The Faerie Curses

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Death Curse

For a moment, all we could do was stare at Oberon as his glittering eyes dared us to question him.

"It wasn't The Faerie Courts that cursed The Master into becoming a sprite," Diandre realized. "It was you."

The sprite shot us a devilish grin. "Dear Titania said it herself; I'm very talented in the gift of the dark arts."

He gestured to a tattoo I had noticed earlier in the New York Harbor during the battle with the mermaids: an ink design rippling across his forearm. It was a portrayal of the sky splitting open, a chilling image that made my skin crawl.

"It wasn't hard to find our master," Oberon continued, leaning against his scythe like death himself. "I had heard the rumors circulating throughout the realm of a faerie with peculiar abilities that interested me greatly. A faerie who can murder someone from the inside out."

"I would be happy to do the same to you," I spat, but I couldn't hide the sickening feeling of my stomach flipping unpleasantly. I could still see the fear charm etched in the back of my eyelids, visions of Winter Academy burning down to the ground as the bodies of students piled in the snow. Glen's broken, empty corpse was still engraved in my memory, throbbing grotesquely against my temples.

As if he knew, Glen's hand tightened in mine. I could feel his message pressed between our fingers.

I'm not gone yet. Neither are you.

"Now now, little knight," Oberon smirked. "Let's not get too feisty here. You know full well that tonight took years of delicate planning, months of careful watching. When you look for a villain, it's the same way as you do for heroes. They're never born evil or good; they're made that way."

"So were you," Queen Titania snapped, her wings beating powerfully with pure hatred.

Oberon shot her a wicked grin as he clutched the bleeding wound in his stomach. "But you were fooled, my dear. Love fools everyone in the end."

The summer queen bristled, her face reddening into a deep hue of scarlet.

"I should have never married you, you bastard." She hissed.

"Too late now," Oberon shrugged. "It's too late for all of you now." He gestured out at the battle raging in the city below, but I could see the fire and smoke reflected in the smooth surface of the lake. "Before you all try and kill me, ask yourselves: do you think you can win this? Because I think the magical realm is destined to fail." His eyebrows rose mischievously. "Not even the woodland spirits can change that."

Diandre was the first to spin around, and he leaned over the railing with a gasp. Glen, Titania and I followed his gaze, our eyes widening.

In the depths of The Grimwood out in the distance, I could make out hundreds of transparent, floating figures. They flickered between the swaying branches of the lush oak trees, phantoms beneath the moonlight. My feet felt light just staring at the overwhelming masses of ghosts as they wailed and screamed, drifting into Summer Court. The hairs on the back of my neck crawled as unearthly moans mixed with the blood-thirsty howls of Mab's wolves. The pale woodland spirits descended upon the screeching sprites in a wave of frigid air, pushing them away from the faerie cottages with ashen hands. It took me a moment for my eyes to focus on the one ghost who was leading the entire attack. Andrion.