Page 80 of Curse the Fae

Again, Lark and Juniper’s forms are bundled under their blankets. They dream as silently as mice, which neither of them typically does, but I don’t have time to puzzle over that. Within ten minutes, I’m dressed and slinking out of my family’s house.

Ripples multiply across the creek’s surface, a fleet of rings vibrating toward the well. I cast the water furtive glances while tracking beside it. All manner of aquatic dwellers swish through the depth, with more and more joining them.

I marvel that none of the villagers have noticed this phenomenon. Either the townsfolk aren’t paying attention, or these dwellers only congregate at night.

A terrible screech pierces the night, the upheaval sharp and high. It sounds as though hinges have broken, the sort of hubbub one might hear in a dungeon when things go wrong. Seconds later, the creek sloshes about, and the fish scatter.

I jog toward the commotion while gripping the spear. It’s heavy, more so than usual, but Papa says I grow taller every day, so the weapon isn’t as unwieldy as it used to be. I’m not planning to use the spear, but I feel safer having it with me, especially while remembering the Fae’s fists ramming into the glass.

Yet it isn’t the glass I need to fret about. When I scurry behind an ash tree and peek around the column toward the grassy jetty, I realize this at once.

I realize this because the well’s glass tube is empty.

Terror clamps around my throat. I dash toward the chute and peer inside, which is still packed with freshwater but no fish. And no Fae captive.

The viper is gone.

The bottom lattice hangs ajar, swinging just under the creek’s surface. The rungs are caved outward, as though someone had pulled them from the outside, or as if someone had punched from the inside. It’s hard to tell which.

Although the court of fish has vanished, a host of eels and snakes remain. I squint into the water cage and spot their lithe forms coiled around the lower lattice.

Did they force open the bottom door?

Fables. They did!

They weren’t gathering to keep him company, at least not tonight. They had gathered to help him.

A small group of dwellers couldn’t have achieved this. But legions of them might have.

The creatures must have exerted pressure, and the Fae must have done the rest by giving the iron a solid punch, just like he did against the glass. Thirteen days of pent-up rage and captivity could have accomplished that, regardless of what the iron had surely done to his hand.

Splashes resound from the creek, forming a wave that scrolls across the surface. I race in that direction and halt beside a tuft of reeds. At the opposite embankment, the water churns and swats the surrounding foliage. Based on the ripples, something much larger than a goldfish just harpooned through here.

I should run. I should run home and hide before he catches me and makes good on his promise.

No, I can’t. That may lead the fiend to my house, to my family. He wouldn’t harm the sanctuary animals, but my father and sisters are fair game.

What about the other families of Reverie Hollow? How might he retaliate against the ones who had entrapped him?

I spring along the creek, but I can’t see him, can’t find him. As eventide deepens, I plow through bracken and vegetation, finally reaching the fields. Oxygen dashes through my lungs until they burn.

Stars cut into the night. Clouds slice through the constellations.

At length, distant shouts lurch into the sky. The overlapping hollers and bellows aren’t otherworldly; I’ve heard those voices before. I know them from townhall meetings, market festivals, and jubilees. They’re made of sweat, laughter, and tears.

They’re my neighbors—shocked, disoriented, outraged, and scared. It’s a rampage of sound hailing from the cottages and farmsteads.

Additional commotion resounds from near the glassblower’s forge. And the same type of ruckus echoes from the woods.

All this, just for one young Fae?

I hasten back to a new part of the creek, located nearly a mile from the well, and stumble in place. Cages and tube-like containers lay overturned or shattered across the bank. My eyes widen at the ethereal mutiny of a dozen water creatures plunging into the depth. Blue vipers, copper reptiles, and green crustaceans charge across the creek and shoot toward the channel, where the water broadens and splits into streams…one of which leads to the valley…where a mountain range, woodland, and a network of waterways converge…where The Faerie Triad stands sentinel…where the Folk live.

More shouts erupt from nearby. “Get him! Kill the fucker!”

Him. The Fae.

But how can he travel on land? And is he tracking my scent home?

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