by Shyla Colt
Even the games are themed. The workers are dressed to frighten. Pale-faced, stereotypical, widow-peaked vampires with fangs and blood drops in the corner of their mouth heckle the crowd into playing ring toss. Dead-eyed dolls, zombies, and ghouls entertain with ghoulish gimmicks and showmanship. It’s a mixture of vaudeville and modernism.
I pause in front of the stacked milk bottles when my bracelet turns icy cold.
“All right, this is the dead zone. My wrist feels like it’s going to get frostbite.” I shake my hand to get the blood flowing and change my direction.
“We know it works then at least.”
“We found them. They’re working in the Fun House.”
“How could he tell if they’re in a uniform?” Ruby asks.
“Sacha’s bracelet must be blazing.”
“They’re smart, hiding in public like this. Even if they’re caught, they won’t be easy to capture,” Marcellus says.
“I’m going to pretend you aren’t impressed by the madmen we’re here to capture.”
“I bet they’re completely unaware that Harold is still alive, and they’ve been ratted out,” I muse.
“You’re right. I’m giving the humans too much credit.”
I’ve grown used to their flippancy. I often wonder if humans are truly like cattle to him. With his abrasive attitude and grim humor, Marcellus is often hard to read. I take four steps to their two. If it wasn’t for my training, I’d be winded by now. We join the fast-moving line. Groups of three and four are herded into the building. The small doll-like woman in a dingy red polka dot dress rises from her perch on a raised platform and silently stalks every group as they enter. Her movements are mechanical and awkward.
Larkin, Cristobal, and Sacha join us. Her glossy blank stare hits me in the gut.
“Sach, are you okay?”
She raises her head. Her lower lip trembles. “I’m not sure I ever will be again.”
“What the hell happened in there?”
She shakes her head.
“Cristobal?”
“You have to see for yourself, reina. There are things that are beyond, even for me.”
I study the three of them. They’ve all been rattled. My apprehension rises. We move forward, and I toy with my silver bracelet, running my fingers over the smooth textured surface hand hammered and spelled. The doll woman waves us forward. We step inside, and a high-pitched scream assaults my ears. I’ve never heard such realistic depiction of torture outside of a movie. A clown rushes forward, rattling the bars on the makeshift jail cell to our left. We continue down the hallway full of mirrors. Each one distorts our shapes, squashing our bodies, twisting our limbs, and enlarging our heads. We step onto clear tiles. The plastic gives, going squishy as it fills with blood red liquid.
The haunting screams continue to grow louder as we move forward. The black light section plunges us all into darkness. Neon green triangles and squares are mingled with orange ovals and pink circles. A black and white circle swirls in the background.
A black shadow jumps forward. I clench my fist to keep from reacting. We clear the hallway, and the path turns to the left. Scenes play out in a viewing area. A mad scientist pulls the lever on a machine. Sparks fly. Frankenstein twitches on the operating table. My bracelet burns. We move to the next scene. A puddle of blood darkens the white floor, floods the metal table and the doctors in surgical scrubs and masks. The body strapped down jerks as the scalpel slices into flesh and they slowly peel it back. Oh my God! This is real!
Yes, it is. Steady, reina. We don’t want to alert them.
My body shakes. These people are being entertained by the torture and killing of a human being. Hoarse from screaming, and shifting into shock, the man on the table goes silent. Eyes wide, chest heaving, and mouth wide. His shallow pants are worse than the scream. That at least had fight behind it. This is surrender and acceptance. It’s the silent prelude to the end. The surgical masks obscuring their faces does nothing to conceal the maniacal joy shining in their eyes. The line continues, and we move to the next station. Unseeing, I can’t concentrate on anything but holding myself together.
“We can’t let them get away with this.”
“We won’t,” Cristobal says.
“How can we leave them here like this?”
“The panic we’d cause alerting everyone to the truth would create the perfect storm for them to escape.”
“I know. The greater good theory is a real bitch.”
He grips my neck, lending silent support.
“Are you guys doing that silent mind-meld thing?” Sacha touches her face in three places like Spock, and I burst out laughing.
“That’s not how it works,” I say between breaths.
“Well, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” She shrugs and smiles bashfully.
“The others are positioned at all the exits. We’ll have them in custody tonight. I swear it to you.”
Cristobal wraps an arm around my waist, and we blend into the crowd.
***
I don’t like violence. I avoid it when at all possible. Still, I must admit to a sick sense of satisfaction watching Wallace and Ernest’s heads snap back under the extraction techniques. Marcellus and Luz are masterful, causing pain without overwhelming their body with damage. The cocky bastards never saw us coming. They’d walked to their car cracking jokes. One minute they’d been congratulating each other on a job well done, and the next, there was only darkness as I knocked them unconscious. We loaded them into the car and brought them down to the root cellar.
The evening is progressing every bit as slow as their intricate knife cuts.
“Are you ready to share what you know about your master?” Cristobal asks as he studies his fingernails.
Wallace spits out blood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Cristobal gives a mocking laugh. “He’s got you doing all his dirty work in exchange for what?”
“None of your business,” Ernest growls.
Cristobal moves faster than the eye can track. “You made it mine a while back. You haven’t cleaned behind yourself very well, gentleman.”
“It won’t matter when you see what’s coming.” Wallace scowls.
“Shut your gob,” Ernest barks.
“No, please enlighten us.” I walk over and place the toe of my boot onto the wooden chair he’s lashed to with rope. “Spill words before I let them start spilling your guts.” They remain stoic. I nod at Renee and Ruby. They rush forward; fangs extended, eyes on fire.
“You’re bluffing, bitch. You need us,” Ernest crows.
“Are you willing to bet on that?” I shove the edge of the chair hard and watch as he hits the ground. “You seem to think we won’t kill you if you don’t talk. I think the better question is, how will we kill you?” The blood drains from Ernest’s swollen face. I smile. “I’m hoping you don’t talk. ’Cause the last thing you deserve is an easy death.”
Wallace begins to hyperventilate.
“Careful, my love, you’re scaring the guests,” Cristobal says.
I’m angry, but I don’t feel rage. Outside of my emotions, I’m free to act however I see just. It’s unnatural feeling so disconnected with one’s self. Focused on the need to avenge the deaths of those I couldn’t save, I walk over to the prone man and place his throat under the heel of my boot. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let them end your life.”
“Lou.” Sacha’s shaky voice draws my attention. The fear in her eyes wounds me. ‘You okay?’ she mouths.
I nod my head. It’s a lie. She just kept me from committing a grave mistake. I forgot myself, lost in the bloodlust.
“What the hell was that?” I ask Cristobal.
“A glimpse of what it’s like in our heads.”
I store the inf
ormation to examine later. Right now I’m back in control.
“I didn’t hear an answer, Ernie.”
“Keep your mouth sh―” Wallace chokes on the rag Luz shoves into his mouth.
“Yes. By all means, remain loyal to the man who had you flay your friend alive when he couldn’t accomplish his task. I’m sure he’s the forgiving type, who won’t see your capture as a failure,” Cristobal says.
“It’s different,” Ernest insists.
“How sad for you,” I whisper. “You’ll walk into death for one who feels no loyalty toward you, and you’ll bring your friend with you.” I latch on to the fear in Wallace’s eyes and remove the rag from his mouth. “Final chance to speak.”
“Wh-what do you want to know?”
Wallace licks his split lip and hisses. Cowards always break and jump off sinking ships.
In the blink of an eye, Cristobal has Ernest upright. “This is your last chance. Talk,” Cristobal demands.
“He said he’d reward us for helping his people cross over into this world. We’d live like kings while others died. I’d get my family back. It’d be like the accident never happened. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my children. They never should’ve died.” His voice cracks.
“You’re going to live like kings with your family where? What you’re doing is creating a storm that’s going to do its damnedest to wipe this city of its map. Are their lives worth thousands of other ones?” Sacha asks.
“Yes,” Ernest whispers.
“So, you what? Skin seven people?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Not people, betrayers.”
It’s like looking at someone who’s been brainwashed.
“What happens afterward?” I ask.
“The box is complete,” Ernest grumbles.
“And the Djinn take over the world?” Sacha asks.
“Yes,” Wallace says softly.
“How do you stop it?” I question.
“You can’t,” Ernest says smugly.
“You ladies should step out while we handle the rest,” Cristobal politely dismisses us. I want to let him handle the dirty work. Turning a blind eye would be so easy right now. But if I did that, how would I be any different from them? I bow my head.
“I can’t.”
“Dove …”
“We can’t become them.”
“And what should we do instead? Human law has no jurisdiction in this matter.”
“Why not? They did kill a man. There will be prints and plenty of evidence.”
“Which will all disappear thanks to their miracle worker. The Djinn will see to them as he already has. Loose lips don’t sink ships, loose ends like these two do. I won’t risk us, so you can feel better. They’ve flayed who knows how many people alive. Some people are past the point of redemption, and we could never trust them. Are you willing to risk your family on the flimsy hope that they won’t retaliate later?”
“No.” Lying would be pointless, and immature. I’ve lost this battle. Everything he’s said was true. I can feel the approval of the court rushing up to side with him. They remain perplexed by my ability to hang on to my silly human notions.
“Come on, Sacha, let’s see if we’ve heard anything from the others while we’ve been here.” I ignore her questioning gaze. There are things that need to stay in the court.
Chapter Sixteen
A tri-ringed circle is drawn along the wide patch of grass. Swirling circles, interwoven knots, and elegantly looped Gaelic phrases have been carefully sketched in white chalk. Members of each main family stand in the circles while the court stands around us. We’re a motley crew. Exhausted, battle-worn, and sleep deprived, we came to the same conclusion after twenty-four hours of nonstop debate: we needed help from a higher power.
Father, a Baal Shem, and a Synagogue full of faithful, holy Jewish men have yet to banish Agares back to his own plane of existence. His current followers might be temporarily disposed of, but the setback is temporary. He will escape eventually, gather his forces again, and complete the cycle. The men can’t continue to hold him forever.
Five steps remain between the Djinn completing the puzzle box and ruling. The reality is sobering and too close for comfort. The only thing to do is disassemble the box, scatter it, and permanently trap Agares. It’d serve as a warning and make them think long and hard about attempting the same route he’d taken. There’s one catch. The box can’t be handled by human hands. The slimy bastards pay attention to details like they’re lawyers. As dawn crests into the horizon, we’re prepared to explore the loophole. Faeries don’t have human hands.
So we’re here to perform the ancient summoning ritual for the Fae. The complicated procedure requires an immense amount of power and very well may go unheeded. We’re not calling out to a lesser Fae. We’re begging a queen for the audience. My gut tells me Sebile will show. If only to be updated on the current state of things. The question I dread most is how high the price for her help will be.
The sweet smell of burning sage and cedarwood float through the air. Mémé begins an old Gaelic song. Her voice is crisp and clear. The lilting lyrics are hauntingly beautiful. I may not understand them, but the emotion poured into them speak volumes. The symbols glow as we begin to cast our circles. Power moves through the layers separating us, like ripples traveling across a lake.
Connected by intention and cleverly drawn designs, we’re united as one unit. Magic hums in the air, electrifying my space. My hair curls as the heavyweight settle over me. Fresh beignets, wild honey, and a pitcher of creamy milk mixed with honey and nutmeg rest beside a golden goblet.
“Sebile, Queen of the Winter Court, Houses Esçhete, Morel, Duplex, and Blanchard have come to bring you a gift. If this gift is accepted, please show yourself.”
The stars twinkle above us and swell. Light rushes forward in a shower of a particle like pieces. Sebile materializes as the show fades. One pencil thin eyebrow is arched. Her berry red lips form a thin line. The winter white gown contrasts with her dark corkscrew curls. Tiny flakes of snow drift down off around her. They’re odd in the muggy, rainy weather we’ve kept out with a clever spell.
We’ve prevented a massive hurricane, but the storm depression has brought plenty of rain and light flooding. We continue to monitor the weather reports closely.
“Using the old ways? Clever.” She sounds almost approving. “I trust you have not called me here on a whim.”
“No. We’ve neutralized the Djinn.”
“Score one for the Esçhete warrior.”
“It was a group effort.” I glance at the powerful people behind me.
“And modest. Not sure how I feel about that quality. A queen needs to remain center stage at all times.” I disagree, but I’m smart enough to keep that to myself. “Did you call me here to brag about your victory then?”
“No, we’ve called you here to make a deal.”
“Hmmm.” She slinks her way over to the plate of beignets, brings the plate to her with her powers, and begins to devour the dish with dainty bites. She shakes one at me. “This is one of the few things humans have gotten right.”
I smirk. We’re on her timetable, and she knows it. She drizzles the fresh honey over the plate and drinks a tall glass of milk to wash it down. When the food is all gone, she cleanses her fingers with a look and turns her attention back to me.
“Why do you think I want to deal with you at all? You’ve taken care of the threat.”
“Temporarily, yes. They came too close to achieving their goal. Neither one of us wants to see the Djinn rise and take over. With your help, we can put them out of commission on a more permanent basis.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. What’s in it for me? When the human world finally burns itself to the ground, which it will eventually, I have my own kingdom to rule over.”
She�
�s playing hardball, and I put the ball back in her court. “What do you want?”
Her full lips part into a full out smile. “I thought you’d never ask. I want out. I’m bored, and humans are such good entertainment.”
“You know I can’t allow you to declare hunting season on the human race.”
“Just the stupid ones. We’ll call it natural selection.”
“No.”
She sighs. “We only want a little sport.”
“What does that mean exactly? You want to trick them, or eat them?” I ask bluntly. I ignore the gasps of the others behind me.
Sebile wrinkles her nose. “That’s like comparing the actions of your caveman ancestors to you. We want entertainment. Tricks are what we do. Not having an appreciative audience has been less than favorable. I won’t grant safe passage to those who foolishly seek us.”
I consider my response carefully. “If we rework the conditions of our deal and grant you more freedom to visit our realm, I’ll require a blood agreement that you will monitor the activities of your people, and punish them accordingly by our standards of right and wrong.” I sense the displeasure of others pressing in on me. I stand my ground. I’m the one in the hot seat. Perhaps they’ll think twice before they doubt me or offer me up like animal sacrifice.
“In exchange for what?” Sebile asks.
“Imprisoning Agares in the Forgotten Place.”
She grins. “My dear, I’d do that for fun.”
“And disassembling the puzzle box and scattering its pieces where few are likely to every uncover them.”
“That’s all?” She narrows her gaze.
“Yes.”
“I agree to your terms.” She snaps her fingers. An obsidian blade appears along with an ornate silver goblet. She slices her palm. Her blood is as black as the night court she belongs to.
“I, Sebile, Queen of the Winter Court, do swear to banish Agares to the Forgotten Place and properly disassemble and scatter the puzzle box.” She hands me the knife.
I slice my palm, and we allow our blood to drip into the goblet, sealing our deal. “I, Louella Esçhete, so swear to amend our deal to the Fae. May they enjoy this word with the understanding that force will be met with force.”