away. Something that reeks of Guild magic.”

My trainee pendant. I can feel the metal resting against my chest beneath my T-shirt. I remind myself that the pendant contains protective enchantments. I hope they’re strong enough to protect me from this witch. “If the stench of Guild magic is so strong, then I assume you’re aware that guardians were in the tunnels yesterday looking for you.”

“Of course.”

“Why couldn’t they find you?”

She tilts her head and says simply, “We didn’t want them to.”

“So you used some sort of glamour or trick to keep them away?”

“Yes.”

“But you have no problem with me finding you?”

She moves closer, and I take a step back. “You’re not here to threaten us,” she says. “You want something from us.”

I swallow and remind myself that people are in the process of dying right now. I need to hurry up. “On Friday night, a girl wearing one of those rings—” I point at the bowl “—died. Her skin turned green and scaly, she became ill, and then … she died. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Ah, the dragon disease,” the witch says. She walks to the bowl of dragon-eye rings and dips her hand into it, sifting through the rings. “Just so you know, these rings are harmless. They’re simple trinkets. It was the client’s idea to place a spell on one of them.”

“Who was the client?” I ask immediately.

“That,” she says, “is none of your business. Our client information is strictly confidential.”

“Fine. All I need to know then is whether you have a cure for this dragon disease. It’s spreading quickly.”

She gives me a calculated smile and says, “We had a feeling someone would come in search of a cure soon. How fortunate we cooked up a pot last night.”

“A pot? So you have a lot of it then?”

“I have enough for your Guild, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Of course. I’m not going to save only a few and leave everyone else to die.”

She smiles once more. “How noble of you.” She disappears into the back room while I bounce impatiently on my feet. Moments later, she returns with a black pouch, the contents clinking together within it. “The disease begins with a potion made from Lisorna dragon venom mixed with a few other secret ingredients,” she says as she places the pouch on the table beside the bowl of dragon-eye rings. “It’s lethal to most magical beings. Contact with the potion is enough to begin poisoning a person immediately, but the symptoms only become visible and take full effect a day or two later. The first girl would have died the fastest, since she received the most potent dose—we dipped the entire ring in the potion. Green powder exuding from the pores is the first visible symptom. It changes the skin’s color, subtle at first, which is why many don’t notice until hours later, when the scales start to form and the nausea takes over. Death isn’t far off after that. Then the disease spreads to anyone who comes into contact with the green powder, which contains the same poisons as the original potion.”

I’m horrified by the witch’s calm, detached explanation. “Do you not feel guilty at all? Knowing that you’re responsible for the deaths of almost twenty people so far?”

She seems confused. “I’m not responsible for anyone’s death. I serve my clients by doing my best to give them exactly what they ask for. It’s up to them what they choose to do with the resulting product.”

I let out a shaky breath. I open the pouch and find a number of small glass bottles containing a clear liquid. “How much of the cure is needed to heal someone?”

“A drop on the tongue will suffice. If a person’s mouth can’t be opened, then a drop injected beneath the skin works just as well.”

“And how do I know this really is the cure for dragon disease? You could be selling me bottles of water.”

She narrows her eyes at me and something seems to flash across them. With an annoyed huff, she returns to the back room. When she walks out again, she’s holding a cage with a rat inside it. The cage looks like a miniature version of the cages Prince Zell hung his prisoners in. I immediately feel sorry for the rat. From a hidden pocket in the folds of her dress, the witch produces a tiny vial containing a translucent green liquid. She taps a few drops between the cage bars onto the rat, then returns it to her pocket. “Since the creature is small and the dose is large,” she says, “it won’t take long.”

Every second of waiting is painful as I wonder if it might be too late for Gemma. I need to be certain this cure is legitimate, though, otherwise I may not be helping anyone. After a few minutes, the rat begins scratching. Its hair starts to fall out, and the skin beneath has a green tinge. Tiny scales start to form.

I rub my left hand, thinking of the mysterious smear of green powder that somehow found its way there just before Saskia was killed. “That powder got onto my hand when the first girl died,” I say to the witch. “That was over four days ago, so why am I not dead yet?”

“The cure must have already been in your system.”

“But I didn’t take any cure.”

“Then it shall remain a mystery,” she says as she allows a drop of the cure to fall onto the rat. “One I’m not particularly interested in solving.” The rat rolls onto its side, breathing erratically for several more moments before the scales vanish. After another minute, its skin becomes pink once more. “Good enough?” the witch asks.

“Yes.” I close the pouch and pick it up. “Thanks.” I turn to go, but she grabs hold of my arm with a grip far stronger than I would have imagined.

“Not so fast,” she says. “You haven’t paid yet.”

“Oh. Right.” I place the pouch on the table and reach into my boot for my purse. “How much?” I’m willing to spend everything I’ve got if I have to. People’s lives are at stake.

She gives me that calculating smile once more. “We don’t deal in money here.”

I hesitate. “Okay. What do you want then?”

She purses her lips and walks slowly around me, examining me as she goes. She touches my hair and I try to repress a shudder. “So pretty,” she murmurs. “Like real gold.”

“So … you want some of my hair then?”

“No. Perhaps another time. I want some of your blood.”

“My blood?” A quiet warning ripples through me. It doesn’t sound like a good idea at all to hand my blood over to a witch.

“That’s the price. Take it or leave it.”

Dammit. “What are you going to do with my blood?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. What if you use it to weave some kind of dark spell over me?”

“So what if I do? Does that change how badly you want the cure?”

I press my lips together and breathe out sharply. She knows it changes nothing. She knows she can ask for anything and I’ll give it to her.

“What we do with your blood needn’t concern you,” she says, her tone businesslike. “All that should matter to you is that your friends are dying. Are you willing to take a risk for them?”

Of course I am. Everyone I care about is connected to the Guild in some way, and they’re all going to wind up dead if they don’t get this cure—as am I. Which means that either way, whether I hand over my blood or not, I’m in danger.

“Fine,” I say. “But do it quickly. I’ve wasted enough time here already.”

The witch’s hand disappears into the smoky folds of her dress, and when it reappears, she’s holding a small knife. She takes my arm and pushes my sleeve back. I look away and clench my teeth as she cuts a line into my forearm. When I look again, I see blood dripping from my arm into a glass vial.

“Are you crazy?” A voice demands from behind me. In the next second, a powerful gust of wind sweeps through the shop, forcing the witch to stumble back and drop the vial. It smashes onto the floor, creating a splatter of blood around it.

“You pesky nuisance,” the witch growls. “I should have finished you off last time.”

I spin around, though I already know who I’ll see in the doorway. “Funny,” Chase says. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about you.”

“Oh, of course you’re here,” I yell as the witch conjures up dark smoke that transforms into ferocious pecking birds. Chase sweeps aside the birds—and half the contents of the shop—with more hurricane-like wind. As jars and bottles shatter all around me, I grab the pouch of cures and drop to the floor, shouting, “Why can I never seem to get away from you no matter where I go? Are you stalking me or something?”

He holds his hand up and moves into the shop, forcing the witch and her cloud of pecking birds back against the wall with a strong shield. “You call it stalking, I call it saving your life. Again.” He sweeps his hand through the air in a quick circle. Snow descends, whipping into a blizzard within seconds. I feel a hand on my arm, tugging me toward the door. I stuff the pouch into my hoodie’s front pocket, jump to my feet, and go with him. “You were giving your blood to a witch?” he demands as we run from the shop. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying to save everyone!” I yell at him. “Dragon disease, remember?” I’m about to accuse him of being the one who put this entire plan together when it strikes me that it’s highly unlikely Chase is one of the witch’s clients, given the confrontation he just had with her.

“What the hell are you going on about?” He stops running and lifts a stylus to the tunnel wall. “I don’t know anything about a dragon disease,” he says as he writes a doorway spell.

The sound of flapping wings reaches my ears. I look over my shoulder and see the screeching flock of birds flying toward us. They morph together into a hairy beast with curved silver talons that roars as it leaps toward us. But instead of being devoured by this monster, it’s the faerie paths that swallow us up as Chase wraps his hand around mine and tugs me into the darkness.