by Lani Lenore
But then he stopped short. Why? The woman fit in his arms so perfectly, as if she belonged there. The way she looked at him now… It was very different from the way Olivia looked at him. There was a mix of everything one could feel projecting through those eyes. There was confusion, concern, desire, hatred, trust, fear, pain, love… His fingers clenched her side where he held her–wanting. She didn’t protest.
Why was he thinking these things? He couldn’t think these things. It had been so many years and he’d never been tempted like this–not since the days that he was flesh himself. This was a distraction. It was meant to throw him off his course. He could not allow it. There was work to be done.
Dropping her legs, he released her.
“You’ll want to have a look at this,” Brooke called, and their attention snapped forward.
At the angle where the corridor opened up into the Ellington house entry room, Brooke stood, his gaze directed upward. Armand and Anne joined him there.
What they saw was nothing less or more than any of them expected, and they looked on emotionlessly.
The presents beneath the tree had been ransacked–torn to pieces. The toys that had been ripped from the boxes of pretty paper were suspended from branches of the decorated tree like ornaments, cocooned entirely in thread. Perhaps some of them were also the Lady’s soldiers? There was no trace of them here.
Armand looked over the spacious room that was glowing with the flames from the large fireplace. Something was amiss here. Something was not what it seemed.
“Puppets again?” Anne asked quietly from between the two of them.
“Seems so,” Brooke commented, taking a couple of deliberate steps forward.
“Perhaps a bit of both,” the nutcracker said.
His eyes had drifted to the floor, and in the haste of this cover–up, a smudge of blood had been neglected. It was drawn across the tile–telltale proof of the true story. The soldiers had come. There had been a battle here recently.
“Rodents?” Anne inquired.
She squeezed the marble. Somehow, it always managed to offer her a tiny degree of comfort, like hugging a teddy bear. That thought amused her. In this world, she was the teddy bear’s comfort toy.
“Something’s not quite right,” the nutcracker said, stooping down to view the room from a different angle.
Were those eyes peering at him from beneath the tree? No. Simply reflections of the fire off the glass ornaments. Still, it was much too quiet here. Too calm. The vermin were not gone.
“Be my eyes,” Armand said to Brooke as he moved across the floor toward the tree. Even though they’d nearly had a nasty mishap earlier because of Anne, they would still work together. The other soldier respected his decisions when it came to these dangerous territories.
Brooke peered around and stayed close to Anne as they followed the nutcracker. Armand had his focus set on one thing: the lowest toy–cocoon that was hanging off the tree. He cared very little about the toys inside. If he cared at all, it was only for Olivia’s sake. Perhaps though, he could find out something. But it might not have been worth his time.
He knew they were being watched.
Drawing the glass blade, he cut down the cocoon and worked it open. He’d gotten lucky. Inside was one of the Lady’s soldiers.
Or perhaps it wasn’t luck at all. This one was placed considerably lower than the others. They meant for me to see this.
As soon as the wooden soldier focused on Armand’s face, he began to sputter words.
“We t–tried to stop them. But when we got here it was too late. There were s–so many! They overwhelmed us.”
“Do you know their purpose? Was it something more than taking the gifts hostage?” The Lady’s toy soldier looked at him dumbly. “Speak!”
At the command, the toy soldier began to yell frantically, nearly weeping through it. The sound was like the dying wail of an animal. Armand knew he would get nothing out of this toy. It had gone insane.
We should not be here.
2
Brooke observed the dim room. He’d decided that the nutcracker had been correct. It didn’t feel right for them to be standing here. Even the air was suspicious.
His eyes passed over thick shadows that rested in the corners of the room like realms of night. Staring into the blankness, the darkness seemed to swirl and move as if it was alive. Brooke had seen something like this before. He could never decide if it was dust that made the dark seem to move, or–
Wait. There was something stirring there. Realization dawned.
“Anne…”
Anne and Armand both looked to Brooke, but before Armand’s gaze got there, he saw what Brooke had seen. Those things in the dark may not have been overly intelligent, but they knew that they had been spotted.
“Run!” Armand commanded the woman, standing abruptly.
“To where?”
“Anywhere!” he said quickly, pulling the sword from his back. “Just hide!”
Anne did as she was told. Quickly, she wound through the mess of crumpled paper and discarded boxes.
Armand stepped forward to shield her fleeing form from view, and out of the darkness came the rats.
3
The rats were very different from the mice, as Armand had attempted to explain to the woman earlier on. An assemblage of three crawled out toward the odd pair of awaiting soldiers. They skulked into the light–large, slobbering beasts that were both wide and long. Their tails were massive, their bloody yellow teeth were sharp, and their eyes shone with the light touching them, mirroring off the red surfaces.
Atop each sat a mouse that was shrouded in white–and less than half the rat’s size. In fact, these larger, more disgusting and dangerous vermin were bigger than Brooke and Armand both.
“I’ve never fought against these,” Brooke said. Even though he admitted this fault, he stood ready with his blades, rooted firmly beside Armand. Unfeeling and fearless, the both of them were.
“Throat, head, chest, or gut. Your choice,” the nutcracker told him.
Brooke heard Armand’s words, but the nutcracker himself was listening to a different sound. The rodents were speaking to each other, but it was not the language of man that they used. Their communications were a series of the unrefined squeaks and chattering they had used before they’d received their master’s blessing. While impossible to speak with his own tongue, these communications were not impossible for Armand to understand.
Did he really need to know what they were saying? No, he did not. He only needed to know that, right now, the rats were moving to encircle both of them to keep them contained in a small area of the floor.
4
Armand didn’t expect Brooke to move until he moved, and that was what he counted on, but once he did make his first attack, he expected the other soldier to help him end this quickly.
The mice circled their rat–mounts around their enemies, contemplating what was best. They had been instructed to battle the soldiers from the Lady Sovereign’s kingdom. They’d not expected to have any unknowns come into this area.
This was not impossible to remedy, however. Mice could capture them, cocooning them up as they had done to the rest of the toys. They could destroy them, but the rodents didn’t think their master would like that. He wanted as few toys destroyed as was possible. What a harsh dilemma.
Before they’d finished considering, the nutcracker tired of this game. He had two humans to protect–one directly, the other indirectly–and he had no time for this. He flipped his blade over, driving it straight into the side of the nearest rat, drawing the rancid, red life–fluid.
The giant creature roared, twisting around, biting at the thing that had caused it discomfort. Armand withdrew the sword before it was broken to tiny shards in the rat’s mouth. Just as swiftly, he plunged the glass into the rat’s ear. The mouse rider had not slid off in time, and Armand had little trouble lopping off the creature’s head.
That was one pair down. T
wo more to go.
The rat and rider that had been following behind the one the nutcracker had slain moved to save their fallen comrades, but Armand was not unprepared. He gripped the screw–rapier and thrust it upward without turning, finding a place for it in the shoulder of the lumbering rodent. The creature recoiled in pain, and the nutcracker withdrew, stabbing again, this time into the beast’s heart.
This next mouse did not even attempt to fight. It raised its head and let out a long squeak–and then it too was missing a head.
This justice had been swift on Armand’s part, and meanwhile Brooke had been left with one rat and mouse pair. The mouse had led the rat to snap at the soldier over and over again, and while he dodged efficiently, he didn’t manage to land a hit either. He’d always heard tales of the rodents, and he’d seen a few passing about in the shafts now and again, but he’d never battled them. Would they truly fall as easily as the nutcracker had claimed? Such great enemies they were, and yet they were more delicate than toys themselves?
The rat dove in once again with its jaws of ragged death. Brooke could hear the sound of its teeth gnashing together after each attempt. It bit once again–a tad low this time–and the soldier hammered his fist down on the rat’s nose. The creature withdrew immediately, falling back.
The rat shook its unsettled head, slinging strings of yellow saliva onto the soldier’s coat. With the creature woozy, Brooke thrust forward his blade–This had better work–and the pointed end entered into the flesh of the beast’s throat.
This had, perhaps, been a lucky feat, but thick blood was seeping from within the rat, running down the edge of Brooke’s blade and soaking into his glove. He watched the stain grown, hardly even noticing the dying creature as it collapsed near him.
The mouse–rider had leapt from its mount in an attempt to escape into the shadows. The nutcracker, however, had different plans for the creature. The mouse skittered to a stop as it saw the blade of red glass crashing down. It was a bit faster than its attacker, managing to avoid the next several attempts as well.
Just by luck, the mouse managed to sink its teeth into the wood of Armand’s leg.
The nutcracker grimaced in pain as blood began to flow from the deep indention. But before he’d brought his fist down into the mouse’s skull, it darted away. He gave chase.
The rodent thought it was leading–actually believed it was going to escape. It scurried on, running on all–fours–
A sharp pain in its throat made it falter. The mouse grasped toward the pain, only to wrap paws around the end of a blood–covered needle that had emerged through its skin. A second painful slice to its back left it flat and dying.
With the whole group slain, Armand turned back toward Brooke, who was still staring down at the blood he’d withdrawn on his blade. He’d never had the pleasure?
“Riveting?” the nutcracker asked in his blandest tone.
Brooke looked up; glanced back down. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his gloved hand into the blood that had pooled on the floor. Armand watched him, wondering to himself if this fascination was such a good thing. Anne, whom this soldier had vowed to guard, was also made of flesh and blood. Brooke knew that it would not be suitable to make her bleed, didn’t he?
The nutcracker didn’t get to contemplate much further than that. Still, after this group was dead, they were not alone. The dark–haired soldier seemed to notice this as soon as he had, looking off toward the shadowy edge of the room. Of course they were not alone. There was no possible way that three mice and three rats could have overtaken so many toys and several soldiers.
From various points in the darkness, Armand began to notice the glow of tiny, round eyes. All of those eyes were pointed his way. Brooke arose near the nutcracker, peering back at the eyes that saw him.
Dozens…
The Mausekönig had sent out an army–but whether it was small or large in comparison to the complete number of followers he had, Armand was not sure. He doubted this was it in its entirety. Still, he would kill as many of them as he could.
The army of vermin crept across the floor, closing space, surrounding them. Armand and Brooke stood back to back. Their weapons were at the ready. Still, there was a bit of uncertainty as to what would come from this attempt. Nearly seventy against two. It didn’t matter. Armand knew this would not be the end of him. He had other things to tend to.
Where’s Anne?
She’s fine. She’s safe. He forced himself to believe that. Even so, his uncertainty nagged him. Dreadful woman; invading his thoughts like that.
He wished he’d never met her.
5
Within the pot of a large plant, lying beneath the rim and against the dirt, Anne had found herself a hiding place. The cat’s eye rested beside her. The safe haven had been difficult to manage, and in the dimness she was unsure if anything had seen her climb inside. She felt safe at least, and she didn’t want to know anything different.
It hadn’t been quiet in the room after Armand had instructed her to run, but she hadn’t looked back. There were sounds of struggle and pain, but more prominently than all that was the pounding of her heart.
What was happening here? They had inadvertently wandered into a war battle that they were not meant to be involved in. Olivia had sent them. Wretched girl. She had no idea what was going on here! They needed to get out! But Armand was the one who agree to do this–her bloody prince! Sadistic bastard. Hating him meant hating this world. But Brooke had not tried to protest, had he? So, all this was his fault. Ignorant nothing. He trusted Armand too much perhaps, and yet not enough.
I do hope they’re all alright… Anne had to admit: she couldn’t quite get along without any of them, despite how they had ruined her life.
Cautiously, she leaned up and peered out over the rim of the vase. From here, she could see out over most of the room, though it was a bit hard to look past the tree that threw out shadows over the room like black lightning. Even though she couldn’t see it fully, she witnessed the battle. She saw the circle of mice warriors, some riding atop giant rats. She saw wave after wave, moving into the circle to battle the two toys locked within. Together, Armand and Brooke thinned them out, and when the number dropped too low, more mice joined in the fray.
Anne watched this twisted dance for several moments, disgusted, and yet…
Yes. Chop off all their heads! No; make them suffer!
A tiny scratching noise gripped her attention, and she ducked quickly down into the soil. What had that sound been? A random piece of wrapping that had fallen over? Was something close? She lay down against the soil, knowing it was getting into her hair along with the sweat and oil that was already there. Her dress that had recently been clean had collected the dirt as well. Her skin felt dirty and greasy, and if there’d been a mirror anywhere close for her to peer into, she would have closed her eyes and run past it like it was Black Death.
Black Death… Rats… More bad thoughts.
Poor hygiene was beginning to take a serious toll on her sanity. All those things didn’t stray far from her mind, but at this moment, they were not the most important.
Because something was clawing up the side of the flowerpot.
Anne halted her breathing. Her body became stiff, though she knew it would have been better to keep herself relaxed. She found she could not. How could she? And how could Armand always expect her not to be phased? She was only human, after all. She wasn’t like him.
The first thing Anne saw that made her cringe was a small pink nose. It moved over the rim of the pot, sniffing busily. She saw the tiny nostrils working. Then the bent whiskers emerged. A long muzzle. Two beady eyes that looked down at her.
And the creature grinned a toothy smile with rotten teeth.
“Peeeeek–a–boo!” the mouse hissed.
The danger hadn’t become real until the wretched vermin had spoken. Anne’s eyes grew wide. Instincts took over. Without even knowing what she was doing, grabbed a fistful of d
irt and threw it into the rodent’s eyes.
The creature hissed and jerked back, and Anne hurried to her feet, running as best she could across the sinking dirt and to the other side of the flowerpot. There, she pulled herself up onto the rim, looking down at the long drop. How in the world had she gotten herself in here? Oh yes…there had been a nice crack for a foothold. The distance down seemed akin to jumping from the roof of a house–nearly twice her height.
Still, she couldn’t stay here. She shimmied down the edge a bit, trying to fathom how this could work. She would likely break her legs or something much worse.
Before she could decide what to do, she was already blocked off. The mouse had paced around to find her, and she saw now that it was riding a monstrous rat. The rat lifted its massive head toward her legs, nudging her dangling feet and sniffing her. She pulled her knees up to her chest immediately in disgust.
The mouse was not appearing too happy after the blow she’d caused him. It thrust a wooden spike toward her, unwavering. If she’d tried to slide off, she would have been impaled on it.
“No more run–n–ning,” the mouse said. But that was as far is it got.
Anne felt fear, but it was not enough to drown her panic, still scrambling for safety, but in a red blur, the pike that the mouse held was chopped in half. The rat responded to the attacker first, sending a strong claw into the opponent’s side.
Only, this opponent was a nutcracker, and the metal ridges did not break.
Atop the rat, the mouse pulled a small vial full of turpentine, sitting back at the perfect angle to splash it onto Armand, but the mouse had not counted on being unable to control his mount. The nutcracker slashed the rat’s nose and it reared upward. The mouse held on as best it could, but that was a serious mistake. The path into the rat’s heart was clear, and Armand rushed forward with the sword’s point, ramming not only through the rat’s body, but into the mouse that sat atop it. Blood began to run from their noses.