Box of Frogs

by Helen Harper

  ‘I thought you were Rubus,’ he mumbled.

  ‘So? Even if I were, I’m still on your turf! No one will respect you if you don’t stand up for what is yours.’ I waggled my finger at him. ‘Not in a mean way that compromises who you are, but in a way so that you’re not trodden all over. It’s not rocket science.’

  Timmons gazed up at me as if I’d grown horns. ‘You’re not as horrible as people say you are. You’re not as horrible as I thought you were, either.’

  Gee, was I supposed to say thanks? ‘Maybe,’ I said gently, ‘you shouldn’t cross people who have horrible reputations. Yes, there’s a truce but it doesn’t mean bad stuff can’t happen.’ I hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard about anyone getting their head chopped off?’

  He recoiled. ‘What?’

  ‘Or anything more about those three ugly guys who are trying to kill me? It wasn’t a coincidence that they came here. What did you say they were? Redcaps? What the hell are Redcaps anyway?’

  If I thought he’d been looking at me strangely before, it was nothing compared to now. ‘What on earth is going on with you?’

  I sighed, unwilling to display my vulnerabilities. ‘Believe me, that’s what I’d like to know.’ I ran a hand through my hair. ‘You really don’t have any nux? Or know where I can find Rubus?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Rubus finds you, not the other way around.’

  There was something ominous about that statement that I chose to ignore. ‘Where else can I get nux from?’

  Timmons’ brow creased. ‘Are you alright? You’re asking some very strange questions.’ I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly. He apologised. ‘Sorry. The only other person I know who has nux is Morgan.’

  My heart sank. Typical. That was how my life rolled these days: the only people who could help me find the antidote I desperately needed were a man I couldn’t remember and couldn’t find, and another man who despised me and everything I stood for.

  Noting my expression, Timmons raised a shoulder. ‘Morganus, I mean. And you and he…’

  ‘Me and Morgan what?’

  There was a knock on the door. Without waiting, the receptionist put her head round. ‘Is everything okay?’ She didn’t look at me. I applauded her bravery in interrupting; Timmons could learn a thing or two from her.

  ‘It’s fine, Mindy,’ he answered.

  ‘Good.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s a couple at the front who are complaining about the water pressure. And they said there was a cockroach in their bed. They want to see you.’

  Timmons grimaced. ‘I’ll be right out.’ He turned at me. ‘I should go.’ Then he bit his lip. ‘May I go?’

  I sighed. ‘Yeah.’ It was clear that he didn’t have much to offer me. There were plenty of gaps he could fill in but he didn’t know anything substantial. Gasbudlikins. Being evil was a lot harder than it looked. And if there were cockroaches in this hotel, it was high time I made an exit. Yuck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spotting a smoker as I exited the hotel, I squared my shoulders and stomped over. So far I’d resisted the lure of nicotine but at that moment I really needed a cigarette.

  ‘Give me a fag,’ I growled at her, in my best bad-guy voice. I wasn’t yet done with being evil, I decided. What I needed was an argument with a complete stranger. Or fisticuffs. That would make me feel much better.

  The woman, wearing a flowery dress and looking as if she’d just stepped out of a posh garden party, ignored my glower and smiled. ‘Of course. I know what it’s like when you’re desperate for a puff.’ She dug into her bag and pulled out a pack. ‘Take a couple.’

  I stared at her. Couldn’t she tell I was a villain? To all intents and purposes, I was a large, ungainly man who needed a shave and had a dangerous glower. She had no right to be this nice to me. Unless she was trying to give me lung cancer. It was a slow revenge, to be sure, but it would work in the end.

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘I just need one.’

  ‘No problem.’ She continued to smile at me. It was eerie.

  Taking her lighter, I lit the cigarette with my good hand and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, I choked. My body may well have been craving nicotine but clearly I’d gone long enough without smoking for the nasty side effects to hit me. Light-headedness over took me and the taste in my mouth was like ash. I made a face and dropped my hand with the cigarette in it.

  ‘You don’t really want it, do you?’ the woman said. ‘Just stub it out. I won’t be offended.’

  I gazed at the smoke curling up into the air then flicked her a glance. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’

  She shrugged. ‘You look like you’re having a bad day. And it’s nice to be nice.’

  ‘I’m trying to be nasty,’ I admitted, surprising even myself with the disclosure.

  She ground out her cigarette. ‘When you’re nasty, people are nasty back. And you don’t think you deserve anything better.’ I must have looked astonished because she gave a brief laugh. ‘Been there, done that, had the therapy,’ she told me. ‘Whatever’s going on in your life, at least you’re alive. Rise above the shit.’ She smiled again. ‘Nice talking to you.’ With that, she strolled away, leaving me staring after her with an open mouth.

  Shaking my head, bemused, I discarded the cigarette and shambled along the pavement towards the main street. It was looking more and more likely that I’d have to crawl back to Morgan with my proverbial cap in hand. Quickly, too. I was fairly certain that the pain was getting worse. Most of my chest now ached, as well as my hand and arm, and my thoughts were becoming sluggish. Maybe that was why I was such a pathetic excuse for both a villain and a superhero; I clearly wasn’t working to capacity.

  I huffed as I walked along the road. Was it possible to be amnesiac and have an identity crisis at the same time? Sure, I couldn’t remember anything about myself but you’d think I’d instinctively know whether I was good or bad and act accordingly. Unfortunately, it appeared that life wasn’t as straightforward as it was in soap operas.

  I rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pair of loved-up teenagers and almost losing my balance in the process.

  ‘The bigger they are,’ the boy snickered, ‘the harder they fall.’

  I spun round, prepared to give him my best villain glare. Unfortunately the action only served to make me dizzy. As the kids wandered away laughing, I doubled over, trying not to vomit. This was ridiculous. How could I maintain a stomach of steel when faced with gruesome sights but feel the need to upchuck when I simply turned round too quickly? I did my best to hold in the contents of my stomach but it was a losing battle. Moments later, a stream of yellow bile splashed onto the pavement. Bleurgh.

  Feeling like death I straightened up, taking my time in case my stomach protested again. My skin was clammy. But every cloud has a silver lining: the rowan-induced pain, which had been spreading for days, appeared to have vanished. Perhaps the nausea and vomiting were a result of my body expelling the poison by itself. If I’d made myself throw up on the golf course, I’d probably have been right as rain. No doubt Morgan was trying to put the wind up me by harping on about nux. Ha! Who needed it? Or him? I could manage perfectly well on my own. I’d have jumped for joy if my current body weren’t so cumbersome.

  I continued on my path, weaving in and out of the growing number of pedestrians. Most of them gave me a wide berth, which was just as well. My breath was probably about as ripe as a warthog’s morning fart right now. There was also an annoying buzzing in my ears. It was probably a side effect of walking around in this body. I’d get over it.

  Although it had been blazing sunshine not long ago, the sky had darkened considerably. It was darned cold too, and I kept shivering. I should try that charity shop again and see if they had Godzilla-sized jumpers. Autumn wasn’t here yet but this was still England – world champion at grey and chilly.

  I turned left onto the next street, realising as I did so that not only were there more people
around but that many of them were looking at me strangely. A few looked scared – as they should – but most appeared concerned. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I’d have to remind the world who I was.

  Throwing back my head, I let out a loud, fake, villainous laugh. ‘Mwahahahahahaha!’ Oddly, it didn’t make the other pedestrians run away. If anything, they looked even more worried.

  A small boy tugged at his mum’s hand. ‘Is the big man alright?’

  I swivelled my eyes towards him. ‘I am fine,’ I boomed. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded overly loud. ‘And,’ I added, ‘I am not a man. I’m a woman.’

  The boy’s mother glared at me. ‘Stay away from us,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Mummy…’

  ‘The man is drunk,’ she told him. ‘Even though it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning.’

  I frowned at her. ‘I’m not drunk. And I already said. I’m not a man. I’m a woman. Well, technically, I’m a faery.’ I raised myself up onto my tiptoes and flapped my arms. ‘See?’

  The woman grabbed her son and the pair of them walked hastily away. A braver woman stepped up to the breach. ‘Are you okay, sir? Would you like me to call you an ambulance?’

  ‘You can call me that if you like,’ I said. ‘It’s not my name though.’ My knee inexplicably gave way and I stumbled down to the pavement. ‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘Who pushed me?’

  There was a murmur from the growing crowd around me. ‘Call the ambulance,’ someone said. ‘He’s obviously taken something. He could hurt someone if we leave him like this. Look at the size of him!’

  ‘I’ll hurt you,’ I muttered. I braced myself, trying and failing to get back up to my feet. If anything, it was even darker now than it had been before. I glanced up at the sky. ‘Is it night time?’

  ‘Uncle! There you are!’ A blonde woman appeared in front of me, reached down and pulled me upright. I blinked at her. She looked oddly familiar but I couldn’t quite place her. ‘Sorry everyone,’ she said. ‘He’s on strong medication. He escaped from our house before anyone noticed. I’ll get him home.’

  ‘Will you manage? Are you sure?’ asked another passer-by.

  ‘I can still call an ambulance,’ someone else suggested.

  ‘No, no, it’s all good,’ she trilled. ‘I’ll be fine. So will he. I just need to get him back to bed.’

  Her face swam before me, blurring in and out of focus. Hang on a gasbudlikin minute. ‘I know you,’ I said. ‘You’re Jodie. You work for Morgan.’

  A flash of surprise crossed her face then she bit her lip and nodded. ‘That’s right. I’m your niece, Jodie. Come on. I’ll take you home.’ She pulled at my arm with surprising strength.

  My legs felt like ten-ton weights but Jodie was so briskly business-like that I decided to play along. I stumbled beside her while she pulled out a phone from her pocket. ‘It’s me,’ she muttered. ‘I’m in the high street just down from St Peter’s Church and I’ve got a problem.’ She glanced at me. ‘A big problem.’

  ‘That’s because I’m the Big Bad,’ I informed her airily. Then my gaze snagged on something else. Across the street, staring at us, was another familiar figure. It was the tall Amazonian woman who I’d been sure was about to shoot me on that first day. ‘Hey!’ I said. I pulled away from Jodie and turned in the woman’s direction. ‘Hey!’ I waved my arms. ‘I’m here. Come and get me!’

  I stepped off the pavement to walk towards her. A moment later, Jodie yanked me back, just in time to avoid the double-decker bus trundling towards me.

  ‘Who are you?’ she hissed. ‘Are you one of Rubus’s men?’

  ‘I…’ My stomach lurched and the world darkened even further. I lifted a hand to my head and rubbed it. ‘I don’t feel very well.’ I felt myself swaying.

  ‘Fuck,’ Jodie swore. ‘Just hang on. Try to…’

  ‘Look,’ I said, pointing. ‘There’s the pavement.’ Then it rushed up to meet me.

  ***

  There was a swirl of voices above my head but it was far too much effort to open my eyes. Then it occurred to me that playing dead might be the best thing I could do. I was vulnerable enough; until I knew who these people were and what they wanted from me, I wasn’t going to move a muscle.

  ‘I don’t recognise him. There’s no database anywhere with his picture in it, either foreign or domestic.’ The clipped male accent wasn’t one I recognised.

  Given what he’d said, I must still be wearing my Hell’s Angel body. The thought that the second head blow had returned my memory filled me with hope but it only took a second or two to realise that nothing had changed in that department either.

  ‘There’s no doubting that he’s Fey.’

  ‘Have you ever seen a Fey that size? I certainly haven’t. He’s a bloody monster.’

  There was a delicate sniff. ‘When I came across him, he was telling half of Manchester that he was a faery.’ That was definitely Jodie. ‘I thought you lot were supposed to keep that part secret.’

  ‘We are.’ At this new voice, I had to force myself to keep my breathing even. It stood to reason that Jodie had taken me to Morgan – she did work for him after all – but it was still jarring to know he was standing over me. ‘He’s been poisoned with rowan though. His whole body reeked of it. Leave it untreated for too long and it can cause dementia.’ Huh. He’d not mentioned that little fact to me. I wondered whether that was deliberate or not.

  There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side. ‘Rowan? It’s too much of a coincidence that the Madhatter bitch was poisoned with rowan too.’

  Morgan’s answer was sharp. ‘Don’t call her that.’

  ‘Do you think she did this?’

  What an arsebadger. Why would I go around poisoning other faeries? I almost raised my head to snap at the suggestion but fortunately Morgan was already there. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘There’s no reason to suggest she did.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘Has anyone checked the border? Did he come through? Is—’

  ‘It’s still blocked.’

  Disappointment coloured every word of the response. ‘Shit. You’re sure? Shit.’

  ‘We should wake him up. Question him and find out who he really is and what he knows. Throw some water on him or something.’

  ‘No need,’ Morgan answered. ‘He’s already awake.’

  Gasbudlikins, that man was vexing. Yielding to the inevitable, I opened my eyes, propped myself up on my elbows and gazed round at the room. I definitely still felt woozy. Better though; I was sure I was better. I clocked the one and only exit – blocked to me at the moment – and the lack of weaponry, which could be both a good and bad thing. Then I turned my attention to the people.

  Four pairs of eyes stared back at me: Morgan’s ice-green chips; an older looking gentleman wearing a morning suit, of all things, whose racing-green cravat matched his irises; a middle-aged woman with lighter green eyes which were watching my every breath, and Jodie’s baby blues. No prizes for guessing who wasn’t Fey then.

  ‘Who are you?’ Morgan asked. There was no censure in his tone but it was clear he wasn’t going to be my best friend just yet.

  I didn’t answer immediately. I wasn’t yet sure how to tell him who I really was. If he’d struggled to believe that I had amnesia before, how could I get him to believe that I looked like a hairy wrestler now? Timmons had already suggested it was next to impossible to maintain a glamour for any length of time.

  While I debated the best way to approach the truth, my captors were growing impatient. ‘Listen, matey,’ Cravat Man hissed, ‘we’ve given you the nux antidote you needed. Your system has all but flushed the rowan out. You owe us. Now tell us who you are and where you’ve come from.’

  I brightened. Finally, some good news. I’d barely had time to digest it properly, however, when the Fey woman broke in. ‘This is a waste of time. Unless we test him properly with a truth draw, we’ll never know whether he’s telling us the truth or not. It’s not
like one of Rubus’s Truth Spiders but it’ll still work.’

  ‘Viburna, just wait. You…’

  She crouched down beside me and took my hands. Maybe she wanted to dance or something. That was a nice thought – until my skin began to tingle unpleasantly. ‘Hey!’ I exclaimed.

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed though he didn’t say anything. He simply crossed his arms over his broad chest and continued to watch me.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Viburna asked, her words soft and melodic.

  The tingling sensation increased. I tried to pull my hands away but Viburna was much stronger than she looked. She kept a firm grip on me and continued to stare into my eyes.

  ‘He’s resisting,’ Cravat Man muttered.

  ‘Tell us your name,’ Viburna repeated.

  I licked my lips. It felt as if the answer was being tugged out of me against my will and, for that reason alone, I forced my mouth to stay closed.

  Cravat Man stared at me. ‘Try something else. A different question.’

  Viburna’s fingers stroked my skin. ‘Where have you come from?’

  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. She was obviously using some sort of nasty Fey magic on me. Frankly, that was just rude. I’d have told them the truth by now if they hadn’t started treating me like an enemy prisoner. Maybe.

  ‘He knew my name,’ Jodie butted in. ‘He must belong to Rubus.’

  ‘Is that true?’ Viburna asked. ‘Are you one of his?’

  I continued to resist. So much for the damned truce Morgan kept talking about. It was taking every ounce of energy I had to stay quiet; this was torture in all but name. No wonder all these Fey arsebadgers were so miserable and tense all the time if they had this kind of crap to put up with.

  ‘He’s strong,’ Cravat Man said. ‘Try harder.’

  Viburna gritted her teeth. ‘I am trying.’

  ‘Let me try.’ Morgan moved down and took Viburna’s place. She released my hands and I expelled a breath, relief cascading through me as the compulsion to talk was lifted. Then he took my hands and the pressure returned. This time it was even stronger.