Frosty stopped, letting the soldiers move around him, not interrupting their progression forward until we came face to face with Scrooge.
“She will get plenty of rest soon.” Frosty peered down at my torn and bloody costume, a smirk tipping his mouth. “If she can’t handle a few holly cuts, then Winterland is no place for her anyway.”
“A few? Look at her; she’s covered.” Scrooge nodded toward me.
“All the songs, movies, and books about you portray you as some jolly happy soul when in reality you are a white ball of rancid dog shit.” I leaned forward, my nose almost touching Frosty’s large button nose.
“Is that so?” His branch arm came out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Who says?”
“I do. And because I am the sensible one in this horrible place, I say it is very much so.” I jerked my head away from his touch.
“Only the insane are so sure of their sanity.” A huge grin curved up his mouth. “The madness is seeping in. You will be one of us in no time.” He rotated, moving forward. “The more absurd you are, the more rational you become.”
I snarled, glancing over at Scrooge. He shrugged, a cocky grin tugging his lips. “He has you there.”
“Not you too.”
“I told you, Ms. Liddell, once you give up your strict notion of practical and logical, the more you will understand.”
I shook my head, my brain growing heavier. Back home I was ridiculed for my lofty dreams, but here I was mocked for being too sensible.
Soldiers shoved me forward, marching us for what felt like days but at the same time, mere minutes. The sky never changed color. This land seemed to be in a perpetual state of darkness.
We eventually came upon what could be described as a quaint village similar to the storybook ones you see in movies or in the English countryside. Those adorable snow-covered white cottage homes with thatched roofs, red-brick chimneys, and flower boxes in front of the windows or ivy crawling up the side would fill the area. A small river would run slowly through the town; the sides of the town joined with cobblestone bridges. A glowing Christmas tree would dominate the center for the whole village to share, and ribbons and bows would decorate every streetlight.
That was what it should have looked like, but this village was hollow and rundown. No life or love came from the homes, abandoned long ago. There were no decorations except shattered twinkle lights on some homes. Paint was chipped from all the buildings, overgrown weeds sprouted from the old gardens, covering windows and some doors. The brook even sounded like it was crying as it tripped over the rocks in the riverbed.
An old statue was left in chunks in the middle of town, so destroyed I could not make out what it once had been. Only a partial chubby stone hand and face led me to believe it had once been a man with a beard.
We marched past the village, bearing up a small hill. The old cobblestone road gave way to newer smooth pavement. Lamps similar to the ones the soldiers carried dangled on posts for a quarter of a mile, lighting the path to the building at the end.
“Holy hot toddy.” My lips parted; a sinking sensation plummeted like a rock in my stomach. An enormous castle loomed in the foreground, looking more like the castle of an evil Disney queen than anything that should belong in a Christmas realm. Built with dark stone, the castle nearly disappeared into the blackness and fog. Dozens of spires speared up from the roof, but the middle tower reached so far into the sky I had to crane my head back. The entrance tower divided the castle into two equal wings, which appeared to be at least a half mile long on each side. Only a few windows glowed with dim yellow light.
Nothing about this place was inviting. It was the set for a horror movie. Spikes with round or oval objects on them were dotted along the lane to the castle. A noise came from my throat when one of the lamps gleamed off them.
Heads! Positioned there to send fear into anyone thinking about revolting against Her Majesty. They didn’t use that fear tactic in my realm anymore, but they had centuries earlier when you peed and crapped in buckets and tossed it out the window into the street.
Those things had changed. Advanced. But this place was set in the Dark Ages.
Frosty moved down the long road, the toy guards at the entrance bowing to him and opening the huge gates for us. The loud bang of the wood made me jump, chains grinding as a spiked gate drew up. As we walked through an arched tunnel, we came out into a large courtyard. Suddenly everything felt very real and very terrifying. Fear pumped my blood quickly through my system, creating a cloud in my head.
“Welcome to Winterland Palace.” Frosty motioned around proudly.
My gaze moved up, taking in large birdcages hanging from poles all around the square. They were big enough to fit a small child. When something moved in one of them, my heart ricocheted against my ribs. The cages held live creatures.
“Scrooge,” a voice called down, white paws gripping the bars.
Oh no.
“Hare,” Scrooge exclaimed, his shoulders sagging with despair. “You okay?”
“Still have a foot to spare.” Hare tried to joke, but it fell flat.
“The others?” Scrooge asked, his voice strained.
“Uh—” Hare started to speak but was cut off by voices across the square.
“Oh no, Mr. Scrooge. Not you too!” The twins cried down from a cage on our left, their faces black and blue. Had they been beaten? “We are really sorry, Mr. Scrooge.”
“Fuck.” Scrooge’s head fell forward, muttering under his breath, disappointment gritting his teeth. “Penguin?”
“We don’t know,” Hare responded. “You know how he gets when he’s nervous. Wouldn’t shut up. They took him in there.” Hare nodded to another darkened archway before us. I knew whatever was through there wasn’t good.
Sorrow showered down on me, and my chest stung at the thought they had all been caught. Odd… I had spent little time with them, but my heart ached at the thought of anything happening to them. Penguin was really kind. An innocent in a land that seemed to beat the trait out of you.
“They should have known better than to align themselves with you.” Frosty’s cob pipe slid to the other side of his mouth. “They’ll be tried and headless by tomorrow’s supper. The Queen is making it a big party. You, Scrooge, are the grand finale.”
“Splendid. I expect nothing less.” He winked at Frosty.
Frosty frowned, turned, and skated through the archway.
My legs felt coated in cement, and I stumbled a few times when the soldiers tried to rush me.
“Stay strong, Ms. Liddell. Don’t give in to it.” Scrooge leaned into me, his breath whispering up my neck, spreading shivers throughout my body, scorching my already overheated skin.
We were led into another courtyard, but this time a woman surrounded by guards stood on the stairs leading into the entrance of the castle.
I stared at her, blinking, wondering if what I saw was accurate.
The Queen was nothing like I imagined. She could have been Helen Mirren’s sister. An older woman but sexy as hell. Her confidence and severe expression made a chill run down my spine. Her silver-gray hair was cut into a sleek, long bob. She wore a sleeveless, formfitting dress, which accented her slim figure. The material was such a deep red it appeared black. She had blood-red heeled ankle boots and a matching cloak. Her lips were coated the same color, like her victims’ blood still stained her mouth. Blood-red queen was right. In her hand was a black-and-crimson candy cane the size of a walking stick, and around her neck, on a chain, was a white rabbit’s foot.
Silver bells! Hare’s foot? That bitch wore his foot around her neck as a good luck necklace.
Her narrowed cold gray-blue eyes were locked on Scrooge, like no one else existed. “Well, if it isn’t my dear general returning home at last.” Her chilly voice sliced through the air. She took a step down. “How I’ve missed you, my knave.”
“I’m not your knave.” Fury strained Scrooge’s shoulders. “Or have you forgotten
?”
“How could I forget a betrayal such as yours?” She took another step down, walking slowly to him. “Did I not do everything for you? All I did was give, but you turned away from my gifts.”
“Gifts?” Scrooge snorted derisively. “I think I can do without your gifts.”
“And so you did.” Her hand went up to his cheek. “But I figured you learned by now what happens when you refuse my kindness.”
“Yeah, but now I have nothing left.” He laughed, his tone almost crazed. “Nothing.” His humor dropped like a flick of a switch, his lip curling up in a snarl. “So… do your best… Mrs. Claus.”
Everything stopped for me.
Holy. Crapping. Tinsel cream puffs… This was Mrs. Claus? The jolly, rosy-cheeked, round, sweet, grandma-like character my realm described?
Her body jolted back, her hand smacking his face hard, the noise echoing off the stone.
“How dare you! It is forbidden to call me that.” She rolled her shoulders back, her fingers clutching his jaw. “You really do want to join them. You’re practically begging me. Your little protest holiday party was pathetic. I thought you would do better than that.” She grasped him harder, and he let out a pained groan, his lids closing. “I think I will keep you alive for eternity in my dungeons, hearing them cry for you over and over.”
“Stop!” Scrooge grabbed his head, his eyes squeezing in pain. “Stop. Please.”
“Your actions have consequences. You should have thought about those before. Now you must face what you have done. It all falls on you. I tried hard and was quite patient and charitable with you. But you refused to be congenial.”
He cried out, his legs buckling underneath him. She followed him down, leaning over to get a better grip. Whatever she was doing caused him tremendous pain. Seeing him in agony pinched my heart and wrenched my gut.
“Stop!” I fought against my restraints, trying to move my body between them. “Let go of him.”
Like the world around her and Scrooge suddenly came to life, her eyes went to me with a flash of shock before it vanished. She straightened, removing her hand from him. Scrooge sagged into the snowy cobblestone ground, his breath sounding clipped.
“What. Did. You. Say?” The Queen turned fully to me, rage blistering off her like fireworks. “How dare you address me in such a manner.”
Crap.
“Who are you?”
“This is Ms. Alice. The one I told you about.” Frosty tried to move in.
“Shut up,” she barked at him. “I did not ask you.” Her head snapped to me, and her gaze moved down my figure, taking in what I was wearing all the way to my curved boots. Somewhere I had lost the bells off the tips. “What are you wearing?” she hissed.
“The uniform of the Rebel Alliance.” Blame it on the poison settling in my veins or doing what Scrooge and Frosty recommended… giving in to the madness.
“The what?” Her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed.
“Rebel Alliance. Where Han Solo, Princess Leia, and Luke Skywalker await my orders to attack this place.”
I was pretty sure I heard Scrooge chuckle, but he could have been clearing his throat. Everyone else stared at me as if I were the one who lost my mind. Maybe I had.
“There’s more of you?” She stepped closer to me, looking around.
“Lots more.” I nodded. “Dumbledore, Harry Potter, Hermione… even Ron. Though he’s pretty useless.”
She continued to gawk at me. I would have enjoyed it more if I didn’t feel like collapsing. It took all I had to keep myself upright.
“Well.” She clicked her tongue, taking a step back. “They might think twice when they see your head on a spike.” She whirled around. “Off with her head!”
“But Majesty?” Frosty held up his arm. “Your Highness?”
“What?” She spun back, her cape swirling perfectly with her movement.
“D-D-Don’t you think…” He sucked in nervously. “You should wait to chop off her head until the festivities? Wouldn’t it make more of an impact to this Rebel group if she were killed in front of everyone?”
My eyes darted to Frosty, glaring at the talking snow cone.
The Queen pressed her lips together, her fingers tapping at her chin. “I think you are right.” She drummed her candy cane on the steps. “It would make much more of an impression if her head came off then. More watching. Yes, Mr. Snowman, it is perfect.” A smile spread over her face. “This will be such a fun party. We haven’t had a beheading in a long time.” She pointed her cane at Scrooge and me. “Take them to the dungeons. I must go plan.” Similar to a kid waking up on Christmas morning, excitement bubbled over her as she headed into the castle, shouting orders at her staff.
Scrooge was yanked onto his feet, both of us being shoved toward another archway, Frosty moving in beside me.
“Get away from me,” I huffed, trying to keep up with the pace of the wooden sentinels dragging me toward stairs leading down.
Dungeon.
“I saved you,” he hissed into my ear.
“Saved me?” I laughed. “Is that what you call it? My head is going to be on the dessert platter.”
“No. You’ll be the appetizer.”
I did a double take, glowering harder at him.
“Scrooge will be her denouement. You, my dear, are not worth much more than a starter.”
“That makes it better.” I felt my tongue struggling to work.
“I gave you hours. Otherwise, you’d be dead now,” he replied so low I barely heard him. “Don’t waste it.”
With that he glided away, not looking back.
I wagged my head, the haze thickening in my brain. Was he was trying to help me? I must have imagined it.
Everything around me was starting to feel like a dream. The poison was going to make me lose my mind… before I lost my head.
Actually, I was pretty sure I already had.
Chapter 8
We were unceremoniously shoved into a small cell. My knees raked over the hard stone as I tumbled to the floor, shredding what was left of my tights. I gritted my jaw, stabs of pain biting my nerves like incessant stinging ants. Every part of my body ached.
Scrooge stumbled in, falling next to me. “I can’t wait to light a match on the rest of you brainless minions.”
I turned to see an indistinguishable soldier slam the door, the metallic bang vibrating through my teeth. None of them said a word as they marched out of the dungeon, close to resembling zombies.
A wave of nausea churned my head, and I dug my nails into the dirt between the cold stone pieces, trying to keep myself from falling over. I took a deep breath, but the stale air reeked of piss, mold, and death. Nope, no smell of sugarplums or cinnamon cookies baking from “Mrs. Claus’s” house.
“Alice.” Scrooge moved in next to me, his hand touching my sweat-drenched forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the Queen was Mrs. Claus?” I glanced at him. I had no energy to push his hand away.
“Would it have mattered?” He brushed strands of hair sticking to my face.
“I don’t know who to trust.” My gaze scoured his face. He was an exceptionally attractive man. In the dim light streaking in from a lamp in the passage, his blue eyes glowed, holding me to him like an anchor. “Why were you her knave? Did you have sex with her?”
He took off his hat, running his hands through his gorgeous black, wavy hair. Damn, this man was hot. Or was I the one who was scorching? Sitting back on my heels, it felt as if someone put me in a pot of boiling water, the fabric of my outfit sticking to me.
“As I said, you should trust no one.” Scrooge watched me, no emotion in his words or on his face. His hand reached out, and his fingers slid delicately over my cheek. “The only person you can protect is yourself.”
“But I don’t want to live that way.” I stared back at him, my lashes fluttering at his touch. He was a cool balm, calming my sizzling skin. “Don’t stop,” I whispere
d.
“Does it feel good?”
I nodded, a soft groan rose from my lips, my lids closing as his fingers slid down my throat. “Being strong and independent is different from being isolated. All living things need some kind of family, a group to depend on and trust. It does not make you weak.”
“I’m not a good man, Ms. Liddell,” he said, his timbre sounding like gravel and smoke. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of protecting a group like the one you speak of. It did not change anything, and I will not go through it again. I’m stingy and frugal with my trust now. I have learned it is only yourself you can worry about.”
My lashes drifted up, my attention locking on him. For a second, I thought I saw grief darken his eyes, but it vanished before I could blink. We stared at each other, silent and intense, forcing my pulse to throb until it echoed in my ears.
Queasiness crashed down, bile flooding the back of my throat. “Oh no.”
“Wait. Here.” Scrooge grabbed a wooden bucket from the corner, which was probably our toilet, and shoved it underneath my head scarcely in time.
I had no clue when I had eaten last, but I continued to vomit until nothing was left. Groaning, my limbs collapsed, no longer able to hold me up.
Scrooge moved to me, pulling my head into his lap, patting the dripping sweat from my forehead. “I’m sorry, Ms. Liddell.”
“Why?”
“For taking you through there. For not getting medication in time.”
“None are your fault.” It was becoming a struggle to talk, my thoughts and mouth floating in different directions.
“I’m so hot,” I muttered. Roasting heat flushed over me, making me want to crawl out of my skin. I tore absently at my outfit, wanting it off. I was going to boil to death. I knew it. Anything touching my skin felt as if it were strangling me. “I need these off.”
“What are you doing?” Scrooge tried to grab for my hands.
“No!” I screamed, using my failing energy. I moved away, pulling off my shoes, then standing up to start on my costume. “I need them off! They’re melting to my skin. I can feel it.”
DESCENDING INTO MADNESS Page 6