Blood, Glass and Sugar

by Lyndsay E Gilbert

  “N-nothing,” she stammered. Her own voice sounded like a roar in her ears. “Trix, let’s go home now, okay?”

  Trix didn’t argue. She gathered her bags and slid out from behind the table. “Yeah, let’s.”

  She tried to help Evie stand, but Evie shrugged her off. “I’m okay, seriously. Just have to get some more sleep.”

  “Well, come on then.” Trix stepped back, nearer to the table of men, and the wolf-creature. No idea that they even existed.

  Evie stood up quickly, and the boy followed. There was darkness about his eyes that told her he would act without a care if she made any sudden moves.

  She walked with Trix out of the cafe. The others rose in silence and stalked behind, five invisible shadows.

  Chapter Eight

  Louise woke to a whisper, faint laughter accompanying her from her dream and into reality. She sat up on the bed, her head heavy and sore.

  The room was dark now, and her digital clock flashed on the bedside table, telling her it was 16.37. She rubbed sleep from her eyes. Then the whispering started again. It was the low tenor voice of a man.

  She dragged herself off the bed, and slid her feet onto the wooden floor. “Richard?”

  He wasn’t expected home until the case he was working on was over with. He’d said he hoped it would be before Christmas Eve. Maybe there had been a breakthrough. “Richard?” She called him a bit louder, standing up and moving toward the bedroom door.

  “It’s not Richard.” The voice came from inside the room, beside her.

  She spun around to face it, but saw only the glint of the new mirror, reflecting the dim light of a street lamp that leaked in from behind the gauze curtains.

  Then a figure moved within the frame, and the light grew gradually stronger, shining out as if from inside the glass. A room came into view. Not her room. Not a reflection. Instead it was like she was looking into a television screen, watching a movie.

  The room in the mirror was round, the walls cold grey stone. There was a four-poster bed, draped with black silk. A single arched window showed a view to a starry sky and beside it there was a wooden table. A man sat at a chair in front of it. He turned to face out of the mirror, looking directly at Louise. “I certainly do not look like Richard. I think.”

  Louise smiled. “I think I’m dreaming.” She told him. She had never had the experience of being aware of a dream before. She pinched her own arm, and felt the pain keen and sharp, but the tower room didn’t go away.

  The man stood up from his desk and walked towards her. “I hope I am a pleasant dream.”

  He had pure white skin, smooth as alabaster, his lips were a berry stain that she suddenly wanted to taste. His liquid black eyes watched her with amusement. It was almost as if he sensed her thoughts. She took a step back from the mirror.

  “Please do not run. I am so lonely. A tower inside a mirror is not an existence one would choose. I am sure you agree.”

  Louise laughed. “Isn’t it supposed to be a woman in a tower?”

  He stopped walking when he was standing at the very edge of the room. Another step and he would walk into her world. This close she could see the stitching in his pale cream shirt, the detailed Celtic knots sewn into his cuffs with burgundy thread. “But, I think the voice of the mirror is always male. At least when it comes to the stories.”

  “I see. I am the wicked stepmother then. And you are the servant of my sorcery.”

  He bowed low, his wavy brown hair sweeping down across his face. She had never seen anyone like him. She wondered where faces in dreams came from, how she had made him up and brought him to life inside her subconscious.

  “Every woman holds a sorcery, to bind and punish men who stray.”

  Shock pierced her, and she felt herself flinch at his words. Had she brought her fears to this dream? A literal reflection of reality there to taunt her as she slept. She looked back at her empty bed. It was a bed she had not shared with Richard. Since she had moved to Camden, he had never stayed home a single night.

  “He is straying, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “Your husband?”

  “Who else?”

  The man was silent. She looked back at the mirror but he was no longer there. Instead she saw Richard, his lips pressed against the neck of another woman. A strawberry blonde woman, younger that Lou. The room behind them was well lit. She could even see the pink hotel soap on the dresser table behind them. She looked away, disgusted. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she dashed at them before they could fall.

  “Don’t cry. It is better to get even.”

  She looked back up. The mirror man was there again, his eyes now cruel chips of ebony. “I will help you get even.”

  “Who are you?” She asked. The look in his eyes disturbed her. He was not what he seemed to be. Like all men, she thought. Not one of them could be trusted, even if she’d created this one herself.

  “Finvarra,” he said. “Your not so humble servant.”

  * * *

  Evie was glad when they didn’t follow her into the tube station. She said good-bye to Trix, trying to keep her voice even. If she let her mind slip she could see the bloodied wolf saliva splashing down on the coffee house table, smell the hot feral air that had warmed her neck all the way to the station.

  “Evie, I feel rotten leaving you to walk home on your own.”

  Trix wasn’t easy to deceive, but Evie was only just realising how much she cared for her zany friend. If she didn’t get on that train, they were both wolf meat. That made her a better liar than she had ever been.

  “If you don’t go right now, you’ll miss it. It’s getting dark fast, so go quick. Then I wont be walking back in the dark.” She attempted to look reassuring, though there was nothing more awkward than twisting a smile onto her face. “Besides, I feel better after the coffee.”

  Trix raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

  She walked to the turnstiles and pulled out her travel card, swiping it over the yellow pads without taking her eyes off Evie. “But you better call me as soon as you get in.”

  Evie nodded, though she was certain wherever the boy planned to take her, letting her use a telephone wasn’t on the agenda. When Trix disappeared from sight, Evie resisted the urge to call her back, and scream like a child. Or even to run after her, and board the train as well. She didn’t know if wolf-headed boys, and bleeding faeries would still exist at Tooting Bec station.

  She turned toward the exit and gazed out on to the rapidly darkening street. They would be waiting out there, watching her. Or maybe they wouldn’t be real anymore. She held onto that thought as if it was a burning piece of paper. She knew she’d have to let go very soon, and she didn’t want to be too attached.

  They were real, and she wasn’t escaping that fact.

  She steeled herself and walked out of the station.

  Chapter Nine

  The boy appeared out of nowhere, standing beside Evie as soon as the cold air outside engulfed her. She looked for his companions but saw none. It didn’t reassure her, she knew they were nearby, perhaps invisible. Up ahead stalls were being dismantled and more and more people bundled past her into the tube station, carrying cartloads of goods.

  She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, realising she was shaking. He hooked arms with her, and began to walk in the direction of her house. If he hadn’t been invisible they would have looked like a couple on a date. If not for his extraordinary appearance, no one would have paid any attention to her kidnap. They weren’t paying any now. To them, she merely looked like a cold teenage girl heading home from the station alone.

  A white cat crossed the road and stopped in the centre of the pavement, just ahead of them. It stared at the boy. The closer they got, the more disturbed the cat appeared, arching its back and hissing.

  “I can see you are a popular person,” Evie said, surprised at the even tone of her voice. If the cat could see him, it was yet more evidence that he really existed.

&nb
sp; A few passer-byes stared as they went, looking from the cat to Evie and back.

  The boy stamped his foot, and the cat scampered, wailing as if he had stepped on its tail. “Foolish animals. They are much smarter at home.”

  “It didn’t like you. That seems pretty smart to me.”

  He didn’t reply, instead he turned her into a side street she knew well. The lights in the antique store shone out, illuminating a cobblestone alley that she was only half surprised to see. Then it was almost like a jigsaw puzzle clicked together inside her head. Her eyes drifted down to the boy’s boots and she saw red jewels glittering like tiny fires on the tarnished silver buckles.

  He had been the one who had ordered the attack on the tattoo artist. As they stepped off the street and into the alley the whole memory lost its hazy edges and became sharp again. Sharp enough to cut her. She was being dragged into some sort of supernatural gang war.

  “What is this place?” she asked, as they neared the pub. Warm light spilled from its windows, just as it had before.

  “It’s Blood Iron Alley.”

  Evie suppressed a shudder. “That’s not what I asked. I asked what is this place.”

  “Oh.” He stopped at the door of the pub. “It’s a portal, I guess. Or at least, a small piece of Faerie existing outside the realm, between the worlds.”

  “Right,” Evie said, not knowing what else she could say to that information. From where she stood she could see the tattoo studio, Clandestine. The windows were already repaired, gleaming brand new in the light from the street lamp outside it. Its front door swung open and someone stumbled out, giggling loudly. Even at a distance Evie could make out its distorted form. It had two heads, one the head of a human girl, the other the white head of a goat. One arm was human, the other a cloven hoofed leg. It was wearing jeans and a red shirt, covering up the rest of its body. At that moment both heads were twisted round, trying to get a good look at the back of their own shoulder. Evie began to shake, shivers of revulsion travelling up and down her spine.

  Inside the shop she could see there were others, whether people or creatures she couldn’t tell. Surely if she made it in there, the boy couldn’t make a scene. There were too many others, too many that could see him perfectly well.

  He opened the door to the pub, and Evie darted down the alley before she had time to reconsider. The faster she ran the further away the shop seemed to get. The boy yelled her name, and she heard his boots clapping rapidly on the cobblestones. She hauled open the shop door and clattered inside, making as much noise as possible. “Help me! I’m being followed.”

  A hooded figure was on her immediately, crooked, bony fingers reaching out from under long sleeves to clamp with inhuman strength on her arm. “Followed my dear? Let Old Meg help…” The voice croaked like a frog. Evie stepped back, bumping into someone behind her.

  “She doesn’t need your help, old hag. She’s with me.” The boy was there behind her.

  The cloaked woman shrank back, bowing low. “Oh course, your Highness. With you, with you.” She gave a strangled laugh and shuffled towards the door. “She won’t be getting my help, oh no. With you, she is, yes.”

  There were other creatures in the shop, most resembling humans in some shape or form. One woman was very beautiful, with long white hair and startling green eyes. She curtsied low to Evie’s captor, swishing the ragged red skirts of her gown. Then she came closer. “Shame really.” She looked at Evie in disgust, and focused on the boy. “I wouldn’t mind being with you, Prince. You know where to come if this one gets boring.” She winked.

  Prince.

  If Evie wasn’t mistaken, most faerie Princes were meant to be heroic and chivalrous. This prince slid a hand round the back of her neck, and squeezed tight, forcing her to squirm. “Oh, this one will not get boring…she is full of energy you see. Pulsing with the sweet stuff.” His voice was very even and polite.

  Evie turned in a circle trying to twist him off. The woman clapped her hands as if Evie was dancing for her entertainment. She stamped her foot on the wooden floor and it made a wet slapping sound. Evie looked down to see two large, green, webbed feet under the scraggly red gown.

  “It’s rude to stare, mortal girl,” the faerie-woman said, glaring at her indignantly.

  Evie almost apologised, the woman’s eyes were lamps shining on her in the darkness, like spotlights.

  “My slave is overwhelmed is all, dear lady. Do not take offence.”

  “Slave?” Evie felt rage burn away all of her fear. The two faeries ignored her.

  “No offence taken, your Highness. I know how these feisty new mortals can be.”

  The Prince smiled. “Very true-”

  “What do you want?” A voice broke into their conversation. The others had cleared quietly out of the shop without Evie noticing. The Prince’s head snapped up to watch the tattoo artist as he came down the stairs at the counter.

  Evie felt a surge of hope soar through her. It was completely unfounded she knew. The Prince had left the artist unconscious on the floor when last Evie had encountered them.

  “Bran, I realise we may have got off to a bad start.” The Prince held out a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

  “You are Auran, Prince of Unseelie. I know. What I don’t know is why you can’t keep out of my business.”

  Evie couldn’t keep silent any longer, staring incredulously at the prince. “You want to talk with him like a friend, when you smashed up his whole shop last night and beat the hell out of him?”

  Prince Auran looked very irritated. “It wasn’t him exactly. Was it Bran?”

  Bran looked uncomfortable. “This isn’t answering my question. What do you want…and what are you doing with that girl?”

  She was no longer Evie to him, she was just a girl. Maybe he didn’t remember her at all. He reached the bottom of the stairs, and paced quickly to the open grate. A fire roared inside it.

  “She’s going to be of service to me. To us, actually. If you would only listen, I could explain to you what I desire. You know it is almost Midwinter. We have scarce three days.” Evie could hear how desperate he was to convince Bran, but everything he said made no sense to her.

  She had no idea how she could accomplish anything for a faerie prince in three days. Her greatest ambition, to that point, was to survive the school dance.

  Thinking of the dance made Trix come to her mind. She had probably already arrived home, and alerted Lou to her disappearance. Both of them would be frantic with worry.

  “I don’t get involved with Unseelie,” Bran snapped, bringing her back from her fears. “If you knew anything about me, you would realise it’s impossible. As for this girl, I can only imagine you plan to make a feast out of her. I’ve seen the shells of mortals wandering around here without souls too many times to count. She shouldn’t be here.”

  Auran gripped Evie’s arm hard enough to hurt, and shook her in Bran’s direction. “Do you know who this is? Take a long hard look Bran and tell me she isn’t the one. She’s here because Koralys chose her. If she can recognise her, then I know you must be able to.”

  Bran turned his back to them, but Evie could see his profile hidden in the fall of his ebony hair, one dark eye watching her. He had called her Alison before, she remembered.

  He only sighed and turned his face back to the fire. It was a very reluctant sigh, as if he was being forced to give in to something inevitable.

  Evie never expected his next move, nor it seemed did Auran and the web-footed girl. Bran spun on them, brandishing a poker like a sword. The woman and Auran backed away as if he was holding a grenade.

  “I’m no hero,” he said, advancing. “But this girl is a mortal, and she doesn’t belong here. I don’t really give a damn if she is anyone special to you. If she doesn’t want you near her, you will leave her alone.”

  Auran laughed, but there was a strained note to it. He held up his hands in a mediating gesture. “No need to be violent Bran.”


  “Those are very rich words coming from you. Let go of the girl, and remove yourself from my property. Don’t even bother trying to come back with your men, either. I stocked up on iron after yesterday. I can’t believe I ever needed a reminder to have as many faerie killing devices as I can get my hands on in this God forsaken place.” He stepped closer to Auran, but Auran didn’t release Evie.

  “Let her go!” He lunged forward with all the expertise of a swordsman. Auran tried to dodge, but the poker stabbed into his shoulder. His skin began to melt and sizzle. He stumbled back, dropping Evie’s arm to clutch at his shoulder. Evie didn’t understand how a cold poker could burn like that.

  Auran’s skin continued to crackle softly. The smell of burning flesh was repulsive. Evie saw tears of agony glimmer in his eyes. The faerie woman took another fearful glance at Bran’s poker and ran out the door.

  Bran reached under his long black overcoat and pulled a slim, black gun off his belt. ‘See this? It’s got enough power to blow your head off, even if the bullets are silver or gold, but I took the extra precaution and got iron bullets for it. Terrible modern contraption. Everyone’s saying there’s no honour in them.” He twirled it round on his finger, fixing Auran with very serious eyes. “I spent today learning how to use it, and I’m dying to try it out on a moving target.” He held the gun out, level with Auran’s forehead.

  Auran took another step back. “I could come back here with an army, with the entire Unseelie Wild Hunt. You should not play games with me, mortal.”

  “I would like to see you summon your minions with your brains splashed all over my shop.”

  “Point made. I’ll go then.” Auran gave Evie a look that said he would most definitely be seeing her later, then stalked to the door and went out into the street. Both Evie and Bran stared as he walked to the pub and wrenched open its door, pushing a very small man in a long green coat out of his way as he entered.

  Evie looked at Bran, wishing he would put the gun away. She had only ever seen real guns on the hip belts of policemen, and even then they had made her feel nervous. Having someone actually point a loaded gun, especially someone who’d only owned it for one day was infinitely worse.