Blood, Glass and Sugar

by Lyndsay E Gilbert

  Rage passed over the faerie kings face, but it passed like a small storm. “I have to enjoy what little freedom I can, my boy. And who can resist the energy of the youthful?” He waved his pale hand, motioning to the chaos around him. “And I see my faithful subjects came to join my celebration. We all deserve a little fun.”

  Bella had been edging up beside him, her gaze on Evie, challenging. As if this was a competition for the prom queen tiara, and not for an evil, supernatural creature. Evie tried to motion for her to get back, but it only made her approach him faster. He slid his hand around her shoulder. She gazed up at him, a vacant smile, as if she was high, and he leaned down and kissed her.

  As the kiss deepened, Evie noticed how the glow inside his skin began to fade, his weightless substance gaining the appearance of reality. His wings looked touchable now, and he seemed like he was standing on the dance floor, rather than floating like an apparition just above it. Bella was becoming limp in his arms.

  Too late, Evie understood that he was feeding on her.

  Trix ran forward. For a moment Evie thought she was going to try and free Bella and felt herself begin to move into action as well. But Trix crashed into her, knocking her flat on her back. The air rushed out of her, and Trix’s hands shoved against her chest. Before she could recover she saw a familiar glass sword skim the air above them.

  Trix rolled off her, and they both scuttled back from Wrath, who advanced swiftly, without mercy, cutting through the air again. Auran appeared in front of them, blocking the sword with his own. His wings were out, spread behind him to give them extra protection. Evie scrambled to her feet and helped Trix up too.

  Wrath pressed on, his sword crashing down against Auran. Time was speeding onward, and he was getting desperate. His anger warped Bran’s features. He bit hard on his lower lip, and a drop of blood trickled down. His eyes were narrowed with focus. Auran was being pushed back.

  Behind the two warriors, the King of Unseelie watched, his gaze intent. Evie could see lines of worry drawn on the sides of his dark red mouth. Whatever he had taken from Bella was draining from him fast. Bella lay strewn on the wooden floor beside him. Discarded like the bones of a meal.

  Evie hoped she was alive, and a stab of guilt pierced her through. This, all of it, she had brought to the school. Bella lay there, her boyfriend strung up like a decoration a few feet away. Shallow, and crass as they were, they didn’t deserve this. She had never wanted this. No matter how many times she’d wished they would disappear. It had only been a wish. Not real.

  As if answering her prayer, Bella stirred, sitting up with great effort. She was white, ghostlike and frail. She looked up, confused, and saw the scene around her, Finvarra towering beside her, wings fluttering slowly at his back, the two boys fighting, the student body swaying in a trance as creatures wove between them touching and pinching and kissing.

  She opened her mouth and screamed. It was a shrill, terrifying screech. And it shattered the spell that the rest of the school was under.

  Chaos broke out. A mass of bodies rushed forward, people tripped and fell. Others tumbled over them and Auran was mowed down in the commotion. Evie saw his wings tearing through the air, trying to raise him up, but too late. Wrath managed to stay afloat, stumbling over the fallen, his eyes meeting Evie’s, and promising a wealth of pain.

  She backed up to the far wall, and Trix followed her. Wrath was faster than should have been possible. He held the sword forward before him, and ran.

  He would pierce her through she realised. Trix saw him too in that instant, and threw herself in front of Evie.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was like waking from a dreamless sleep, to find that real life was a nightmare. Bran felt himself resurface, as if from a dark, suffocating pit. He was a passenger in his own body. A ghost watching from behind his own eyes.

  Evie and Trix stood before him, people rushed by, floods of screaming, stumbling people, but he was charging through them all, untouched. He felt the coolness of the sword’s glass hilt in his palm; saw its blade shining, pointed out before him like a lance. Evie was backed against the wall, directly in its path.

  Then Trix threw herself in front of Evie, spreading her arms out. She was shouting something, but it made no sense to Bran. Wrath ignored it, tearing forward like a hurricane. He would run them through against the wall. The sword would pierce them both.

  And Bran was here to watch it, watch it like he had before. From behind Trix he could see Evie’s thick black curls, her hazel eyes wide over her best friend’s shoulder. This time she had no baby to hold, no screaming child who would remember her death for the rest of his life.

  Hatred burned inside Bran, so strong it became a second heartbeat, and pulsed inside the body that Wrath had full possession of. Wrath’s forward momentum wavered, as if he could sense that Bran was there now, conscious and angry.

  For one blissful moment Bran thought he had gained some control and had slowed his body down himself. But he realised that Evie had stepped out from behind Trix, pushing her friend away from her.

  Wrath merely wanted to play.

  The pulse of anger inside Bran beat harder, pounding like a war drum, and he could barely hear the words that were exchanged.

  “Noble to the last, my dear,” Wrath said, but it was Bran’s throat that worked, his breath that made the words.

  “Leave her out of it. She’s nothing to do with this.”

  “Ten minutes until midnight, and I am doomed. How can we possibly reach our home in time and not turn to dust?” Wrath’s tone was sad, but then Bran felt a smile twist his lips. “I will enjoy this small victory, and spend the last of my time staining this sword with as much blood as possible.”

  A yell from behind made him turn, just for an instant, to see that Auran was charging towards them. “Too late!” Wrath called, and poised his sword for the kill, its tip to Evie’s breast.

  Trix screamed, attacking from the side. Wrath swatted her like a fly, propelling her back into Auran, blocking his path.

  The pulse of anger in Bran went suddenly silent. He knew he’d reached the point beyond anger, beyond any feeling. The quiet was like not existing, like floating in a white, cold void. Lust, and Greed, Envy, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth and Wrath, they were all part of being human, but they weren’t all of it.

  The sword became real and heavy in his grip. Wrath fought for control, but Bran felt the strength of everything that was human and hurting in him, coming back to life.

  She’s mine again. How foolish of you to think this could happen any other way. Wrath tried to reason calmly, but Bran heard an edge of panic to those thoughts, loud and welcome in his mind.

  He drew back from Evie, and turned the sword towards himself.

  This plays out my way now. As it should have done long, long ago.

  Wrath struggled, hissing a torrent of words into Bran’s mind. You can’t do this. You can’t take it all away for all of us.

  Bran prepared himself, swallowing hard. Yes I can. And I can’t describe just how much I am going to enjoy it. He slid his hand off the hilt and onto the blade so that he could control it better.

  Wrath screamed in frustration.

  Blood poured down from Bran’s hands as his palms were sliced.

  He drove the glinting glass deep into his own stomach.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Evie watched as Bran collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from his stomach, bubbling from his mouth. Tears flooded her face, and she heard an animalistic whimper escape her lips.

  Bran had won. And this time, he’d stopped it for good.

  She sank down beside him, gripping his shoulders, trying to hold him up. “Take…” he began, “…out.”

  Auran and Trix stood behind him now, both staring in shock. Evie’s hand shook, but she gripped the hilt and slid it out. The sound was wet, the glass blade slick and dark with his blood. She could smell the strength of it, like rusting copper pennies. Bile burned in her throat.
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  The sword was heavy, but as the tip left his flesh it turned into a large shard of mirror. The largest shard there had been yet.

  Auran pulled her to her feet. “Come on Evie, there’s no time.”

  He had to support her, leading her away from Bran. She looked back. Trix was kneeling over him now, applying pressure to the wound. His blood still poured out, soaking her hands.

  People still rushed through the room; faerie laughter rang through the air. Incongruous music, like birdsong and screams. Evie wanted to cover her ears and cry, but Finvarra beckoned to her, smiling. He unclasped the mask from his face, handing it to her. All the shards of the final piece of mirror were stuck carefully onto a long cloth of black silk.

  More faerie knights appeared, pushing the rowdy crowd to the sides of the hall, forming a line like soldiers, making a pathway from the entrance of the hall to where Finvarra, Auran and Evie stood. Only Bran and Trix remained in the centre of the cleared pathway.

  Auran slid a dagger from his belt and took Evie’s hand. She stood numb and shivering as he drew the blade across her palm. Blood welled up, and more knights approached. They uncovered the object that they carried between him, and she saw it was the rest of the mirror, already assembled by her sweat and blood.

  She rubbed her stinging hand over the mask and the shard that had been Wrath’s sword, smearing them red before pressing them against the mirror. Light shone around them. The silk unravelling from the mask and falling to the ground. The pieces reformed themselves.

  Evie’s legs went out from under her. No one caught her, and she slammed hard to the ground. Her vision swam for a moment, making everyone look like reflections in water, rippling.

  “She may come,” Finvarra called.

  The knights stood to attention as one, their boots falling together on the floor like a gunshot. The commotion in the hall went silent at the sound, the panicked mass, pressed together behind the two rows of knights, shocked into sudden stillness.

  Shuffling footsteps followed, and Evie looked up only to see the old lady from the antique shop, the old lady who had started all of this, hobbling up through the knights. She ignored Trix, and Bran bleeding on the floor along the way. She came to stand before the King.

  He nodded regally and then Auran stepped forward and led the old woman to the curtains at the very top of the hall, covering the school stage.

  The empty, cursed frame leaned upright against the curtains, and the old woman raised her frail, bony hand and whispered words that were not English, did not in fact sound like any human language. The frame caught fire, and Finvarra raised his hand, bringing it down in a commanding motion.

  The guards holding the now completed mirror beside Evie let it go and it smashed to the floor. The shards splashed out like glittering droplets of water. Evie shielded her eyes. When she looked again the King was whispering his own spell.

  The old woman glowed, her shape elongating. Long red curls replaced her thin white strands of hair, tumbling down over her shoulders. She became tall and thin, her face smooth and perfect, sharp as that of the faerie king. From her back, a pair of green, curling wings took shape like growing vines. The knights bowed and Evie understood that this was the Queen of Unseelie. Finvarra’s unfaithful wife.

  Finvarra smiled brightly at her despite it. “My Queen, lovely as ever. We have kept our promises this time, and we are restored.”

  She smiled coldly, her blue eyes glinting like hard chips of ice. “And it was quite a game we played with each other.”

  Finvarra nodded sagely. “Indeed it was, but now it is time for justice.”

  Before the Queen could react, he made another hand signal, and one of the knights that had moments before bowed to his sovereign Queen stood forward. He raised his sword and cleaved her head from her neck with one smooth, fast blow.

  Her head hit the floor. At the sound of it, the crowd roared back into mayhem. The Queen’s body collapsed, and the King pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Behold the fate of the treacherous,” he said, and he directed those words at Auran.

  At that moment the burning mirror frame set the curtains across the stage alight. The fire spread fast and dangerous, smoke billowing in black clouds to the high roof of the assembly hall. Finvarra did not seem bothered by it, watching calmly as the students and partying faeries made for the exit.

  Evie managed to stand, choking as the smoke caught in her lungs. She staggered to Bran. She didn’t need to explain to Trix what was needed. They each gripped one of Bran’s arms and hauled him up, dragging him with the others to the exit. Fire doors had been thrown open outside the hall.

  They joined the hustle of people heading out to the school gardens and collapsed on the grass outside.

  “Put more pressure on the wound,” Trix said, and they laid Bran out on his back. Evie could see the slit flesh of his stomach, opened wide. It looked like a slab of pulverised meat. Evie squeezed her lips together against a violent retch. She tore a strip of her dress and scrunched it up, pressing hard against the wound.

  He groaned, his eyes rolling in his head. Tears running down his fevered cheeks.

  “Oh God.” Blood poured out, soaking the white material through instantly, making her hand warm and sticky. The blood steamed in the winter air.

  Trix stood up, pulling her mobile phone from the pocket of her skirt and dialling 9-9-9 into it. She handed it to Evie.

  “Auran’s still in there. I have to go back.” She ran off, ignoring when Evie screamed her name.

  The call connected, and a woman’s voice spoke calmly on the other side. Evie let it all tumble out of her, speaking as slowly as she could. When the call ended, she couldn’t even remember what she’d said.

  * * *

  Trix pushed past the herd of people rushing out, forcing her way back inside. The hall was filled with smoke, though she realised the fire had been put out. Finvarra shouted orders to his knights, among them Auran obeyed slavishly.

  “Gather them up. All the pretty ones,” Finvarra was saying.

  The knights cornered a group of girls that Trix recognised from several of her classes. Bella Morris was among them. She was gathered up like all the rest, and dragged screaming towards the doors where Trix stood, frozen.

  Auran caught sight of her then, and for a second she thought she saw panic on his face, his mouth parting, slack with horror.

  “That one. I want her especially,” Finvarra announced, pointing a long finger at Trix.

  Auran’s expression hardened, and he came towards her.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, backing away, but his face was set hard as diamond, cold and expressionless.

  He pulled her towards him, sweeping her easily into his arms.

  * * *

  Bran was squeezing Evie’s hand with surprising strength. His skin was ashen, and his eyes wide, scouring the starry sky as if he was looking for something.

  “Bran…it’s going to be okay,” she said, but her voice was shaky, unconvincing. She gripped his hand harder instead. He tried to speak, but only choked, blood bubbling from his lips, thick and clotted.

  People rolled around them on the grass coughing. Others ran toward the road, escaping the scene. As Evie watched them, four black carriages turned into the school grounds and rode up onto the grass, each drawn by two white, Arabian mares.

  The Unseelie knights burst from the school doors then, hauling screaming girls with them, a few boys too Evie noticed. As if he could hear it Bran squeezed her hand. Her bones cracked, and the cut on her palm leaked fresh blood.

  The knights threw the captives into the carriages. Evie saw Bella Morris, but then caught sight of Auran. He was carrying Trix, and she was struggling against him, kicking and biting, her screams raw, betrayed.

  Evie called out to them, but Auran kept walking, throwing Trix into one of the carriages and hopping in after her.

  “Trix!” Evie tried to stand, but Bran still gripped her hand, and when she removed her other han
d from his stomach, more blood streamed out and pooled on the snow beneath him.

  Evie screamed in frustration. The carriages pulled away, riding fast out of the school grounds. They left a single horse behind.

  Finvarra came from the school doors last, striding across the grass, his boots making deep prints in the snow. He pulled black gloves from under his cloak and slipped them carefully on, before he mounted the horse.

  “Bring them back!” Evie screamed.

  His head snapped round to see her kneeling on the grass beside Bran, whose grip was becoming limp. She looked down at him, only to see the last colour draining from his cheeks.

  Finvarra gave a dazzling smile. “I almost forgot the most beautiful prize of all. I owe all this to you, my dear. Shall I make you the first mortal Queen of Unseelie?” He laughed, gathering his horse’s reigns. He kicked it into motion, and galloped towards her.

  Bran’s grip loosened entirely, sliding from her blood-coated hand.

  “Bran…” She said, but the word got caught on a painful sob, tearing itself out of her chest. She scrabbled in the snow to clasp his hand again, squeezing it as hard as she could. He gave no response and she froze, unable to move as Finvarra came for her.

  Then the deafening sound of sirens filled the air.

  Finvarra’s horse reared. He held back and turned to see an ambulance and four red fire engines speeding towards him.

  He seemed afraid and whipped the horse into action, tugging its reigns to the right. As he galloped out of the school grounds and into the night, he looked back at her. In his glinting onyx eyes she saw a dare. He challenged her to find him, dared her to come get back everything he had so easily taken from her. Everything she’d ever had.

  Epilogue

  Bran was pale in the hospital bed. He stared at the tubes connecting him to the machinery with barely repressed fear. He had looked less afraid when he’d stabbed a sword through himself.