by C. F. Waller
Rhea looks down the other side of the table and the blonde headed male we do not know, rises, folding his napkin and leaving it on his chair. As the cake is served, he drags the corpse out of sight, leaving a horrifying trail of blood on the marble tile. He returns moment later with the knife. He’s wiping off the blood on a cloth napkin as he moves. When he passes me on the outside of the table, he drives the knife through the table cloth and into the wood. Rhea doesn’t look up and the knife wobbles back and forth like a metronome.
“He doesn’t like you,” Rhea advises through a mouthful of cake.
“It’s mutual, but why me specifically?”
“You ended the game. His wager was most likely the winner. Now he cannot claim victory.”
“I’m sure his bank account will survive.”
“Oh, we don’t care about money.”
“Then what?”
“The winner gets to choose the next wager,” she explains as she chews.
“This is considered a prize?”
“A great honor. This game was chosen by Phoebe.”
“Who picks now,” I ask, looking away as she shoves a chunk of cake too big for her mouth in her face and chews like a chipmunk.
“I do,” she chokes out. “My wager was the closest to the events that transpired. As in horseshoes, I was closest to the stake.”
“What did you predict? The day, the time?”
“There were eleven wagers,” she explains, stopping with her fork midway to her mouth, a huge hunk of frosting hanging there. “All five men plus Phoebe and Helen wagered that she’d starve. The other three ladies took the brother to fall on his own knife,” she scoffs. “Like that was going to happen.”
“And your wager,” I ask. “The winning bet was what?”
“I wagered that neither of those outcomes would occur,” she winks and thrusts the frosting covered fork in her mouth, pulling it out clean with her lips closed.
As I watch Annie leave the room behind the cart, a thought comes to me. Did Rhea set the knife down between us in hopes I would kill him? It was odd that I was seated next to her. After all Anthony has been here longer and Arron seems to be very close to her. At worst Helen, who shared that awkward embrace on my arrival would be between the Queen and myself. Another thought peeks into view. Did she sit me down when I arrived and tell me about Annie to set the stage? Is she that cunning and underhanded? Why is it so important that she choose the next game?
“Are you going to eat your cake,” she inquires, bumping me with her shoulder.
“No, but it’s huge,” I sigh, the cake cart still visible. “I’m sure they will give you another piece.”
“I didn’t ask them for anything.”
“Fine, feel free.”
With this, she begins eating mine without moving the plate. Her arm crosses over me awkwardly and she stabs a hunk tossing crumbs on the table. She is in some ways a manor-less animal.
“At least Annie can get a warm meal now,” I mutter aloud. “You should probably be very careful what you give her in the beginning.”
“Oh, she’s not eating anything,” Rhea mumbles, frosting on her upper lip.
“The games over,” I argue. “I ended it.”
“For her, the game ends when either her brother takes the knife or she dies. You made sure the brother can no longer take the knife.”
“That’s completely unfair,” I blurt out.
“Who told you life was fair?” she remarks, wiping frosting off her face and then sucking on her finger. “On the other hand there is an argument to be made on her behalf. He did not technically take the knife himself, but rather you gave it to him in spectacular fashion. Ultimately he wound up with the knife in his possession.”
“I don’t suppose that counts.”
She shakes her head and wipes her hands on her napkin. The ashen spot passes over her hand revealing charred bones. As it migrates up her arm, the tiniest wisp of smoke tails off her skin. I had not noticed that before. The spot disappears into her tunic top leaving my mind back on the game at hand.
“You set me up,” I lean over and whisper. “You made sure I understood the wager, sat me next to you, then left the knife on the table.”
“Did I?”
“Yes,” I continue to talk softly into her ear. “Did you tell Phoebe to kick her in the face or was that a happy accident.”
“It was a rather inflammatory coincidence,” she whispers into her napkin.
“All this so you can choose the next game?”
“Possibly.”
“What might that be?”
“You’ll just have to wait until my daughter gets here,” she purrs. “Should be anytime now.”
“You better hope Rahnee doesn’t get here first.”
“Miss Ben-Ahron is being delayed. It’s doubtful she could find us if she wanted to.”
Recalling Rahnee’s admission that she can see the thoughts of the minion used to raise her from the dead, I disagree with the Queen’s assumption, but decline to voice this. Her arrival is unlikely to save anyone. The wooden doors are suddenly pushed open. The stocky woman who picked me up in Germany steps inside, followed by Jennifer. Behind her is another minion, a fair skinned blonde man holding a gun to the back of Jenn’s head.
“Excellent timing,” Rhea claps, soon joined in applause by all her minions, even a reluctant Helen. “Let’s get some brandy in here for an after-dinner palate cleanser. Our entertainment has arrived.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Trailing along behind and last in the door is Michelle. Anthony turns immediately to Rhea who shakes her head in return. This sends him into a sobbing tantrum, ending when Helen slaps him across the face. Rhea lifts her hands and motions the stocky woman forward.
“Greta darling, what have you brought me?”
She carries Jenn’s backpack, dumping it on the table in front of Rhea. Inside is makeup and a hair brush, clean tee shirts and Rahnee’s huge gun. The monster weapon cracks the china when it tumbles out. Jenn’s sword is placed next to the gun, still sheathed in its black lacquer case. I wonder where the briefcase full of ammo wound up?”
“That’s it,” Greta grunts.
“That’s plenty,” Rhea purrs, waving her off. “Make sure we are not interrupted.”
Greta exits and the blonde man lowers his gun and follows, leaving Jenn and Michelle alone in the middle of the hall. The musical entertainment exits to the left, disappearing into the hallway. The violinist hands his instrument to the woman, then tips the harp up on casters and drags it away. They all look terrified. I wonder if they have been forced to leave in a hurry on other occasions.
After smoothing out her stubby ponytail, Jenn helps Michelle straighten out her long black coat. It looks like she was dragged by the collar at some point and it takes a moment for Jenn to rearrange it properly. Neither one of them looks afraid, although I might be in their shoes. Who am I kidding. We are all wearing sandals and standing in front of a cross. Rhea rises and hops over the table like a cat. She plucks up the gun and turns it over in her hands.
“Long range weapon of cowards,” she hisses, then places it on the table alongside her plate.
I receive a brief stare, then she moves the gun to the other side of her place setting and wags a finger in my direction. Apparently, after seeing me stab a guy, she doesn’t want to leave a gun sitting within arm’s reach. A momentary tingle runs up my spine. To me this is a complement as my reputation seems to have changed from pacifist to possible threat. Although, I don’t feel the least bit dangerous. Rhea turns to Jenn and then points at Michelle ending my daydream.
“Over there old woman,” she snarls, pointing at the fountain on the left side. Step aside for the moment.”
Michelle moves slowly, leaving Rhea looking perplexed by her advanced age. A glance between the Queen and Anthony ends in a shrug. Jenn stands alone in the center wearing ripped jeans and pink hooded sweatshirt. Her hands are covered in tan colored gloves. She hoo
ks her tousled hair over one ear and winks at her father. When I glance over, he is shaking his head at her to no avail.
“Jenn don’t,” he blurts out, standing. “You’re playing right into her hands.”
Helen puts an arm out to keep Arron on this side of the table and is then joined by the dark skinned minion. He comes around in front of us, on the outside of the table, then raises a long spear blocking Anthony, Helen and Arron. Apparently they aren’t too worried about me all of a sudden. In light of being duped on the cake knife, I decide to think over any decisions before acting. It’s always possible, she’s setting me up to do her dirty work. Fool me twice, shame on me.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Rhea begins starting toward Jenn.
“Ditto,” Jenn echoes, pulling her gloves off and dropping them on the tiles as she walks straight at the Queen.
I am stunned that there isn’t any foreplay. I had half expected these two might circle and banter back and forth, but as they close the gap it feels rushed. One thing I am most sure of is that young Jennifer is a lamb led to slaughter if Rhea is anything as Arron describes. Rhea puts out her hand as if to shake and Jenn grabs her by the forearm with both hands. There’s an electric popping sound as I witnessed previously at the Cathedral resurrection. The Queen pauses and Jennifer grits her teeth, but holds tight to her arm.
“You have quite the grip,” Rhea jokes, then grunts and wobbles. “Hungry little beastie.”
Just as before blue flashes of light trickle down Rhea’s arm and flow into Jenn. Rhea squints her eyes and winces in pain as if she was lifting a heavy item. Jenn remains determined, holding on for dear life. We watch the slow trickle for nearly a minute then Jenn’s expression changes to one of concern. The light begins flowing back the other way.
“Enough,” Rhea remarks, turning her arm over and locking on to Jenn with her free hand before Jenn can let go. “No, no, no dear, stay right here. Let’s wait and see how this plays out.”
Jenn staggers, then, drops to one knee. The light flows quicker now, turning her face ashen grey. Arron pushes back on the spear, but receives a shove that nearly knocks him down. Rhea holds Jenn with one hand and feels around her shoulder looking for her ashen spot. She even pulls the waistband of her pants out a bit to check, but can’t seem to find it. She clearly thinks she can take back the part of her she’s missing. That’s what this is all about.
“Stay still dear,” Rhea demands sweetly as Jenn tries to pull her arm away. “End this pathetic resistance.”
Gaining her feet, and wearing a sudden look of conviction, Jenn pushes forward. The Queen, preoccupied looking at her skin, goes over backwards with Jenn’s fingers wrapped around her throat. Light runs in both directions now as they tumble onto the marble tiles with a thud. It’s surprising the young girl has the strength to push the Queen down. For all her might, it would seem the suction on her life force has weakened even her. The cat fight rolls left and then right, eventually separating them. When they lose contact, a flash akin to black powder being set off fills the room, momentarily blinding me. A burnt scent passes me like a pressure wave, forcing a cough.
When my blinking eyes clear, I see Jennifer lying on her back, chest heaving in exhaustion. Rhea flips over and gets to her feet instantly, but doesn’t try to grab Jenn a second time.
“You can’t take it from her,” Arron shouts. “It’s lost and you’ll never get it back.”
“So negative. Never say never dear.”
The ashen hole crosses Rhea’s forehead, then runs down her chest, disappearing under her tunic top. While this is un-nerving, I am getting used to it. I wonder if she is used to it or if it might even be painful.
“It does appear I cannot forcibly remove it from her,” Rhea suddenly agrees, but moves quickly in our direction. “Possibly I can get it from you.”
We all flinch, but she grabs Anthony by the front of his vest and drags him over the table. Dishes and a goblet of wine spill onto the floor. Arron tries to hold him back at first, but Helen tugs Arron away. Is Helen the slightest bit worried for Anthony? If this is so, I cannot tell by her expression. Anthony is dragged on his back across the hall to where Jenn lays, chest still heaving.
“Spawn of mine,” Rhea moans. “I will be needing to borrow your gift.”
Jenn rolls over, but Rhea takes her by the hair and holds her face over Anthony.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she orders. “Drain this vessel and let’s see if that helps.”
Jenn tries to shake her head and shouts what sounds like no, but her voice is weak from the struggle. In a shocking turn of events, Anthony turns on his side and blows a kiss to Michelle who looks horrified. He mutters something I can’t hear, then rolls on his back and holds out his hand to Jen. He’s offering his life to help Jenn. Well, not his life really. He’s just offering to go first. Jenn tries to fight free, but Rhea grows weary of the struggle and pulls her to her feet, wrapping one hand around her throat.
“I’m sorry. I must have been unclear,” Rhea snarls exasperated. “It wasn’t a request. Now do as you’re told.”
Her grip on Jenn’s neck causes nothing but a wheeze to exit as she attempts to reply. Over a short time, her face turns purple and I fear Rhea will strangle her. What would she do then? Seeming to sense the breaking point, Rhea releases her grip and kicks Jenn’s feet out from under her. She falls onto all fours next to poor Anthony.
“Phoebe,” Rhea barks, putting out her hand.
From my right the beauty in the black dress hurls Rhea’s walking stick. Catching the hard toss with ease, she snaps her wrist pushing bronze spear tips out of each end. In this mode, the length must be close to five feet. She puts one of the huge tips on Jenn’s cheek from behind then draws it up, placing the point on the back of her neck.
“If you don’t mind,” she growls in a deep scratchy voice. “Get on with it.”
“If you kill me you won’t ever get it back,” Jenn threatens, then struggles to get free.
“Possibly, but while blood runs out of your decapitated skull I’ll have another slice of cake and a glass of wine. Don’t make your father watch such a thing.”
Jenn looks apologetically at Anthony who nods. Some words are spoken, but at this distance, there’s no way to tell what’s being offered. The body language suggests he understands her plight and is willing to go first. Jenn takes Anthony’s hand, then, puts her other on Rhea’s ankle. The pop is much weaker this time, but the light trail moves in a line through Jenn. As was with Rahnee’s resurrection, Anthony’s skin turns translucent, leaving him a husk. Unlike before, he is absolutely dead. The minion might have remained alive after being drained, but Anthony is no true immortal.
Rhea breaks free of her touch long before the light stops flowing in. I expect Jenn to strain and the light to move back into what’s left of Anthony, but this doesn’t occur. Has Jenn increased her ability to hold energy? Possibly her wrestling match with the Queen affected this ability?
Rhea strides over to Phoebe, who walks around the long end of the table to join her. She scans over every inch of Rhea’s body. I turn away on two occasions when the search requires the rearrangement of her clothing, but she doesn’t seem to care. The queen is as unconcerned about being naked as Rahnee was in the cottage. Possibly I am just a prude. My dear Beatrix was ever so proper, only disrobing under the sheets in the dark. This is probably due to her burn scars, but I’d like to attribute it to proper manors. A lady should be demure and mysterious in my opinion. The sound of Michelle’s sobbing breaks me from this daydream. I really do have an attention deficit problem. After the full body inspection, it’s clear the ashen hole that wandered about her skin in gone.
“Brandy,” she announces. “Let’s all drink to the miracle performed by my young Jennifer.”
The two ladies shuffle out with a cart and begin passing out drinks. Arron tries to move around the table, but Helen keeps hold of him. When I lean over Helen whispers It’s not over in a hush. Fo
rgotten in the toasting, Michelle sits on the edge of the fountain, shaking, with her face in her hands. I do not know the nature of her relationship with Anthony, but she’s clearly in duress. This is painful to watch.
“Are you done,” I shout, causing Rhea to pause with a goblet in one hand and her now pointed walking stick in the other.
“Sit,” she snarls, pointing the tip at me, then walking closer so it’s inches from my nose. “All of you sit.”
Arron and I do as she asks, then Helen follows suit. The guard dog on the other side of the table steps to the side and leans on the spear. It seems Helen is deemed more than capable of stopping either Arron or myself. Rhea looks to Jennifer, who sits with her legs under her next to Anthony’s remains. She scowls back at Rhea as she rubs her throat, which looks bruised from here.
“Such an unhappy face,” Rhea sighs. “This has been an unpleasant beginning for a mother and her daughter.”
“You’re not my mother,” Jenn glares, gaining her feet and dusting off her hands on her jeans.
“I did not provide the flesh you wear, but your gift is undoubtedly from me.”
“I got that from my mother as well,” Jenn spits in the Queens direction. “If you let her take it from you, that’s not my problem.”
Rhea’s body tenses as the offending remark sets in. She spins her stick to one side, turning it in slow revolutions, the other hand wrapped around her goblet. What is she thinking? Jenn turns her palms up and shrugs as if she’s waiting for a sarcastic reply, but none comes.
“Well,” she taunts. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
Rhea strides back to the table and plucks up the sword, leaving her drink on the table. Turning to face Jenn, she drops the sword at her feet, then hooks her toe under it and flicks it across the tile. As it slides over the tiles, the sword turns slowly in a circle, before clattering to a stop in front of Jenn. Rhea stands with her arms crossed, her stick tapping her leg.