'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  “I won’t tell anyone.” Elsa extended her hand for the garment.

  Sally’s eyes were impossibly large as she surrendered the dress. The witch rended two squares from the skirt.

  “Oh!” Sally held her chubby cheeks in horror. “Why! I just wanted to touch it. And then, the vampire—”

  “The vampire, what? Did you see where he went?”

  Sally tucked a blush behind her doll, and pointed. “He left you something.”

  Annoyed the vampire seemed to make everything swoon, Elsa followed the brownie’s gaze to the folded note peeking from beneath the coffin-shaped hotel phone. If he had begun the hunt for Mrs. Mari without her, he would find himself in a sore circumstances, indeed.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sally whispered. “Please don’t tell anyone. My parents will lose their position and we won’t be able to help Timothy.”

  “Timothy?” Elsa’s mind toiled with interest as she thought back to the demonic spirit feeding from the small fey. She thought of Marshall and the sister he’d mentioned. She seemed to be one of the few people who held the vampire’s affection.

  “What is wrong with your brother?”

  The child frowned and shook her head. “I’m not supposed to…”

  “I will not abuse your trust, seedling.”

  Suddenly, a child no more. The brownie’s face went blank. Expressionless. Her small eyes tracing Elsa’s countenance as if she was doing her own appraisal. Finally, she sighed, going limp like a dishrag. “I don’t know. He was born that way, but it…it’s gotten worse.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Please, I’m sorry about the…”

  “Hush.” Elsa tapped into the magic woven on the textile. “Now, lift your doll’s skirt.”

  Sally’s face went slack with confusion, but she did as she was told. Elsa whispered an incantation and one of the squares was enlivened with energy, sweeping from her fingertips to coil itself around the doll’s plush thigh. The girl’s eyes lit up with excitement, her mouth dropping open in a silent squeal.

  The corners of Elsa’s mouth twitched. “Lift your skirt.”

  She almost dropped her doll, trying to wretch her little sack skirt up.

  Fenris rolled his eyes. “Seedlings.”

  Magic and the last square slipped around the girl’s upper thigh, wrapping tight. A tiny garter-looking band that disappeared from sight as soon as the skirt fell to her knees.

  Elsa kicked the rest of the dress under the chair. “If your mother catches you, I will not be held accountable, right?”

  Sally rubbed her hands up and down her thigh, a smile playing across her wide sincere mouth. “Many thanks,” she whispered, breathless.

  This part was always strange. No matter how many times she tried. No matter how much she wanted to be…content to accept their thanks, the truth of the matter was, she gave to others as a kindness to herself. Yes, she did find pleasure in the joy and relief it brought others. But she was quite certain she mostly did it for herself. She didn’t want to be her father. Or her mother. She didn’t want to live out her days a bitter old witch, or die cursed under a bridge. And so, she couldn’t quite get her tongue to stop sticking to the roof of her mouth and forwent saying “You’re welcome” as usual.

  Instead, Elsa closed the distance to the small side table bearing the telephone and the note. She snatched up the neatly folded letter. “Let her go, Fenris. Run along, Sally.”

  Written on hotel stationery in elegant, sharp, strictly business script: “I’m on the lower deck observatory. Balcony alcove C. Rest easy, Ms. Karr, I haven’t been naughty. Of course by the time you read this, that could be a complete lie. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we. ~M.A.”

  Fenris observed from the lampshade. “Cheeky, isn’t he?”

  “Give the huldra her cane back,” Elsa ordered as she cycled to the second page. Sketched on the back of the eggshell card, the raven peered up at her from atop a gleaming black skull. Barbed roses spilled from the sockets and cheekbones. Wrapped around the base of its jaw in thorny, decorative, swirly letters, read: Bits and Pieces.

  Lovely. So wonderfully dark. She fingered the bird’s beak, wondering if he would leave her such pictures every day.

  “I see he has seen your marking, Domina,” Fenris mused. “And here we had come to an agreement about spinsterhood.”

  “Continue to wag your tongue at your own risk, cat.” Elsa snapped out of her stupor, and her eyes flitted from the note to the dresses spilling out of her carpet bag. An idea took hold in her mind. She glanced over her shoulder to the brownie.

  Standing on the sofa cushion, her doll pinched under her shoulder, she held her skirt up against the gentle swell of her belly—exposing knickers and all, she gazed at the garter in the mirrors paneling the closet.

  Elsa rolled her eyes and tucked the picture in her carpet bag in the special pocket. “Put your skirt down, girl.”

  “Oh, sorry!” Sally shoved her skirt between her knees, a blush coloring her cheeks, and scrabbled under the coffee table to collect her cleaning materials. “I’ll just be going now…”

  “Before you do, I have a pact I would like to discuss with you, brownie.”

  “Pact?” The coffee table thumped. “Ow!”

  “I’m surrounded by genius.” Elsa snatched her from beneath the coffee table, her tiny ankle a wheat stalk in the witch’s meaty grip.

  Hanging upside down, pigtails swinging to brush the oak, Sally quirked an eyebrow and folded her arms. “I’m listening.”

  Elsa motioned toward the dresses. “These dresses are Sinister Stitches dresses. They have magic in them. Do you think you could recognize other dresses like these?”

  The girl rubbed her chin. “I guess…”

  “I am looking for the woman who owns the boutique. She will probably have many dresses in her suite. Would you seek her out for me? Of course, within the limits of your duties.”

  Sally’s confusion deepened into a frown. “Why?”

  “My store depends on a business deal she and the vampire must broker during our voyage on this ship.”

  “What kind of store?”

  “Oh, I think you would like it. It’s a—” Elsa frowned. “Focus, Sally. In exchange for your help, I will do my best to find a charm that will alleviate your brother’s…” Elsa hesitated, staring into the innocence and wonder of the girl’s eyes. She did not think any of the brownies knew the exact nature of Timothy’s new illness. If she had to tell them at all, she would not start with this child. “…Your brother’s condition,” she continued. “My shop handles charms, glamour, and other unique artifacts. I am somewhat of an expert. Given time, I am sure I could find an artifact that will…help.”

  Sally’s eyes narrowed, riddled with suspicion. She considered Elsa closely and a tiny flicker of hope sparked. She bit her lip. “You would really do that…? For us?”

  “Provided you agree to help me find Madame Mari, yes,” Elsa set the girl on the sofa cushion gently, “I would do everything in my power, I promise.”

  Sally mopped stray flaxen wisps from her face, climbing to her feet. She brushed her skirt down, fussing like a little princess rather than the pauper she was. When she’d collected herself, she accepted her doll from Fenris, straightened a tiny arm, and offered Elsa her hand. “Papa says a lady shakes like a man when she’s doin’ business.”

  The corner of Elsa’s mouth curved as she accepted the tiny hand. “That pact is struck, seedling.”

  The girl withdrew her hand and rested it on her hip. “Are you going to wear one of those dresses now?” She hopped from the cushion to the coffee table, with a surprising amount of grace and an even softer landing.

  “I didn’t plan to go naked.” Elsa rose to her feet, watching with growing amusement as the girl dove into the fray.

  “This one! You should wear this one!” She wrested a velvet frock from the rest and presented it to Elsa. “This one.”

  “Very well.” She allowed the brownie to drape it across her a
rm and reached up to undo the knot of satin holding her toga together. “You should return to…”

  The girl plunged her face into her doll as if she had every intention of waiting until Elsa was done and dressed before she returned to her duties. Elsa sought Fenris for guidance. Tiptoeing across the back of the love seat, he paused and shrugged before he padded off, fading into nothing.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, impatiently ripping at the knot on her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need to attend to your duties?”

  “Nope. I can wait.”

  Of course you can. Elsa consoled herself with the satisfaction of starting to make good on her promise to the vampire. She would find the fey for him. A good Domina always kept her promise. Her stomach tingled with butterflies and something popped in the quiet—something very important.

  She hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been taken by her thoughts. She’d pulled at the knot too hard. The ornate silver braided around her neck scratched against her collarbones as it fell, the ruby rode the slope of her breasts and slipped down the waterfall of purple satin.

  No, no, no.

  Time seemed to slow. Not really. It probably only slowed because of the horror striking through her entire nervous system. Her eyes flew open as they flitted from the amulet falling to the floor to the child peeking between her splayed fingers. Amulet and silver struck the oak and it skittered beneath one of the wingback chairs.

  No, no, no.

  Elsa’s eyes flitted to the mirror as the change broke her body like a tidal wave. The glamour provided by the amulet wore off. Her hair dried and withered into a few stringy, elderly-looking strands. Covering her skull in sparse pockets, amongst the moles on the balding crown. She covered her gaunt face, the severe, large beak nose in her bony hands. Her jaw extended, lips shriveling into chapped leather lines.

  The change continued. Satin skewed and popped from her body as it widened, her belly bubbling to drag across the ground as she sank into a squat—this form’s natural posture. Wide nostrils flared beneath her over-extended beak nose as she scented the air, waiting for the brownie’s fear and revulsion to poison the atmosphere.

  Nothing. Nothing but a tiny whisper. “I…” A small hand touched her arm, cool and gentle. “I didn’t know you were a troll.”

  Huddled behind her hands as if they could save her, she tried to swallow past the urge to scream at the girl, and managed a somewhat steady voice, though it was graver, rustier than usual. “Privacy please, Sally.”

  Sally set something near Elsa’s feet, the wood vibrating with the silver clink. “Sure, Miss.”

  “Many thanks, Sally.” Elsa’s skin was burning. Crying from the assault of someone else’s study. Fear shocked her veins with adrenaline and she barely managed to keep from screeching at the child. “And Sally…don’t tell anyone. No one. Especially the vampire.”

  “Sure, Miss,” she said quietly, and the doors cringed open and shut.

  It was a very long time before Elsa allowed herself to believe she was truly alone and dropped her hands. She doubled forward and covered the amulet. Holding it close to her chest, she pressed her forehead against the wood as a deep, silent cry of relief racked her body.

  Images circled above, threatened to douse her with cruel laughs and even crueler memories. No—she would get ahold of herself. Everything was fine. Marshall had not seen. He would never see. Ignoring how her skin smarted and her fingers shook, she clumsily gathered up the neckpiece and welded the broken clasp with magic.

  Otherwise, she could do nothing else. The amulet was protected from arcane tampering. What made it impossible for another creature to pervert the charm’s power against her also made it impossible for her to fuse the clasp from ever breaking again.

  Elsa replaced the necklace and when she met her eyes again, they were murky green and not the beady black of a haggraven. The brownie had been right about Elsa being of Troldfolk—fey with kinship to the dwarfs and elves, commonly known as trolls. Few females were born. Even fewer with magic. Bjorn, her father and a troll, and her mother, a witch of a neighboring coven, had married, despite the counsel of the tribe.

  Her mother became a trollkonor, a troll’s wife, thereby gaining their powers and monstrous form. After she’d mastered Elsa’s father as his Domina, she’d become a full member of the tribe’s coven. Conquering her father’s energy had unlocked the full scale of her magical abilities and together, their union had created Elsa—a haggraven.

  Very much like her vampire, she was little more than a Frankenstein. A half-breed. Powerful, as she had the advantages of both fey and coven, but she was her father’s daughter. Greed, feet as a weak point, and a hideous appetite. And she was a wretched, ugly creature. Grotesque even by lenient standards.

  So ugly even as she stared at the reflection of her glamour, her hand wrapped tight around the amulet, her stomach roiled and twisted with self-disgust. It blended with the sadness, threatening to sink her back to the ground as she rose, but she snatched up the dress Sally had chosen instead. No, she’d cry into chocolate later—right now, she had a fey to catch.

  And your heart? What of that? It would be stone because she needed it to be. She would be stone. Heartbreak would not take up residence and leave her nothing to show for it. Quickly, Elsa dried her face and changed into another one of Sinister Stitches’ contraptions.

  Naked arms. Soft, breathable fabric. Akin to the kind used by the fey. A ghost’s dress. Sky blue. Velvet bodice sticking tight. Clinging to her curves in sultry simplicity. Thin straps braced over her shoulders, her amulet hanging in the middle of the sweetheart neckline. The tie-dyed flares of the layered, airy skirt tickled her ankles as she walked the lonely halls.

  Elsa came to stand at the balcony next to the large fir tree, staring down at the market that had been arranged in the main lobby. She asked a kitsune for directions—got turned around twice before she finally caught the fox by all nine of his tails and demanded to know whether left was really left.

  When she finally made it to the observatory deck, she found herself in an empty room at the ship’s nose. Where there wasn’t wall, there was window. Twilight splashing through skylights to infuse crystal floors with white light. Rows of curtained alcoves lined either side of the room and she read the letters etched above each one as she wandered down the never-ending row.

  A sultry, sad violin melody echoed faintly, drawing her attention and her feet to the window on her right. She pressed her palms to the glass, peering at a partly obscured view into alcove C’s balcony.

  Vampire. Gone was the suit, slick ties, and dress slacks. In their place, a double-breasted jacket swathed his tapered silhouette in defined, modern lines. The wind split and peeled the fabric, sending it dancing, making it appear as if he simply rose from the darkness, a monster playing the violin with no legs to speak of.

  Wind cut through his chestnut hair, disheveling it to match the passion skewing his features as he sawed the bow across the silver strings of a crystal violin. Precision. Passion. Profound concentration written across a serene expression, he swayed sharply, dipping. Rising on a high note, only to sink, his knees bending as he twisted into another long wind.

  The instrument was merely a conduit for the fury—the demons chasing her vampire. He peeled the wand back and forth with such menace and meaning she curled her fingers against the glass, bracing her knuckles against the dream as if she could catch the melody. For the first time in her life, she wanted to hear the music. She wanted to hear the music so badly it nearly stole her breath.

  “Does he know you got it bad, girly?”

  “Am I that transparent?” Elsa dropped her forehead against the glass, shifting her attention to the source of the sweet, flirtatious, but very sharp Gotham accent.

  Magic. Coven, probably. Snow white skin. Her hair fell in soft curls around her face, framing big doe eyes, blacker than any eclipse, and porcelain features surrounded by old-fashioned tresses. Clad in a pinup prom-looking dress,
the skirt flared from her waist, several gauzy, frilly black petticoats giving it cake-like volume—she was a 50s Hollywood starlet, standing in the moonlight on six-inch ballerina stilettos.

  Her glossy crimson smile widened to reveal a white crescent of teeth. Her front bottom two were crooked, giving the otherwise perfect Gothic doll a Lolita note. She motioned out the window into the expanse of ocean licking at the keel.

  Elsa frowned at the rolling black sea and opened her mouth to ask what she was looking for—and a Viking burst forth from the ocean, spewing water in a hurricane of glory as he launched himself onto the balcony, clinging and then climbing on top of it.

  Poised like a lion over the ocean, he balanced on his haunches and gathered a mass of gold braids licking down his powerful bronzed shoulders. Menacing silver-blue eyes, bright with a blizzard sweeping across the Northern Mountains. He rang water from his long braids. Ice rolled down his muscles and steam rose from his skin. He appeared completely unmoved by the chill. No winter nor icy ocean was a match for the creature bringing a blush to the starlet’s cheeks.

  “I’ve been married for three years,” the starlet covered the image of her Viking through the glass, her gauzy gloved hands brushing Elsa’s, “and I’m still transparent.”

  And she was. So utterly open, her heart’s arms were flung wide in the depths of her black eyes. Love and devotion infusing her until she looked like she was all but ignited. Elsa wondered what it was to look so…at peace. To know with heart, body, and soul that you will never want another. That you will never feel hunger again. To be nourished on someone else’s simple existence. It seemed like such a foreign concept. The permanence of it was almost overwhelming. This woman was in love. She wasn’t born that way, but she would live and die that way. She was changed. Forever.