Kiss of the Spindle

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Nigel struck the dragon in the side of the head with a rock, and she spun, swinging her tail in a wild arc and slamming into Lewis and Isla. Daniel ran for them, diving to shield Isla, who still maintained her grip on the spindle even as she fell. Lewis crawled toward them, visibly stunned.

  “If I can pierce her with this, I can pull it back,” Isla said in Daniel’s ear, her hoarse voice nearly spent.

  He nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  She was about to relinquish the spindle to him when Lewis reached them, shaking his head frantically. “She must be the one to throw it since she held it when I wove the spell.”

  Spell? He meant the circles in the air he wove above Isla’s hand while she held the spindle.

  Isla struggled to stand, and Daniel rose with her, wrapping his arm around her waist as she gathered the length of string in one hand and the spindle in the other. She exhaled and focused her gaze on the dragon. Its erratic movement slowed. It swung its enormous head away from Nigel and locked on her with its eerie green eyes. The dragon gradually turned its enormous body toward her.

  “Isla, no,” Daniel murmured. “Please—”

  “Get me closer,” Isla whispered to Daniel, and to his horror, blood trickled from her nose. She was hypnotically calming the creature.

  He cursed under his breath but lifted her weight against his side and slowly moved her closer to the beast.

  Isla hefted the weight of the spindle in her hand and let out a length of the string. She blinked, and faltered, leaning on him completely for support.

  “Isla,” he whispered.

  She pulled her arm back, then hurled the spindle with an anguished cry, striking the dragon in the heart. The beast opened her mouth, spewing forth a final blast of flame, and Daniel took Isla to the ground as fire shot over their heads.

  He squinted through the air, which rippled in the heat, and began pulling the singed and fraying string attached to the spindle, afraid it would sever before he could retrieve it.

  The dragon staggered, transforming back into Malette. The enormous body twisted and shrunk, and she slumped, human, to the ground, her black hair fanned around her. The spindle fell from her body with a clang against the stone floor.

  Isla coughed and spit blood, but clutched the spindle when Daniel had pulled it into her reach. She looked over her shoulder at Lewis, who scrambled to them with an empty jar large enough to hold the bloody spindle.

  The silence seemed to roar as loudly as the fire and chaos had. Small flames flickered randomly across the room as books burned and debris crackled. Slowly, Daniel registered the sound of labored breathing; Malette was still alive.

  Her malevolent glare found Isla, who stared back at her with blood dripping from her nose. “I told you to stay out of my head,” the witch murmured. “Now you’ve pushed yourself too far.”

  Isla shook her head. “This won’t kill me.” She smiled. “You’ve lost.”

  Malette coughed and choked. Her breath rattled, but she met Isla’s gaze with a final smile of her own, blood trickling from the side of her mouth. “You’re too late. Even with the spell book, my blood, the cure must be administered tonight.” She laughed, the sound soft and chilling. “Not one year to the day from when you ingested it, but one year to the day when I finished mixing it. You do not have another week. You do not even have another day. Perhaps best of all,” she continued, her voice dropping, thin as a thread, “you’ll never find the most crucial ingredient because for you, Dr. Cooper, it doesn’t exist. You’ve lost, and my son is avenged.” She gasped a final, hideous sound, and then was still, her eyes locked on Isla as she breathed her last.

  Isla sucked in a shuddering breath. She stared at the still form through tears that blurred the image into a solid mass of black and red.

  “What on earth?” Lewis whispered.

  Malette’s body shimmered, flickering into her dragon form. Before Isla could form a coherent thought, the dragon burst into flame. She stared at the sight, blinking at the heat and searing brightness. As quickly as the fire started, it vanished, leaving a pile of ash in its place.

  Rain continued to fall, and gusts of wind swirled around the remains, scattering the ashes into the dark night.

  Never make it in time . . . It had been her fear from the beginning, and it now pounded through her head in an awful refrain. She had run out of time. Malette had won. At least she could tell herself that she had gone down swinging, that she hadn’t given up, had fought to the bitter end.

  Nigel sank onto the floor next to the ashes. “She’s dead.” He exhaled quietly.

  Isla’s brain spun in a million different directions and then seemed unable to grasp even the simplest of things. Her head ached in a pounding she was afraid would never subside.

  “Isla?” Daniel touched her arm gently.

  The deep wounds in her shoulders where the dragon’s claws had dug throbbed, and her feet ached from her tromp through the jungle.

  Isla looked up at the storm-darkened sky. Even without seeing the moon rise, she could feel how fast midnight was approaching. She thought back to the night before when she’d been sleeping under tree roots. So much had transpired in twenty-four hours; it had felt like an eternity.

  Lewis turned a page in Malette’s spell book and ran his finger over the words. “Perhaps not all is lost. Malette’s instructions here at the end say that once the curse has put you to sleep one last time, you must receive a drop of blood and a kiss from ‘one who loves you equally.’ If we can reach a loved one, perhaps?” He looked up, a note of hope in his voice.

  Isla stared at remaining ash and dust, but in her mind, she still saw Malette’s eyes, which seemed to laugh at her from beyond the grave. “That’s what she meant,” she mumbled, numb. “I’ll never find the last ingredient because it doesn’t exist. Not for me.”

  “I’ll telescribe Samson,” Daniel said, fumbling in his pockets. “Tell him to bring the Briar Rose airship closer. We’ll leave immediately. The engine—perhaps I can find an extra accelerant of some sort to use. The propellers are already turning at their maximum speed, and we’d have to fly around the storm—hope to catch a better wind—but we’re much faster in the air than on the ocean . . . If I push her to her limits, we could make it to England in—”

  “Weeks,” Isla said softly.

  The four of them fell silent.

  Isla looked at Daniel. Tears pooled and spilled over, and she cried softly, fearing her heart would break. Malette was still in her head, insisting nobody loved her enough to break the curse, and fate was wretched beyond all measure because she’d fallen in love with Daniel Pickett and he was too kind. She’d thought when Malette was going to kill her that she should have told him she loved him, but now she realized it was an unfair burden to place upon him. He would try to break the curse for her and because his feelings weren’t the same as hers, it wouldn’t work. He’d never forgive himself.

  A clock in the library sounded midnight’s first chime. It echoed throughout the dark hall, mingling with the steady thrum of rain. Her physical pain was so thorough and familiar by now she’d grown accustomed to it. She didn’t even feel the cold anymore.

  The chiming continued, like a death knell.

  Lewis shook his head, riffling through the diary pages. “Something, there must be something . . .” he murmured.

  Isla released a shuddering sob, unwilling to admit defeat, and yet she felt the lethargy stealing upon her even as stood there.

  Daniel gathered her close. “Isla, you’re safe,” he whispered and wiped her tears. “I’ll stay here with you, nothing will happen to you. I promise.”

  She turned her face into his neck. There was so much in her heart and so little time to express it. “Daniel,” she said, “I cannot tell you how much . . .” Her voice broke, and she shuddered. “It is too late,” she whispered.

  Daniel’s
expression hardened. “No,” he said. “We will find a way. I will not quit. I will never stop.” He cradled her head with his hand and rocked back and forth.

  The chiming clock continued, and as the darkness encroached, she clutched a fistful of his shirt. She didn’t want to miss a moment with him, and the nothing was taking her again.

  “No!” She cried despite her resolve to be strong. There were too many things she wanted to say, too much left to do. “No . . .” Her voice faltered, and she registered the familiar heaviness in her arms and legs.

  Daniel’s embrace tightened. “We will find a way,” he whispered in her ear. “I will save you, Isla. I will never, ever stop.”

  Isla succumbed to the darkness, and Daniel let his own tears gather.

  His worry for her over the past two days had consumed him even as he’d tried to remain rational. He had done everything he could think of to help her retrieve what she needed and get her to safety. For the bulk of those hours he hadn’t been certain she was even still alive, and when he’d seen her in Malette’s lair, his relief at seeing her was eclipsed only by his fear he would witness her death.

  By dragon.

  He had yet to fully absorb the reality surrounding him. He had helped Isla slay the dragon, only to have her fall into darkness. A darkness that, according to Malette, would be permanent. He held Isla close. Her breathing and pulse slowed, as it always did at midnight, and as always, his own pulse increased with panic as he waited for her to breathe again.

  He waited. And waited.

  Finally, a full minute later, Isla’s chest rose and fell in a shallow breath. He swallowed, relieved that she was still alive, and hoping perhaps he’d have until six o’clock to find another solution, another way to save her.

  He would drive himself mad if he stayed there, waiting for her to breathe, so he eased himself away from her side and stood over her for a moment.

  Daniel ran a hand through his hair, bunching it in his fist and scrunching his eyes closed. “She did it,” he muttered. “The witch found a way even from the grave . . .” He swallowed reflexively, feeling ill. All the work, all the tears and sweat and effort and agony—to come to this? He shook his head. “There must be something . . .”

  Lewis pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He wiped his arm across his forehead and paged through the diary. “We’ll find a way, Daniel. Let me do some digging in the library.” He glanced at Crowe. “Are there lanterns somewhere? We need light.”

  Crowe nodded and stiffly shoved himself to his feet. “Upstairs in storage. Should be kerosene there as well. I’ll help you look.”

  Lewis swept his eyes over Crowe’s battered body. “You stay here with Daniel. I can find the lamps.”

  Crowe nodded. “Let me see the spell book.”

  Lewis handed the book to him and then made his way to the doors. He shoved them open, and the resulting creak sounded loud in the room.

  Daniel stepped out onto the broken edge of the floor. Open to the sky, he let the wind and the rain lash at him, willing himself to feel something—anything—besides the encroaching numbness.

  Isla is gone.

  The idea would not leave him. He dug his hand into his hair and looked out over land and air. There was nothing but marshland and river water beneath him, and the sky was equally dark.

  Isla is gone.

  And he loved her so much, it hurt. He heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder as Nigel approached him.

  Daniel had seen the extent of the damage Malette had done to her son—the bruises and cuts were plentiful—but the man had held himself together, and Daniel had yet to hear him complain even once about the physical pain.

  Crowe remained silent, squinting against occasional gusts of wind.

  “I refuse to accept this,” Daniel finally bit out, fury building. He hated Malette so much it physically burned. “Why, why?”

  “Because she was evil. She was evil incarnate, there was not a decent bone in her body.” Nigel cursed and rubbed his face.

  “There has to be something.” Daniel’s thoughts spun, grasping and discarding the tiniest of possibilities. “Something . . . anything . . .”

  “There is.” Nigel looked at him with clouded eyes.

  “What?” It took Daniel a moment before he realized that Crowe held Malette’s spell book by his side. His finger holding a place near the back of the book.

  Nigel flipped open the book to the page he had marked. “She made some personal notes here.” He pointed to something Daniel couldn’t read. “It’s in Romanian. She kept all of her personal notes in either French or Romanian.”

  Daniel felt a shiver of anxiety run through the numbness in his chest. “What does it say?”

  “The kiss—the actual kiss?”

  Daniel waited, not daring to allow even a moment of hope to rise up in him.

  “It must occur after the first strike of midnight but before the last.”

  Daniel barked out a laugh. “Midnight has come and gone. The clock has chimed its last.” He shook his head. “Isla was right. We are too late.”

  Nigel shook his head. “I don’t believe that is what Malette meant. I believe she meant the end of the midnight hour—before the last minute when midnight changes to one o’clock. I believe we have an hour before the curse becomes permanent.”

  Daniel couldn’t make sense of it. He looked at Nigel, feeling faint, numb. An hour? Could it be possible?

  Nigel snapped the book shut. “We have Malette’s blood. We have Isla’s. We simply need to mingle it with the blood from a loved one’s finger, and trace it onto her forehead. And then the kiss.”

  “But her family—”

  “—is not here,” Nigel finished. “Even if they were, I’m not sure they could break the curse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nigel offered him a ghost of a smile. “You’re either modest or stupid, I’m not sure which.”

  Daniel studied the man carefully.

  “You love her,” Nigel said wearily. “It’s obvious to everyone—except, perhaps, the two of you.”

  Daniel shook his head, his lips tightening. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

  “You have to do it.”

  “No! We have exactly one drop of Malette’s blood extracted from the spindle. Once used, it is gone. If I were to attempt it and meet with failure—”

  “Fool!” Crowe’s eyes looked blacker and fiercer than ever. “Do you love her or not?”

  “Of course I do! I love her more than my own life!”

  “Then prove it!”

  Daniel looked at the darkness around him and shook his head, feeling perilously close to tears. “I have no more claim to her than anyone else,” he said. “There have been no declarations of love, no discussions about building a life together. It won’t work.”

  “Never in my life have I ever watched anyone the way you two look at each other.”

  Daniel thought back to his interaction with Isla before reaching Port Lucy, of the times she’d whispered in his ear, her lips lightly grazing him. Of the way she leaned subtly back into his hand when he escorted her through a door before him, or up a flight of stairs. He’d registered the details on a deeper level where there was no conscious thought—it was those signals and more that had driven him half mad with desire for her, for everything about her, everything he wanted with her.

  It might work . . . He allowed himself to hope, even as he realized how dangerous that was. Malette was vicious and cruel. If she’d built in any other surprises to her blasted curse, they would never know, and time was against them. Still. What was it he’d heard Lia say even as a young girl? Work and luck. Faith and hope in good things.

  Could he truly walk away before he’d tried every possible option? Quince, Bonadea, Lewis—they had cared for her and loved her. Even Nigel, who had be
en one of her harshest critics, a thorn in her side, had saved her more than once.

  Could he do any less?

  Lewis returned with two glowing lanterns and motioned with his head. “Crowe, help me in the library. We must mix the concoction for Isla to drink.”

  Daniel looked at him dubiously. “She’s unconscious.”

  “Then we shall sit her upright and open her mouth. As for the kiss from a loved one—we’ll think on it.”

  “Problem already solved,” Nigel said, glaring at Daniel. He shuffled forward, wincing as he made his way to the library with Lewis.

  “How so?” Lewis asked before they disappeared around the corner and their conversation was muted.

  Daniel returned to the main room, away from the wind and rain, and sat next to Isla’s prostrate form, noting the blue that had already stolen across her features. He lifted her from the cold floor and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her and tucking her head under his chin.

  He rocked her slowly, back and forth, for what felt like an eternity. He whispered all the things they were going to experience together once she awoke, He had to clear his throat more than once as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He hoped he was telling her the truth, that he wouldn’t have to return to London with her in a state resembling death.

  He occasionally heard Lewis’s and Nigel’s murmured conversation coming from the library. Feeling desperate to do something, anything, he retrieved his telescriber from his pocket and sent a message to Samson. He was determined to get them all away from the cursed manor house and the evil that had brought about so much pain and loss. Before long, he heard the whir of the airship and, through the ruins, saw the familiar sight of the Briar Rose as Samson maneuvered her close to the building.

  Daniel stood, cramped and stiff, but still holding Isla close, and made his way into the library where Lewis and Nigel worked side-by-side, reading from the spell book and combining ingredients from Malette’s stash.