Heartless

by Showalter, Gena

  Alone in a strange place? This was fine. Everything was fine. Her knees knocked, threatening to fold. What should she do? Stay here or venture out for help?

  She executed another spin, scanning her surroundings more carefully. The trees weren’t actually pink, she realized. Hundreds of ants with glowing bellies crawled over the trunks. Briar patches grew along the edges of the brook, warning visitors away. Purple mushrooms oozed on a fallen log. In the distance, a deer with mother-of-pearl horns munched on nuts and examined her without concern.

  Even as another bloodcurdling roar sounded, making her shudder, the deer continued eating, unfazed. Because he knows I’m slower and more likely to be dinner.

  Breathe. Just breathe. Light-headed, she clasped a branch, hoping to steady herself.

  “Ouch!” A thousand needles seemed to prick her palm, and she hurriedly released the lifeline. In seconds, large red welts popped up on her hand and forearm. Queasy, she hunched over.

  What the—A thick tree root curled around her ankle and yanked.

  Cookie crashed to her butt, air bursting from her lungs and stars winking before her eyes. Then. That moment. The nausea won the war. Twisting to the side, she vomited the contents of her stomach.

  When she finished, she clambered to her feet, unwilling to stay down any longer than necessary. She had no experience with...stargates? wormholes? But her avatar had plenty. In the video game, she remained ready for anything always. Here, now, the stakes were a thousand times higher. Relax her guard, even for a moment? No.

  Another roar erupted, and birds took flight. Branches bounced and slapped her. Though she wobbled, she didn’t fall. Thankfully, the roarer—whatever it was—sounded farther away.

  Crickets chirped with relief, and locusts whirred. A frog croaked. Normal sounds in an abnormal situation.

  She drew her arms around her middle, shrinking into herself. Before she figured out her next move, she needed to understand her previous one. Somehow, she’d...what? Opened some kind of transport to a different location on Earth? Another dimension? Planet? Alternate reality?

  The hysteria threatened to spike. She inhaled and exhaled for calm. For now, she accepted the fact that she’d left Oklahoma, and that she hadn’t traveled by normal means. No more, no less. Now, she needed a plan to get home.

  Okay. All right. This, she could do. Every quest she’d ever won, she’d tackled the same way: one step at a time.

  Cookie slipped into game mode, her tasks aligning. Search for a nearby town. There, she could figure out the monetary system, acquire cash, food, shelter, weapons and answers. If someone drew her a world map, even better.

  She couldn’t allow fear to derail her, as if she were some kind of—Cookie shuddered—rookie.

  In her experience, the biggest mistake new players made remained the same, no matter their age or skill. When fear of the unknown invaded, they disregarded their endgame. Rather than working to achieve a goal, they focused on quieting their sense of urgency, which only ever led to desperation.

  Today’s trials, tomorrow’s strengths. A mantra she’d repeated over and over again as a child. If ever there’d been a time to bring it back...

  Another roar left her reeling. Because it was closer than the first one. The creature, whatever it was, must have doubled back. She expected a hungry predator to breathe down her neck any second. Even the deer reacted, dashing away.

  Time to blow this joint. Cookie plunged forward, following the same path as the deer. Dangers lurked all around. Not just the fairies and the roaring animals, but the plants. Anything could be poisonous.

  No! She had lost sight of the deer.

  To her surprise and relief, her feet seemed to know where to go next, guiding her around this and that tree with no assistance from her mind. Resisting seemed foolish, since she had no idea where to go.

  Optimistic she would stumble upon help, she waded across the brook...

  * * *

  LOST. STARVED AND dying of thirst. Exhausted and filthy. Too cold one minute and too hot the next. Beyond sore. Bruised and injured. Cookie was all of those things and more. Had she escaped the roaring monster, only to perish alone in a strange land?

  As she trudged around a tree, she imagined an avatar somewhere safe and cozy, controlling her, making her go and go and go, no matter her feelings on the matter. She was pretty sure she’d used up all her pretend power bars. Remaining on her throbbing feet required energy she didn’t have, but resting had been scratched out on today’s list of activities. Her body refused to obey her mind, so on and on and on she walked. Resistance was futile.

  Mud caked her from head to toe. She’d lost her beloved scarf and sweater somewhere along the way. Her hair had fallen from its bun, the too-long strands in tangles. At least she still smelled like flowers, blending in with nature, preventing predators from adding “tasty pink-haired snack” to their menus.

  She gave a humorless laugh. Yeah, what a marvelous silver lining to her living nightmare.

  Hours ago, she’d been forced to simplify her plan: keep going until she stumbled upon help or passed out. What else could she do? A thousand different times, in a thousand different ways, she’d tried to switch directions. Holding on to branches. Digging in her heels. Hugging tree trunks. Always her legs won the battle of wills and maneuvered her away from the obstacles, taking her nowhere.

  Hours bled into each other, more and more fairies following her through the woods. Anytime she broke down and begged for answers or aid, they whispered among themselves and cast her furtive glances. No one ever responded to her directly.

  A blessing in disguise, she supposed. “Now I can eat you little pricks without guilt,” she snapped in their direction.

  With a collective gasp of horror, they shot into the trees to hide.

  Something she’d noted: the fairies came in all colors, everything from the lightest pastels to the brightest neons to the darkest shades. Which made her wonder...what if they weren’t fairies, after all, but pixies?

  In Rhoswyn, her favorite level of The Fog A.E., there were nonplayable characters or NPCs known as pixies, and they came in all colors, too. Which made her wonder if she were maybe, possibly, still on the operating table, and this was a medicated delusion after all, her mind firing off scenarios as she died. Or if she’d already died and this was a type of Hell. Sometimes, when she was too exhausted to correct herself with logic, she even wondered if she’d somehow, well, opened a portal into a world based on her video game. Kind of like Jumanji, but also not like Jumanji.

  That was dumb, right? A figment of her overactive gamer’s brain trying to make sense of a bad situation. But, what if she had somehow entered a real life version of The Forest of Good and Evil? Ready, player one.

  More than the pixies, the land and the animals bore a wealth of similarities to Rhoswyn. In both locales, rabbits were stripped like zebras. Frogs had the most endearing cat whiskers. Most of the snakes she’d come across had possessed two heads. Foxes used their nine-point tails like a whip.

  What if the designer of The Fog A.E. had visited this land?

  Once, she’d caught sight of a cluster of ogres who’d looked just like a painting hanging in the game’s main HQ. Huge, furry and beastly, with tusks and a tail. They lived to kill invaders.

  Cookie had braced for an attack as they’d snorted and stomped with boundless aggression. However, not a single ogre had ever even taken a step in her direction. As if she were marked with a shield of protection, the way avatars were often marked. For the right price, anyway.

  Twice she’d passed an enclave of trolls. Big, muscled brutes with horns. In the game, they often beat and enslaved weary travelers. They, too, had exuded aggression at the sight of her. Like the ogres, they’d kept their hands to themselves.

  What if her heart donor had come from this land? What if the organ had unlocked a door between the two
worlds? It was an idea, anyway.

  In the game, pixies coexisted alongside fae. Mystical beings with a variety of magical powers. Which explained her sudden ability to grow ivy beneath her skin, in the rich soil of her veins. Magic also explained her inability to halt her steps—she was being led by an invisible chain. Step. Step. Step. This way. Pivot. That way. Where would she end up?

  What if Cookie’s donor had been...fae?

  Everything had changed after the transplant. The way she’d healed with supernatural speed. Her total lack of scars. The Miracle Grow Rapunzel hair. Skin ivy. What she knew beyond a doubt: a new world meant new rules. If The Fog A.E. was based on this land, magic was the norm. She might be able to do more than vine harvesting or whatever.

  And dang it, was someone following her? The unease returned.

  Hand unsteady, she smoothed hair from her damp brow and glanced over her shoulder. A pixie hovered mere inches from her face. A pretty pink Thumbelina, who decided to perch on her shoulder.

  Cookie’s nerves sharpened as the little beauty clasped her ear with a surprisingly strong grip and spoke directly into it. “Turn right.”

  “I’m sorry, but my feet don’t want to go right.”

  Thumbelina tugged on her lobe, shouting, “Turn. Right. Here. Human. Fool.”

  She helps me? Was the current direction too dangerous for the “human fool?”

  Adrenaline spiked. Gearing up to resist again, Cookie reached for a branch. Once again, her feet rebelled, continuing to march forward. She gritted her teeth and twisted, straining to grab a sturdier branch. That one right there. Almost...

  White-hot pinpricks seared her skin as ivy budded from her forearms and hands. Vines uncoiled and propagated, wrapping around the tree’s trunk and jerking her to a stop. Except for her feet. Step, step, step. Going nowhere. To her great relief, the foliage proved stronger than the invisible chain and she remained in place.

  Wait. Her ears twitched. Was that a rush of water? A whimper escaped.

  Smacking her dry, chapped lips and envisioning a pool of fresh, delicious, amazing, wonderful water, Cookie used the stalks of ivy to push her body forward, despite the objections of her feet. The farther she ventured from the undesired path, the less her feet fought her mind. Soon, she no longer required the vines. When they withered, she remained on her current route.

  I did it? I won? Branches grazed her cheeks, a pinprick of heat here, a pinprick of ice cold there, but she didn’t care anymore. Victory felt good, and water awaited.

  Thumbelina flew ahead of her, disappearing in a wall of foliage. Cookie pushed through the tangle and stumbled into a clearing with a small, crystal-clear pond. Tears welled, blurring her vision as she waded into the water. Cool liquid engulfed her, easing the worst of her aches.

  She ducked under the surface; on her way up, she swallowed drink after drink, moaning with delight. How clean it tasted. Cleaner than anything she’d ever consumed at home.

  Return to me.

  The husky voice echoed inside her mind, a remnant of that long-forgotten memory. A dream. Part of her heated, part of her chilled.

  Though she would love to linger in the pond, she exited, lumbering to the shore. Time to find a town. Between one step and another, the flash of an image invaded her mind, arresting her. A man. Naked. A tall, pale-haired brute, with rough but handsome features and a crapton of tattoos. The sides of his head were shaved, the top locks long and thick. Very Viking-y and utterly delicious.

  Sculpted muscle packed every inch of his powerful body. Golden skin glistened with moisture. He wore an expression of murder and malice as he faced off with another man, who stood in shadows.

  Cookie’s heart leaped with excitement, as if shocked to life for the very first time. Even without a glimpse of the second guy’s face, she responded to him?

  He was as tall as the Viking, and equally muscled, with gorgeous, dusky skin. He wore a shirt and leather pants. Metal claws tipped his fingers. Who was he? Danger emanated from him.

  In the memory, a woman with long pink hair hurled her body in front of the second man.

  Another heart leap. The woman had long pink hair. Pink. Cookie instinctively reached for a lock of her own cotton candy tresses.

  The Viking waved his hand, mist curling from his fingertips as thin shards of ice shot out. Those shards cut into the pink-haired woman, who cried out with anguish.

  He’d attacked her? Cookie’s eyes narrowed. He will pay. Thanks to years of murder mysteries and true crime, she knew dozens of ways to get the job done. And hide the body afterward.

  Groaning, the woman toppled to the ground—no, she was eased there by the second man. The dangerous one from the shadows.

  As he moved, he entered a beam of light, providing Cookie with a glimpse of his features. Breath suddenly smoldered in her lungs. Tousled dark hair framed the most beautiful face ever created. He had thick, prominent brows and a proud nose, the perfect contrast for his soft lips. Deep amber irises reminded her of iced whiskey, framed by lashes long enough to curl. A strong jaw boasted layers of jet-black scruff.

  He couldn’t be real, but there he stood, front and center in her mind, dressed in all black and loaded with weapons as if he’d stepped out of a video game. Besides the claws, she spotted a crossbow, two short swords and several daggers.

  Bringing deadly back.

  The image faded, and she frowned, again wondering who he was. And what about the killer Viking? The pink-haired girl?

  Somewhere in the immediate area, a rustle of noise yanked Cookie from her thoughts. Someone or something approached, but were they friend or foe?

  She dashed into a cluster of vines, similar to the strain she produced. The leaves were big enough to conceal—“Ahhhh!” A thorn ejected from a stalk and pierced her shoulder. Her limbs seized, rendered unworkable as pain rocketed through her.

  She collapsed, unable to catch herself, and ate dirt. Though she fought internally, she couldn’t move outwardly.

  “I told you she’d tire herself out soon enough,” a male bragged from somewhere nearby.

  A moment later, a shadow fell over her. Horse hoofs stomped near her face.

  Hard fingers gathered a handful of her hair and lifted her into the air. Panic owned her as she ran her gaze over her captor. A centaur? He had the torso of a man and the lower body of a horse. Thumbelina perched on his shoulder, smirking at Cookie.

  I was set up?

  Horror iced her, but rage seared her.

  The centaur smiled, a cruel twisting of his lips. To others she couldn’t see, he called, “Our hunt is a success, boys. I caught our dinner.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  KAYSAR SWIPED A dagger from his dresser, his mood worse than usual. He turned on his heels to... He couldn’t recall. He’d probably planned to kill someone for daring to do something he didn’t like. But who? Oh, what did it matter? He huffed with irritation and tossed the weapon to the floor.

  As he paced through his bedroom, his thoughts strayed to Princess Lulundria. His obsession. Where was she? Why hadn’t she returned to him? Had her injuries healed without the elderseed? They must have. He’d ordered her return, and she had no choice but to obey.

  But why wasn’t she here? In his home. His bed. He should be tempting her beyond reason and cuckolding her husband in every way imaginable. Where, where?

  Roaring, Kaysar swung his arm over the surface of the dresser. Jars flew to the floor. Glass shattered, clear liquid gushing out. The sharp, pungent scent of preservation fluid saturated the air, stinging his nostrils.

  “Noooo!” What have I done? Each jar contained a tongue he’d cut from King Hador’s mouth. His most prized treasures. Now they rested on gold-veined marble, unprotected, as if they meant nothing to him.

  He rushed to crouch and gather. Mine! He protected what was his. Always. Without exception. He must. If he didn
’t, who would?

  As he scrambled about, streams of red trickled from his palms, staining the floor as well as the tongues he held. He must have cut his fingers on the glass shards. Kaysar shrugged. Pain registered as vividly as pleasure—hardly at all.

  “Eye,” he bellowed. Where was his seer? Shouldn’t she know what he wanted before he knew he wanted it? Right now, he required unbroken jars and preservation fluid. “Eye!”

  A flurry of noise sounded behind his door. The seer rushed inside a moment later, holding out a single jar, liquid sloshing over the rim.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she called. “I tried to carry more, but I dropped them. Why don’t you cram—I mean store your collection in here for now? Yes, like that. Stuff the horrid blobs inside. You’re doing an amazing job, majesty.”

  He glared at her. “I want to know where my princess is. Why haven’t you found her? Why hasn’t she returned to me? Why can’t you tell me if she’s dead or alive?” Why, why, why?

  Eye sealed the lid on the brimming jar. “Do you think I’d come to your private bedchambers without answers, majesty?” She humphed, as if insulted, the hem of her yellow gown swishing around her ankles.

  Excitement and dread collided, igniting a noticeable tremor in his hands. “Tell me.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know your princess has returned to Astaria at last.”

  Kaysar’s dark mood dissolved in an instant. He grinned as he clasped Eye by the shoulders. “She is healed?”

  A firm nod. “She is. Completely.”

  How wonderful. His grin widened as he rocked to his heels. So much to do. Kaysar wished to look his best for their reunion. Her seduction commenced today.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, already stripping for a shower.

  Jaw slack, Eye spun and faced the wall. “I’m still working on that part, majesty.”

  “You aren’t working fast enough. I know this, because I do not have her with me.” He flittered into the bathroom and showered in a hurry, then carefully selected a white tunic and black leathers before arming up. Two short swords. A pair of daggers. He bypassed the bow and quiver of arrows. Not today. Too bulky.