“It’s working. I can feel it,” Mrs. Rosewood said
The light or the magic, she wasn’t sure what to call it, she had to let it go, or it would burn her up from the inside.
“Picture the gateway. You have the power; you must destroy it, break the link between worlds for good.”
Mrs. Rosewood faded away, and in her place, Catherine stood before the gateway, but it wasn’t as she knew it. Before where there had been thorns, now large purple flowers bloomed, their sweet scent perfuming the air, and the door itself was twisted up with vines. If she did as Mrs. Rosewood commanded, she would never see it again, never feel this power that terrified and intoxicated again. The fae had chased her, and perhaps they were dangerous, but were they really any more wicked than Mrs. Rosewood, who had killed to stop them? She couldn’t say. But who was she to seal the fate of others?
“I won’t do it,” Catherine said, her voice wobbling.
“You must. If you don’t, think how many more innocents you’ll condemn to die.” Mrs. Rosewood’s voice echoed around her, as if coming from far away.
The screams of many echoed in the distance. Catherine turned to find their source but found herself surrounded by fog. All that remained were her and the gateway.
“At what cost? Who is screaming?” Catherine asked, spinning in place as she searched for Mrs. Rosewood.
“You’re young; in time, you will understand.”
“Tell me now. How many more innocents must die?” Catherine shouted. The fog was starting to fade. The screams growing louder.
“This village means nothing. Do you think they would protect you when the fae come for you? They will look away and pretend as they’ve always done!” Mrs. Rosewood screeched.
The ball. The guests. She had intended to sacrifice them all to close the gateways? How could the fae’s actions be worse than what Mrs. Rosewood was willing to do? All her life, she had seen them; they had been mischievous but never harmful. It was humans who were wicked. Her parents, who sent her away rather than understand, Dr. Armstrong, whose cruel treatments left her scarred, and Mrs. Rosewood, who she had thought was her ally, who in the end had betrayed her like all the rest.
Catherine turned away from the gateway as the last of the fog faded to mere wisps. At her feet was the basin holding her blood and the ash. She had regained control of her limbs once more, and she kicked the blood, letting it seep into the earth.
“You have no idea what you’ve done!” Mrs. Rosewood screamed as she fell to her knees and tried to save what remained in the bowl. Catherine kicked it away from her.
“I won’t have any part of this,” she said, chest heaving.
The dagger lay on the ground beside her satchel. They both looked at it in the same instant, but Catherine lunged first. She grasped it and turned to wield it against Mrs. Rosewood, who grabbed her by the wrist to try and stop her. Mrs. Rosewood’s normally pristine hair had fallen in tangles around her face. Her face was gaunt, and she had aged by ten years.
“Listen to me, before it’s too late!” Mrs. Rosewood screamed.
The power continued to thrum through her. Catherine could feel it whispering through her. If she wished, she could rend Mrs. Rosewood apart, but as terrified and angry as she was, she couldn’t. She inched the dagger closer to Mrs. Rosewood until she could thrust the blade into her gut. Mrs. Rosewood gasped and grabbed onto the hilt of the dagger. She stared at Catherine wide-eyed.
“How—” She gasped and fell to the ground.
Catherine didn’t wait another moment to hear what she had to say and raced across the lawn, back toward the manor. She had to find help to warn someone, to tell Edward or someone about what Mrs. Rosewood had tried to do. As she came over the rise of a hill, she heard the snarl of a beast. Fur covered its back, and beneath it, Mr. Thorn struggled to keep its jaws from clamping down on his throat.
She’d been wrong about Mrs. Rosewood, but Mr. Thorn had helped her escape from Faery. He had shielded her from the fae that wanted to keep her there forever. She might have doubted him for a moment, but she couldn’t do it again. The magic burned in her fingertips and tingled along her skin. She didn’t know what it could do besides make flowers bloom, but she knew she had to do something.
“Stop right there,” she shouted, throwing her hands out in front of her. A bolt of light shot from her hands and struck the creature between the shoulder blades.
It roared and reared up on hind legs and turned to face her with rows of dripping yellow teeth. Fear spiked in her veins, and without meaning to, she felt the power rush from her bursting from the ground at her feet in the form of tangled vines, with pointed spikes biting into his flesh. They grasped the wolf, wrapping around him and piercing his flesh. He gasped for breath while he was impaled in multiple places. The more he struggled, the tighter the bindings were around his body. He kept thrashing until he slowly fell limp, rivulets of blood running down the stalks of the vines.
Catherine’s knees gave way, and she fell onto the ground, her knees pressed into the damp lawn. The vines slithered into the holes from which they’d burst from, and the earth closed up as if it had never been. The monster’s limp body fell onto the ground in a growing pool of blood. A hand pressed to her shoulder, and she startled to look up and see Mr. Thorn, his own face splattered with blood.
“Are you hurt?”
She couldn’t find words. What had just happened? She stared at the still form of the monster.
“Come on, we should get you inside,” Mr. Thorn said, but it felt as if his voice were a thousand miles away.
The body of the monster had started to change—the hair receded, the body shrunk, and in a matter of minutes, a pale and bloody body lay on the ground. It groaned.
“How?” she asked, her voice a mere thread.
“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t—” Mr. Thorn started to say, but Catherine shook him off.
