by HD Smith
“Not for long,” she crowed. “Francis, finish her.”
The curator readied himself to lob another fireball.
Did she think I’d let her have Thanos? Hell, no. I felt the power roil at my core. White wisps of energy circled my wrists. I stood, throwing my hands out in front of me, as I had in the fourth realm when Thanos startled me. “Stop!”
Raven laughed, then shrieked as a wave of energy slammed into her. The case shattered into a million little pieces—debris everywhere—leaving Raven and the curator lying crumpled on the floor.
Okay, I really needed to work on my control, but at least they were no longer trying to kill me.
I rushed over to their prone forms. Raven was still breathing, but she was out cold. The curator had received the brunt of the attack. He must have attempted to block the spell from hitting her. A trickle of blood ran down his face. It pained me to think I might have killed someone, although the perverted curator was not going to make me lose sleep.
I glanced at my wrist. The glass case had been a horrible prison, but I’d put Raven back in it, to protect the world from her, if it were possible. I needed the blood to stop Cinnamon’s curse, so that had to be priority one. Imprisoning Raven would have to wait.
I dusted the glass from my dress, and headed toward the blood room. I found the door Raven had indicated. It was painted a bright green with the Ancient symbols for Life and History. I reached for the handle.
“Ow!” I yelled, jerking my hand back. “It shocked me.” I shook my hand to ease the pain.
I glanced around the room, but it was empty. I even studied the walls to see if this room contained a hidden panel. Nothing.
“Great,” I muttered. “How do I open you?”
Before I had a chance to answer myself, I heard a click and the door popped open.
“Huh... Open?” I said again. Even though the door was open, I heard the same click. It obeyed my command. “Freaking Amazing!”
The room inside was dimly lit and about twenty degrees colder than the hexahedron outside. A flicker of pale golden light blinked on as I crossed the threshold. Like many of the rooms I’d seen, it was impossibly large and appeared to go on forever in every direction. Shelves and cabinets lined the walls, with back-to-back stacks going down the center to form endless isles.
How would anyone find anything in this place?
I opened up one of the cabinets. Inside were hundreds of little vials filled with a red liquid. Each vial was aligned neatly on rack after rack of little shelves, all precisely marked with a blue or pink tag—the universal colors for boys and girls I guessed?
I picked up one of the blue ones. There was a date on one side, which I assumed was a birthdate, and a name on the other. The names were written in gold, but the ornate script made it difficult to read some of the more exotic ones. If I couldn’t make out the name on the tag, which was written with the English alphabet and not something that needed translation, then my chances of success had just changed from snowball to impossible. Nothing new there.
I put down the first vial and picked up another. Its tag said Mark, which didn’t seem very otherworldly to me, but at least I could read it. I put the vial back and picked up a pink one.
“Errol!” I exclaimed, reading the name on the tag.
Who would name their daughter Errol? I was about to put it back when the vial disappeared from my hand.
Oh shit, what just happened?
A few seconds later I heard glass clinking together from a cabinet near the door. I walked over and opened it. Eyes wide, I watched in amazement as tiny vials of various shapes rapidly appeared on the shelf within. I picked up a few and read the tag. They all said Errol. I looked over the lot. They were all blue, except for the pink one that I’d found first.
The second shelf started filling.
“Stop,” I said, uncertain if that would work, but as I’d already proven with the door, my words had power here.
The vials stopped filling the shelf.
“Return,” I said, hoping that would work.
The vials disappeared, just as they had arrived. Stepping back to the first cabinet, I opened the door and watched as the pink-tagged “Errol” returned. Cool.
Rushing back to the summoning cabinet, I said, “Cinnamon.”
Again vials started filling the shelves. “Stop.” I picked up a few, but there was no way to know which one was hers. Even if I knew exactly when she was born, and assuming the name had not been made popular until after her birth, there were already more Cinnamons than I had time to look through. “Return,” I said, and they disappeared.
Think. I had to find a way to bring the one I wanted. There had to be a way. I considered the boys’ names, but based on how many Cinnamons had popped up I was sure there’d be just as many Maces, Sorrels, and Sages—especially considering the size of the chamber.
How do I find the quads? It didn’t work on intent, or I’d have only received one Cinnamon. I had no other details to refine the search. And it wasn’t a computer with a list of commands. I had to speak what I wanted, but be clear enough to find the right vials.
Maybe I was overthinking this. I needed the quads’ blood. How many of those could there be?
No harm in trying. “The quads,” I said. Nothing happened.
Maybe I could add a date range? Of course, five hundred years ago was a bit vague. And like celebrity baby names, royal birth names were probably just as common around the same time after their birth. A flurry of little Cinnamons were most likely running around within a few years of her arrival.
I was still considering my options, when four vials appeared on the shelf.
Unfortunately, all the tags were pink, and one vial was empty. Not the quads.
The empty vial was clean as if it had never been used. The tag was blank, which I guess I expected, but then why did it arrive with the others? Putting it back, I grabbed the second vial, but its tag was blank too—they all were. What did that mean?
Before I could consider the possibilities, four more vials appeared. “Yes.”
One pink and three blue—the quads! As I reached for them, four more vials materialized on the shelf. These vials weren’t marked at all.
I waited another minute, but no other vials appeared.
I pulled out one of the four unmarked vials that appeared last. Other than missing its tag, it looked no different than the rest. As I put it back, my hand grazed the side of the vial to its left. A warm sensation zinged through me, and it hummed with power. I picked up the humming vial, and instantly wanted to drink it. I dropped it back on the shelf. That was weird.
Cautiously, I picked up the next one. The Boss’s mark flared an orangey red.
“Holy shit, the big three—four with Jayne.”
To confirm my suspicion, I grabbed the last vial with my left hand. Mab’s mark ignited.
The vial that did nothing, Harry; the vial that hummed and that I wanted to drink, Jayne; the two that trigger my marks, Mab and The Boss. I’d found the blood of the royals—the original quads I supposed?
I looked at the pink vials again—the first four that had appeared. There were no names on any of the tags and nothing reacted when I picked them up. Then it hit me. Four pink tags, one empty vial.
Could these be the contenders? The other three girls? No one knew where my blood was, which was why the last vial was empty. But why would their blood—and mine to if it existed—be here? Was it the connection to the otherworldly parent aspect of the prophecy?
My heart started to race, and I felt light-headed. Something was wrong. I had to hurry.
Ignoring the other vials, I pulled out the quads.
“Return,” I said, sending the others away.
I hadn’t seen any kind of altar or meditation room on my virtual tour of the museum, which either meant there wasn’t one and all the ground here was sacred, or I was about to make a big mess on the floor for nothing.
I screamed and bent double as an
intense pain tore at my chest. “Thanos,” I called as another jolt of pain hit me and I dropped one of the blue vials. Something was wrong with Thanos—I could feel it through our bond. After several deep breaths the pain started to subside, but lingered as a dull throb. It felt as though part of my heart was missing.
Clutching the remaining three vials, I cringed as I stared at the fourth, which lay broken on the stone floor. That was probably going to get me in trouble.
The pain in my chest was getting weaker, as if the distance between Thanos and I was increasing. I had to hurry.
I reached down to pick up the broken pieces of the vial, hoping cleaning it up would hide the evidence I’d been here. I sucked in a pained breath as I cut my finger on the sharp glass. Several drops of my blood mixed with the remaining blood as it continued to be absorbed by the stone floor.
I cursed as I read the blood-soaked tag. Mace. Cinnamon was going to be pissed he got his blood first, but honestly I couldn’t give a rat’s ass—Thanos was in trouble.
I opened the pink vial and let some of Cinnamon’s blood spill onto the ground. I didn’t know how much was needed, but I didn’t want to leave an empty vial behind for someone to find. I already had one mishap to deal with.
I felt the weight of Cinnamon’s curse lift, as if the poison was no longer in me.
I opened the other two vials and let a few drops fall to the ground.
Cinnamon would just have to deal with the boys. I wouldn’t leave Sage and Sorrel trapped while Mace was free, and there was no way to give Cinnamon the boys’ blood as we had agreed, so she’d just have to handle them. The quads were now free of Mab’s trap.
As I returned the vials to the cabinet, I heard a click, and the door to the hallway popped open. I hoped it was the curator, and not Raven, but no such luck.
It was Mab—the Bitch Queen herself.
Fuck me.
Chapter 22
Mab had me by the throat before I could react. With her will wrapped around me, she lifted me off the floor to meet her height. Smiling as she looked me up and down.
“Nice dress,” she said, running her finger along the neckline. “It’s so good to see you again. Unfortunate that we’re not in Purgatory.”
“Fuck you.”
She laughed. “You’re aware it’s against the rules to steal blood?”
“Not stealing, just ret—”
“Shhh,” she said, tightening her hold, silencing me. She stepped over to Mace’s broken vial. “He will be a handful now.” Absently she added, “the others too, I suppose.” Waving her hand, she said, “return.”
All four vials disappeared, including the broken pieces of Mace’s vial.
“Now,” she said, bringing her eyes back to mine, “how exactly did you get here? Did the curator let you in?”
She released my voice.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward and inhaled deeply. “There’s something different about you.”
Was she smelling Thanos on me?
Stepping back, she studied me. “Who sent you?”
I kept my mouth shut. She looked down to where the broken vial had been.
A wicked grin spread across her face. “Oh, my. You have been busy.”
I tried not to look guilty, but who else would have sent me after the quads’ blood?
Her tone became that of a judge. “The conditions of your release were very clear. Were they not?”
I didn’t answer.
“You were not to enter Purgatory,” she clarified, as if I could have forgotten.
“You can’t prove I was there.”
She snickered. “Is that fear I smell, Claire?” She leaned in, sniffing deeply again. “No, I believe that’s proof. The hare has bitten you.” Mab’s grin was cold. “The Easter Hare isn’t allowed to leave my realm, and that bite is fresh.”
“I want to see Harry.”
She looked down at my bare wrist, smiling. I’d used my watch last spring to summon Harry. No watch meant I had no way to call him, and she knew it. I was screwed.
“How did you arrive at the castle? I should have known the moment you entered my realm. Who helped you?”
“I’m not answering any of your questions until I speak to Harry. He’s my guardian in these matters, remember?”
Mab caressed my cheek with her hand. “I can make you talk, or maybe I’ll just take you back to Cinnamon. You’ve broken her curse with the blood, but I’ll just return her ears and let her get the answers. I hear it can be excruciatingly painful.” She chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll even let her kill you.”
“I don’t belong to you. You have no right—”
She made a tsking sound. “Once you’re dead it won’t matter.”
“There’s more than one reason you won’t let her kill me,” I said, trying to sound confident. Deep down I knew Harry couldn’t help me this time. I’d broken the rules and entered Purgatory. He’d just confirm her rights. I had to make my own deal with this devil. And I had something I was sure she wanted more than me.
My bond with Thanos felt weak. I wasn’t sure how or why, but I knew he wasn’t waiting for me outside the museum entrance. My heart hurt even considering it, but he was the only thing I had to bargain with. Mab would want to know about her son. I could trade that information for my freedom.
Smiling as if humoring a child, she said, “Do tell.”
“One, I have something you want more than me.” Mab raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And two, you would have too much fun killing me yourself.”
A smile crept across her face, then she threw her head back and roared with laughter. “I’m starting to see why my brothers like you so.”
I rolled my eyes at her.
She fixed me with her stare. “What could you possibly have that I’d want more than I want you?” she asked, her eyes a cold, bottomless blue.
“Thanos,” I said, and all expression drained from her face.
“What?” she breathed out in a whisper. Her concentration wavered and I dropped to the floor at her feet.
Picking myself up, I said, “I know where your son is. I’ll—”
Anger crawled over her face, trapping my words in my throat.
“My son is dead,” she snarled. “You dare speak his name to me?”
Mab grabbed me by the bodice of the dress, waved the door open with her will, and threw me across the hexahedron to crash into the door on the other side of the room.
I was out before my head hit the ground.
Chapter 23
I opened my eyes, squinting from the bright ray of sun that streamed through the skylight above. For a minute I thought I was dreaming. Mab was perched on the settee, sitting in front of an undamaged glass case. Her head leaned to the side, eyes unfocused, as she toyed with the pendant at her neck.
I remembered how the voice in my head had responded to the pendant last spring. The voice had been Jayne’s voice—at least that was what it wanted to be called. It was gone now. Harry’s attempt to make me forget about the fourth realm only managed to remove the voice, but I remember how enamored she’d been with the pendant. Looking at it now, I didn’t understand what was so special. It was beautiful in a powerful way—a red ruby center, etched with radiating black lines and encased in antique silver.
Mab wiped the corner of her eye as if she’d been crying. Releasing the pendant, she straightened.
“Wake up, my dear,” she said, but she didn’t turn toward me. “I have come for our visit.”
Her visit? This was wrong. The case had been destroyed, and Raven was no longer trapped. This was an illusion.
I slipped outside my body, and popped over to where the case should have been. There was no case. The curator was crumpled on the floor. His lips were moving, as if he were casting a spell.
I looked at Mab through the realistic illusion, which meant he could see her clearly as well. Mab didn’t strike me as a person that would forgive this kind of treachery, a
nd the curator had been doing this job a long time. He’d know not to cross her.
Raven had to be controlling his actions. Nothing else made sense.
Mab walked up to the case. “Wake up!”
“She’s not there,” I said.
Mab’s eyebrows drew together, as if she couldn’t sense my presence—which would be a first, as I was no longer unconscious. She’d heard me, but my voice would have appeared to come from within the glass enclosure, which perhaps confused her into thinking Raven had spoken.
“The girl isn’t in the case,” I said, moving my presence closer.
Anger twisted her expression. In a flash she was at my body, laying her hand on my arm. A zap of energy shot through me, pulling me back.
“You’re trying my patience girl.”
“Fuck you, and I know your little secret. The image you’re seeing is an illusion. The girl isn’t in the case.”
Mab’s eyes flashed a searing white-blue. She returned to the case. Flicking her hand, she said, “Away.”
The illusion disappeared. The shattered glass lay on the floor with the curator. He slumped forward as the spell he’d been holding fell. I was surprised Raven had kept her word; I expected him to be dead.
“Where is she?” Mab yelled.
The curator, flustered as if he just now noticed that she was in the room, tried to stand. He stammered out something unintelligible as Mab stood him up with her will.
“Speak,” she commanded.
“She left, my lady,” he whispered, staring between her and me. In an almost inaudible voice, he added, “with your son.”
“Thanos is dead,” Mab said through clenched teeth.
“No, my lady,” he struggled to say, “he’s not. I have seen him with my own eyes.”
In a flash, Mab was in his face. She placed her thumbs over his eyes.
I looked away, before he started to scream.
“Eyes to eyes, let me see. Be my guide, show truth to me,” Mab chanted in Ancient.
The curator went silent. I looked up, but immediately regretted it. Blood oozed out around Mab’s thumbs, which were a half inch deep inside his eye sockets.