The Nutcracker Bleeds

by Lani Lenore

  Anne stopped short when she felt Brooke’s fingers tighten against her hand as if he heard her words and felt her distress. In this, her lowest moment–her time of loss and her fear that there would be no future–she managed a smile. She was not alone after all.

  A strange thing cut through her mind then. Perhaps it was something that she might have asked Brooke if she’d gotten the chance before all this had happened. She found herself asking it now, though she hadn’t even given herself permission.

  “Do you hate me for wanting Armand more?” she uttered lightly, almost in a whisper.

  She received her response immediately. There was a jolt against her arm as the bloodstained blade shot forth from Brooke’s sleeve. His arm manipulated hers, pulling the blade up before her. Anne’s eyes widened in fear. Was this her answer? Had he embraced an emotion? Jealousy. He would cut her throat for it? She wanted to protest, but she could do nothing.

  As soon as her panic rose, however, it began to subside. The arm was not making any violent actions toward her. In fact, it was not moving at all.

  What?

  Brooke’s arm held hers in the air, forcing it to stretch to its full length, pointing in the direction she had very suddenly stopped walking in. What was this? Was he urging her on? Was he warning her of something?

  Anne stood still in the shaft that was invaded by only designs of light from vents. She stared onward, but could see nothing. She opened her mouth, nearly asking Brooke what he meant before she remembered that he could not answer.

  Then, she heard it.

  Faint footsteps pounded against the floor of the shaft a short distance away. The ferocity of the echo made it sound like an army instead of a singular foe as the thing came closer to her. She wanted to run, even managed to shift her feet a bit, but Brooke held her hand firmly. He seemed to have no intention of letting her retreat. But what was this coming on at her? Surely not a rodent. The Rat King had promised her safety! Then again, it was not as if she had trusted him.

  The arm’s resolve did not waver. Anne tried to assure herself that she was going to be alright, just as a small figure emerged from the lingering dust in the darkness. To Anne’s surprise, she recognized her.

  “Olivia?”

  At the sound of her voice saying the girl’s name, the blade shot back up into Brooke’s sleeve just as the running girl fell into Anne’s arms.

  For a moment, the woman hardly knew what to think of this, but she clutched the girl tightly as if Olivia was her only link to the outside. Unlike any time before when she had hugged or consoled the girl, this time Anne actually cared. She felt it in her heart that the feeling was sincere.

  “It’s alright, my dear. It’s alright,” was what came from her mouth by instinct.

  “I want to go home!” Olivia sobbed, hiding her face in Anne’s dress.

  The girl was dirty, her pretty doll dress was torn; she was damp and she smelled mildly of the rodents’ stench. What had happened while Anne was too busy thinking of herself and her own losses?

  “What are you doing all by yourself?” the nurse asked Olivia, squeezing her tightly. “What happened?”

  “I was there!” the girl cried. “Nobody came!”

  “Where?”

  Anne pushed Olivia back, attempting to look into the girl’s lowered face. That face was red with bitter sorrow and stained with tears.

  “What happened to you?”

  “The scissors!” Olivia screamed. “I knew the straps were not tight enough. I slid out of them. But nobody came! I wanted to be saved and I waited and waited, but no one came!”

  Anne felt a strange sort of guilt in that moment. She and Armand had not kept a good enough watch on Olivia. They had not even known that she was missing from her room.

  “Are you hurt?” the woman inquired.

  Olivia shook her head with a short movement.

  “I’m tired of this game,” the girl muttered lightly.

  “It’s alright, Olivia,” Anne said softly, as much for herself as for the girl. “We’re going home.”

  As if to mark this with an omen, a shrill sound came rushing through the shaft behind them. Neither could deny how it made them shiver.

  4

  The sound of a scream rang through the first floor of the Ellington house. It traveled up to the second floor through the heating shafts, but those who heard it there were shaken out of their sleep only to fall directly back into it.

  William, on the first floor searching for Anne and Olivia, heard the scream of his youngest daughter in the hall and moved toward it.

  Todd, with a key in hand that he’d found simply lying on the rugged corridor of the second floor hallway, headed unsupervised to Olivia’s room.

  Chapter Thirty–Seven: The Blade’s Edge

  1

  Anne held Olivia’s hand as they moved hastily through the dark; Brooke held hers. Olivia clung closely to her nanny, refusing to stray even a few centimeters away. The woman did not know how long it would take Armand to reach the Rat King named Augustus, but it would not do for the curse to be lifted while she and Olivia were still in the shafts. There was clearly not enough room. Anne knew that the best and closest place would be her own room, for there was another thing she recalled about this transformation. She knew that they would most certainly be without clothes when they were back to their rightful size. A nightmarish image of someone finding them both naked on the floor of an occupied guest room flashed through her mind. That simply would not do.

  After they got out of this, they were never going to speak of it again, and no one was ever to know.

  She felt more confident now that the rat was truly going to release them. He had allowed her to come this far without Armand, so she guessed he would keep his word.

  Armand…

  She shook her head slightly to settle her thoughts. There would be time for her to mourn at some distant hour, but not one moment before she got herself and Olivia out of this.

  “Do you know how we are to get back?” Olivia whispered quietly.

  “We just have to get to my room,” Anne promised her.

  Yes, just a little farther. Then it was back to reality to deal with a few things–things that seemed minor compared to all this. Armand had left her with a few words of wisdom, and it was by those words that Anne had made her decision. No matter how jealous she was of Agatha Ellington, or how much she would have liked to take the woman’s life from beneath her, she knew she should not be selfish. Somewhere inside, she had always known that. She had to cast off her personal gain and do the right thing. Somehow, she had to expose William and Todd for their wrongdoings. She would find a way. She could not let the woman die.

  But, first things first.

  She moved onward with Olivia. Anne could see the open vent that would certainly lead into her room. Almost there…

  Just as her heart began to feel relief that they were about to be free from this terrible curse, the blade shot down out of Brooke’s sleeve against her arm. Anne halted immediately, tugging Olivia to a stop as well. Her relief sunk down toward fear. Brooke had been alerted by something. What was it? Olivia stood, quiet and attentive.

  The same as when Olivia had come at her in the shaft, Brooke raised Anne’s arm with the blade and pointed straight out in front of her. She could not see it–and she was not certain how he knew–but there was something there.

  The woman backed away a few steps, and Brooke did not hold her there as he had done the last time. Quite the opposite. He used the arm to jerk her around and force her to face the direction she and Olivia had just come from. Anne took the hint.

  She started off with Olivia slowly to mask the sound of their footsteps, but that idea soon passed from good to bad.

  “Heeeere pretty, pretty.”

  The whispered call from down the shaft seemed to surround them on all sides. The air felt like warm breath, giving birth to panic. The woman could not resist. She turned to look behind her in the dark.

&n
bsp; “We’ve been looking for you, sweet. Do come and play with us.”

  There were footsteps emerging now from at least two different parties, coming on, slow and deliberate. Anne thought she could see a pair of darker forms lumbering toward her. The sound of clanging metal reached her ears, and she saw a tiny spark which illuminated a face for only an instant.

  That face was only half as attractive as it had once been. She recognized it, and her heart filled with dread.

  “Run,” Anne instructed to the girl with her, nearly choking on the word, but Olivia stood motionless, frozen by the sight. Anne turned and gripped the girl’s arm, breaking off into a run and pulling Olivia with her. “Run!”

  It took a moment, but eventually the girl’s legs began to work. They sprinted down the tunnel with only one destination: Away.

  Behind them, the footsteps came on faster as the open vent to safety slipped further into the distance.

  2

  For as long as he’d awaited this moment, and for as many times as he’d fantasized about how it would be done, Armand could not say it was like he’d expected because, throughout all his visions of killing his enemy, there had been no details–save for the blood. Now, after the doll named Clara had led him down into the lair he’d been unable to locate on his own, and after he had witnessed several mice slinking away into the darkness as he passed, he found himself in a long room beneath the house.

  A pale floor stretched out before him, and while many of the tiles were imperfect, this room was certainly an improvement to the rest of the domain. Candles stood against the walls and down the length of the hall. With the aid of the reflective floor, they expelled every dark shadow. This was a ballroom of sorts, or an unfinished throne room. Armand thought it would make a fine arena.

  Clara led him out onto the floor a short distance before stopping. He halted behind her. She did not ask him to remove his weapons; to do so would be pointless. The sole reason of his visit was to use them. The girl had stopped, but she did not address her master. This nutcracker needed no introduction.

  There was a wooden table down the length of the room with pools of blood atop it that dripped steadily onto the floor. The floor was soaked in drying splatter that slowly rolled through the cracks, reaching for Armand. Behind that table was a large, dark mass, sitting with its face covered by two lengthy, clawed hands. The rat seemed much larger than Armand had recalled, but that did not intimidate him.

  The nutcracker and the child stood silently until the hideous rodent raised his head, but of course he had known they were there all along. There was no doubt that he had been watching through Clara’s eyes during their trek. Now, without being told, the small doll turned and left the room, leaving them to their business. Neither of them took their attention off the other long enough to watch her go.

  The rat stood from his chair, looking down at his enemy. The nutcracker seemed smaller than he remembered, but that was all the better. That would make him far easier to handle. The rodent felt a tingling sensation throughout him, but he withheld his anticipation.

  “Armand,” the King of Mice addressed with a lopsided grin. His razor teeth were covered in blood, and there was dark fire in the rodent’s eyes.

  The nutcracker’s stare was firm, his empty eyes focused on the one who had done this to him–the one who he had blamed, hated, and followed all this time. At the sight of his enemy’s smile, he found his own that spread over his wooden lips.

  “Augustus,” he replied with an eagerness that was not matched by his enemy. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  3

  Anne didn’t know where she was going, only that she was desperate to get away. She ran down the shaft as fast and as hard as she could, pulling Olivia along with her. Behind them, the wooden footsteps continued to pound, bringing the two determined puppets closer.

  Brooke’s brothers, Lakke and Rivere, certainly had only one aim in their heads: to kill the two of them when they finally caught up. The Rat King himself had said that he had no further use for them, so whether the brothers were under instruction or acting on their own, Anne knew she had to get away from them. She was not willing to die now–not directly before she was going to be saved. She was willing to dart over into any room available, but as she moved past, she saw that none of the vents were open. Would she and Olivia run into a corner at the end, only to be chopped to pieces? No! It could not end this way!

  Olivia yelled out something at her side, but Anne only heard an inaudible sound. There had to be something they could do!

  “The lift!” she heard Olivia say more clearly.

  The teacup lift! It was a short turn down this corridor, and it would take them to the third floor–to Olivia’s room. The place may have still been a war zone, but it seemed to be their only option. Now, if they could only get to the lift in time.

  4

  Rivere scraped his blades together, hoping to make them sharper while enjoying the hissing sound they made. There would be blood on them soon, and he would know what human death tasted of. It was a personal matter concerning that fleeing woman, and only because her younger companion was with her, she would have to suffer as well. Lakke was with him–the last living of his brothers. The loyal one. They did not need their brother Brooke in order to function. With every step, they were gaining on their prey. Oh yes; they would have the nutcracker’s princess soon.

  Lakke knew how his brother’s rage took him over completely and left no room for rationale, so in Rivere’s stead, he did all the thinking. He knew they were gaining ground on the woman, but he was also the only one to notice that they were now chasing just one set of footsteps. Where had the other gone?

  “Rivere…”

  Rivere did not hear, and it was only a short moment before trouble grazed him. From out of the darkness, something attacked from his blind side, crashing down upon Rivere’s arm, chopping through the wood. The weight of the blade attached to his arm snapped the grain. He screeched, failing to recognize the irony in the limb being removed.

  The second set of footsteps emerged once again, moving down the shaft. Lakke ran off after them while Rivere lingered behind, clutching his wounded arm as he ground his teeth in rage.

  The blond brother swung his blades about in the air, hoping to connect with the one who was fleeing. The footsteps moved on before him. He stabbed forward. His blade was deflected by metal, producing a clanging sound.

  How?

  Lakke tried again toward the same spot and once again it was smacked down by another blade, creating a spark. As far as the soldier remembered, the woman they were chasing had not wielded any sort of weapon. They had not expected her to be armed. Something was wrong. Something was so familiar. Lakke’s mind was telling him to back off. Despite his better judgment, he did not.

  There was a whistling sound before him as a slender object cut through the air, and Lakke did not have time to evade. He should have heeded himself. There was pain in his arm and a loud crack as the limb broke and fell to the floor. Lakke tripped over it as he ran, smashing into the wall. He did not bother pushing himself away from it. Clutching the splintered place where his arm had been removed, he sank to the floor.

  Swift footsteps came up behind him. One arm–a right arm–reached down to grip Lakke’s arm that remained.

  “She’s getting away!” Rivere cried in his whisper of a voice. He tugged at Lakke and urged his brother on. Lakke only shook his head.

  “She’s gone,” he relented. He then turned his attention to the direction Anne was still running into. He saw her get into the lift. Both re out of reach now, and both brothers were left armless. Rivere may have been too enraged to see the irony, but Lakke realized it.

  “It’s over, Brooke,” Lakke said. Rivere lowered his head in understanding, kicking the ground in his defeat. “We’re even.”

  5

  Anne had sent Olivia ahead toward the lift in order to prepare it while she stayed back with Brooke’s arm, hoping she could
do something to stall his brothers or thrown them off the path. She had been unsure, but it had worked.

  Of course, Brooke had done most of the work. She’d only run and let him handle things as he saw fit.

  Now, she and Olivia were safe within the teacup lift, slowly moving upward to the girl’s room where they would be safe. Safe.

  Olivia rested her head on Anne’s shoulder, the Lady Sovereign no longer. She was silent and motionless, save for her shaky breath, but it was going to be alright. Anne knew that. Her survival was because of Armand. It was because of Brooke…

  She felt a slight movement at her left hand–the hand that Brooke held in his own. The fingers were shifting. They were releasing her. One by one, the fingers of his hand slid away from hers until the arm fell and hit against the bottom of the cup Anne sat in. She understood. He’d done what he had to do. He was tired of holding on. She didn’t blame him. She was almost tired of holding on herself.

  “Thank you for everything,” she said, feeling tears as she smiled. Anne touched Brooke’s fingers one last time. “I’m sure Armand would say the same.”

  The hand moved slightly as if in acknowledgement of her words. Then the fingers relaxed, returning to the shape they had been carved to hold. They did not move again.

  6

  Edge had taken his time leaving the rodents’ lair after he had stopped the ritual, averting all those toys and rats in a cesspool–brilliant! He smiled for his cleverness, treading onward. He may have been out of the rat’s favor–though he’d admit that it took the rodent longer than he’d expected to address the issue of his betrayal, but all would still go as planned. The ritual had been ruined, and Edge had redirected his concerns. He would locate the nutcracker now.

  Soon, his head would be mounted atop a larger, stronger, wooden body, and no one would question his gender or his power. But perhaps he would miss his old body? He quite enjoyed the smooth porcelain of his white stomach…but that was nonsense. After he’d acquired his new body, he knew he would never crave this one again.