Escaped: A Supernatural Prison Romance (Imprisoned by the Fae Book 2) Read online

  The gaps between the wisps widen, but the floating lights grow brighter; either that or I’m growing accustomed to the shadows because I’m able to see a little better now. The trees don’t look so threatening, though the branches are eerily bare and the bark seems to be closer to burned charcoal than live wood. My footsteps begin to crunch the further I go. When the wisps reflect off the ground, I see a crusted layer of old snow and ice covering some of the dirt. Desperate not to slip and fall, I slow a bit.

  And that’s when I realize that, except for my heavy breathing and my boots cracking the frozen ground, it’s quiet again. No more galloping. No trotting. No clip-clop or even a snort.

  I did it. I freaking did it.

  I managed to lose the rider and keep a hold of my apples.

  Oh, yeah. I call that a win.

  2

  My lips curve, a small, satisfied smile coming to my face. Despite the chill in the air, my run through the woods left me sweating along my hairline. I wipe it away with the back of my hand before shoving the loose strands of hair out of my face.

  I needed one thing to work in my favor. Even if it’s the satisfaction that, just this once, things have gone my way, I’ll take it. Lately, everything that can go wrong for me has. With my luck, I’d expect the rider to be one of Siúcra’s guards come to track me down or something. Sure, it could also be my overactive imagination, but in Faerie? Who the hell knows?

  Better safe than sorry.

  Okay. Okay.

  Now what?

  Ahead of me, I still see a few wisps luring me closer.

  Hmm…

  Hey. I’ve come this far already. I might as well stick it out.

  As if they can sense that they’ve got me well and truly hooked, the wisps glow a little brighter. More and more appear, though they’re still forming a noticeable line. It’s obvious they’re leading me somewhere, and when a cluster of wisps form together after I’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes, I figure we’ve arrived.

  So, um. It’s a tree.

  It’s a pretty big one. It would probably take three of me in order to completely wrap my arms around the trunk. It’s solid, too, with thick branches that are as empty as all the others. The bark is craggy, it has a bunch of knots and marks in it, and when I see the cluster of wisps forming near the roots, wafting a couple of inches off the ground, I let out a sound of surprise.

  That… that’s a door. With a single panel with a tiny window and a wooden handle, no doubt that that’s a door. I’d put it at about eight inches high, maybe four inches across, and it’s built between the gnarled roots at the base of the tree.

  That’s not all. Planted next to the door, there’s a toadstool that’s about half as high. It looks exactly like one of the mushrooms that made up the fairy circle that Saxon pushed me through only instead of there being a ring, there’s one single, solitary mushroom—and, unless I’m seeing things, there’s a teensy, tiny plate perched in the center.

  Curious, I drop to my knee, peering closely. Oh, yeah. That’s a plate alright. And on top of it? Three minicircles that look like un-iced cakes.

  One of the wisps breaks free from the glowing circle. It hovers directly over the toadstool, brightening the tiny cakes, bathing them in a soft blue light. No way it isn’t on purpose. The will o’ the wisps brought me straight to the door before illuminating a trio of cakes laid out like on a tray at a bakery. I know what it wants me to do. It’s pretty obvious.

  But should I?

  Hmm… do I stick around and wait for the mysterious rider to figure out which way I’ve gone, or just hope that Lewis Carroll might’ve been onto something when he wrote Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?

  You know, it seems crazy—but it’s maybe not such a bad idea. Even if the rider isn’t looking for me, I’m still a human in a world where I stick out like a sore thumb. It might be a trick—who am I kidding? This is Faerie so odds are it’s definitely a trick—but so long as the little cake-looking things aren’t poison, what’s the worst that could happen?

  And it’s not like I haven’t already eaten random food that I found in this strange world. Within hours of first arriving in Faerie, I chanced upon a crystal tree that had pink apples growing on its branches. I’ve always been impulsive. I’ll often live to regret my actions, but that’s always something future Helen has to deal with. Present Helen can’t help but wonder what would happen if I chowed down on one of those little cakes.

  No. No. There’s impulsive and then there’s stupid and it would be the height of stupidity to snack on food sitting out on a toadstool—

  The ground shakes. Not enough for me to think earthquake, but that coupled with the echo of the hoofbeats is a pretty good clue that the mysterious rider is coming this way now.

  And I still really don’t want to face him.

  “Down the hatch,” I mutter to myself before grabbing one of the mini cakes with my right hand.

  I’m still holding onto my sack of apples with my left. In case this works the way I suspect it will, I don’t want anything to happen to them. As fast as I can, I duck down, tucking the bag behind the tree, covering the muslin with handfuls of snow. Then, before the horse can come any closer, I pop the cake into my mouth.

  Nothing happens for long enough that I begin to feel a little stupid. What did I think was going to happen? That I’d—

  Holy shit.

  It seems as if the world shoots up around me at the same time as I start to fall. Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back, a mushroom as tall as I am looming over me.

  The door is a normal-sized door now.

  It worked. It really freaking worked!

  Hopping to my feet, I run to the door. Grabbing the handle, I give it a turn. I mean, what else am I going to do? I ate the cake for a reason. If I want to find shelter to avoid the mysterious horseman, this is my best bet, right?

  I hope so.

  Only one problem: the door’s locked. Because of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? And, just like Alice, I didn’t think to peek around for a key or anything before I shrunk down to the size of a pencil.

  On the plus side, if the horse catches up to me, at least it’ll be tough to see me since I’m so damn small. Then again, with my luck, one of the hooves will squash me and I’ll be nothing more than a memory.

  Letting go of the handle, I pound on the door. Someone’s gotta be in there, right?

  On the third time my fists hit the wood, the door springs inward. I dash inside, not knowing what to expect, but too desperate to care.

  As soon as I’m in, I freeze. Behind me, the door slams shut. It’s probably already locked.

  Oh, well.

  My first impression is that I’ve somehow found my way back to Hildy’s inn. There’s a roaring fire in the center that makes everything look like it’s bathed in orange. It’s warm. Cozy. The air smells like smoke and—my stomach rumbles—freshly cooked food. But while Hildy’s inn was loud and disorienting, more of a tavern than anything else with all of the eaters and the drinkers, this crowded space is a little more homey.

  I can’t even begin to guess how many… creatures are inside. They’re all about my height, maybe an inch or two smaller, and most of them are sitting on small wooden blocks, busy doing something with their hands. Sewing? Unless I’m wrong, it looks like they’re all sewing.

  The one nearest to the door looks up from her work, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape when she sees me standing there. She tucks her needle into the length of brown fabric she was working on, rising up from her block before laying her sewing down on top of it. After wiping her hands on her skirt, she scurries over to me.

  The first thing she says to me is, “You’re not an imp.”

  Is that what these creatures are? Now that she’s standing in front of me, I get a good look at her. She’s human-shaped—two eyes, two arms, two legs—though, like Hildy, she has a tail reaching out from under her skirt, twitching by her ankle. Her skin is the color of walnuts, her eyes
like a freshly minted penny. She’s got the same pointed ears as the fae, though I wouldn’t call her beautiful or enchanting. She’s cute, though, and she sounds the way I would expect a fairy would.

  “Um. No. Sorry.” I wave behind me at the closed door. “I hope I’m not intruding or anything. I saw the cakes and—”

  She squeals. “A guest! We have a guest!”

  Her voice is high-pitched, but she’s loud enough that some of the other imps glance over at us. A hush breaks out, followed by a chorus of whispers and murmurs.

  I wave.

  The imp starts to reach for my arm, thinks better of it, then claps her hands together instead. “Stay here,” she tells me. “Let me get the clan leader. She’ll be so happy that we have a guest.”

  “Oh, no. You don’t have to—” And she’s gone.

  You think I’d be used to the staring by now. And, come on. These imps have copper eyes and tails. I can’t be the weirdest thing they’ve ever seen, right?

  While I wait for the clan leader, I glance around again. On second inspection, I think that I might’ve stumbled on some kind of workshop, kind of like the North Pole. Only instead of toy-making elves, I’ve got little imp tailors.

  Okay, then.

  To my left, I notice a table that’s designed to match the toadstool outside. It’s carved from wood, painted red and white at the top, and it also holds a tray. This one isn’t lined with mini-cakes, though. I count six bottles, two rows of three, all made of green glass.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found the growing potion. You have, you have.”

  I whip my head around at the sweet, tinkling voice.

  The imp standing behind me now isn’t the same one from before. From her voice, her features, and her dress, she’s also a female, but she’s clearly much older than the other one. She has the same bright copper eyes, though, and she gives me a tight-lipped smile when I say, “Growing potion?”

  Her hair is dark brown streaked with white and it falls to her elbows. When she nods, it bounces. “It is. When you’re ready to leave our tree, you take a bottle and you go, then you grow, grow, grow.”

  So I’m not stuck like this forever. That’s good to know. And the imps aren’t thinking about keeping me trapped inside of their tree. That’s even better.

  “Welcome, guest. I’m Shanley Whitethorn, elder imp of this clan. Tell me, tell me, yes. Who are you?”

  “I’m Elle.”

  Is it bad that I only hesitated for a moment before I answered? In the last month that I’ve been in Faerie, I’ve begun to accept that I have to be Elle if I want to keep my freedom—and my sanity.

  “Elle. Then welcome, welcome, Elle. We don’t often get guests, and it’s been so long since the wisps invited anyone to our tree. The rider scares most travelers in these parts away.”

  I gasp. I can’t help it. “You know about the rider?”

  Shanley’s eyes darken, going from that gleaming copper to a dull mahogany shade. “He’s on a search for—” She shakes her head. “Ah, but never you mind. You’re a human, yes?”

  I nod. Honestly, it’s not like I can deny it. “Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. We imps called all humans friends before the veil closed and we were swept out of the Iron. You’re safe with us, you are. The Shadow Realm is dangerous for one like you, but not with the imps! Come. Sit down. You must eat with us.”

  “Oh. I don’t know—” I stop. Just because the imps are tiny and super friendly, I can’t forget that they’re still faerie creatures. Do I really want to offend the clan leader? “Um. Okay.”

  Why not?

  She leads me through the workshop, toward the back where there’s a table that looks like it belongs at a banquet. It’s long and narrow and it’s filled with tons of plates. I recognize some of the food—it’s mainly fruit and grains and seeds—though everything is mini-sized, perfect for the imps.

  That reminds me...

  “Um, I don’t want to be rude… and I appreciate the offer… but can I eat this stuff?”

  Shanley cocks her head. “What’s that?”

  “I mean, the cake made me small. If I eat something else…” My thoughts go right to Alice in Wonderland again. If I start to shoot back to my regular height, I’ll never fit. And, unlike in the cartoon, there are no windows for me to stick my arms and legs out of.

  She titters out an amused laugh. I don’t know what’s so funny. I thought it was a pretty valid question.

  “Everything for our guests is safe,” she says, “and you can be sure of that. Only the cakes make you teeny, just like it takes a growing potion to make you big, big, big again.”

  “And I can have one of those, too, right?”

  “It’s the contract for when we get our guests, you see. You eat the cake, you share our meal, you drink the potion. It’s a fair trade. Anything else, there’s a price to be paid.”

  “Do you get guests a lot?”

  “Oh, yes. Not as many as we used to before it was the Reign of the Damned, no, no, no, but when we had the old king, we had so many guests. Now that the Summer King’s returned, we want more, more, more.”

  I think of the cakes out front and the green glass bottles of growing potion as one of the other imps pulls out a chair at the table for me. Taking a seat, I ask, “Hey, you wouldn’t have had a guy named Lewis Carroll drop in, would you?”

  Who knows? Sure, Lewis Carroll is a pen name, but maybe that’s how he got it in the first place. He stumbled into Faerie, called it Wonderland in his stories, and learned that it wasn’t safe to use his real name.

  Too bad that Shanley shakes her head. “Not that I remember. Is he a friend of yours?”

  Considering he died about two hundred years before I was born, not quite. “No. Not really.”

  “Shame, shame, shame. We imps like having friends.”

  I can tell.

  Once I’m sitting down, Shanley grabs two plates. She plops one in front of her setting, one in front of mine, then she takes the seat next to me.

  Glancing down at my plate, I see that there’s something on it already. It’s… it’s meat. How odd. I mean, I guess I started to think that everyone in Faerie was vegetarian or something. Probably because Veron only served me faerie fruit, and in Siúcra, they stuck to the same thing. This is definitely meat, though.

  Unfortunately, it’s not any kind I recognize.

  Trying not to worry too much, I ask, “What’s this?”

  Shanley grins. For the first time, I notice that the friendly imp’s teeth are super pointed. “My favorite. Squirrel.”

  It takes everything I have to keep my expression neutral. Even as my stomach is turning, I try not to offend the imp before I can get my hands on some of the growing potion.

  “It looks delicious,” I lie.

  “Eat up, eat up.”

  I stare down at my plate again.

  Yeah. That’s not going to happen. I’m a city chick. Squirrels are my friends. I’m not about to eat one, and that’s not accounting for the fact that I haven’t seen a squirrel since I’ve been in Faerie. How do I even know that when Shanley says squirrel, she means the same thing that I do?

  Pass.

  When I was a kid, I went through a phase where I was a super picky eater. My mom’s rule was no dessert unless I ate everything onto my plate. She was trying to make sure I ate well, but tell that to a stubborn seven-year-old. I became a pro at making it seem like I’d finished my food so that I could still get my dixie cup.

  Those skills are about to come in handy.

  After faking my first bite, I swallow and say, “Mmm. Very tasty.”

  Shanley beams.

  “Have some more,” she says, already slapping another piece of meat on my plate. “And, when you’re done, I’ll show you around the rest of the workshop.”

  How can I say no?

  I lose track of how long I’ve been inside and that worries me.

  One good thing is that Shanley is still as friendly as ever. Th
e suspicious part of me has to wonder why. I can’t understand why she would take an interloping trespasser under her wing and welcome her into the sanctity of her clan’s tree without having some kind of ulterior motive. The longer I walk with her, talk with her, I think she’s being sincere.

  At least, I hope she is.

  When I mention that I should be going, she warns me about the rider again. As if I’ve forgotten all about him. I feel better knowing that he’s not specifically after me, though Shanley does admit that there are so many dangers in the Shadow Realm, it’s much safer to stay inside a sturdy tree.

  Because that’s where I am.

  The Shadow Realm.

  Doesn’t that just sound nice?

  As she leads me back toward the door, Shanley stops at one particular station, talking to the male imp working with a strange, shimmering black material. He finishes off the last stitch, tying a knot before using his sharp teeth to sever the thread. Once he’s done, he passes it over to Shanley.

  She hands it to me. “If you’re really heading back to the dark woods, you’ll need this.”

  It’s a cloak, straight out of a fantasy flick.

  “Uh, it might be a little small when I get big again.”

  The imp waves her free hand. “Woven from the shadows, it is. When you grow, it’ll grow with you. And the shadows will hide you, blend you, keep you safe.”

  Really?

  I’m suddenly reminded of what she told me at dinner. That the “guest” contract only covers the cake I ate, the food I pretended to scarf down, and the growing potion that I need if I want to be my normal size again. That everything else has a price.

  “What do you want for it?”

  She’s friendly but, I discover, she’s also a pretty shrewd salesperson. “Fifty gold coins it goes for but because you’ve found us, because you’re our guest, I can give it to you for a mere fifteen.”

  That sounds like an amazing deal. One problem: I don’t have a single gold coin.