Something putrid lifted on the breeze. I smelled blood and fear.
And Haverly’s middle daughter was about to run afoul of it. With the Spook engaged and Quarrel missing, I had no choice but to intervene.
Chapter 3
Bet
I FOUND THE creature just as I rounded a bend in the road where boulders ahead cut a stark line against the night sky. The area around me was mostly open and flat, with only scrubby-looking brambles or bushes. The moon shone brightly, illuminating the creature’s bony back. It was hunched on the ground, snarling.
I stumbled backward, my torch and staff lifted in front of me. The creature had not yet sensed me. From behind, it was surprisingly humanlike, lithe, pale, and hairless. I knew what it was without having to be told—one of the flesh eaters. This was a ghoul, and it was probably eating now.
I did not breathe. I lifted one foot and gingerly eased it backward.
A stick snapped beneath the sole of my boot.
The ghoul spun to confront me, teeth bared and dripping blood. Its eyes glowed as if the sockets were filled with hot red coals rather than eyes. As those burning eyes fixed on me, I thought of the butcher knife in my sack and realized that to even use it I would have to get too close. No wonder Victor had scorned my choice of weapon.
The ghoul began to pace around me, darting forward only to fall back and continue circling. I circled with it, poised on the balls of my feet, sweaty skin sticking to my clothes. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I considered dropping the torch to free up a hand but then reconsidered. The flame might prove a useful weapon.
It lunged, and I waved the burning torch toward it and yelled. We staggered apart, it howling in frustration, I in fear. The ghoul circled me again, slower this time, hissing through its teeth. Its eyes roamed over me from head to foot, like a butcher appraising a slab of meat. It darted forward as if to attack, and I swung the torch again, but the ghoul skirted around me, forcing me to stumble in a circle to keep it before me.
I realized then what it was doing. It was testing my strengths and weaknesses. This creature was thinking. It was learning me.
The next time the ghoul attacked, it came from above, lunging off a small boulder, and latched onto my staff with both hands. I dropped the torch as the ghoul’s weight threw me backward, right off my feet. It sailed over my head, yanking the staff out of my hands.
I found my feet, dropped my pack, and bolted, knowing I had no other recourse. I could hear it behind me, gnashing its teeth, but I dared not look back. I lifted my arms to block low-lying branches and plunged into a dark stand of trees, using them as a means to put some distance between us.
At first I could see nothing, but the trees thinned abruptly, and moonlight broke through to offer me precious sight of the sloping mountainside. I kept ahead of the ghoul longer than I had expected to. My breath came in painful bursts, my heart smashing against my ribcage. It flanked me now, its glowing eyes bobbing in and out of my line of sight as it kept pace beside me.
It was playing with me.
Before I had time to consider my next move, the ghoul attacked. As it lunged for me, I fell backward and threw an arm over my face, screaming as teeth sank into the soft flesh of my forearm.
I crashed to the ground beneath it, but then the ghoul was ripped, screaming, away from me by some hairy creature much too large to be a common dog or wolf. I could hear them fighting in the darkness as I twisted and retched. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and something else, something that hurt. It was cold, ice cold, and burned its way into my arm.
I crawled for a while and then used a trunk to haul myself upright. The sounds of battle continued behind me, but I staggered away, not caring which direction I went.
I splashed into a creek of foul-smelling water and waded downstream until my lips trembled from the cold and my feet were nearly as numb as my injured arm. When I tried to crawl up the embankment, my legs gave out beneath me. Reaching out with my one good hand, I pulled myself up, using the roots of a massive cypress growing on the bank. But I only managed to crawl beneath the tree into a hollow created by the erosion of soil and time. I clutched my injured arm to my chest, blood leaking between my fingers, and drifted in and out of awareness, like the ebbing ripples of the creek along its banks.
Something stirred nearby, bringing me back to bleary consciousness. My breath frosted on the cold night air. I could hear it, whatever it was, shuffling closer.
I ground my teeth and prayed that the Ever Father would grant me a swift death. If I had to die, let it be quickly.
I looked up.
A shadow peeled away from deeper shadows and leaned over me. A shaft of moonlight settled on a face like death, as colorless as a corpse, as mutilated as a Creeper. Its eyes were milky white and fixed on me. My mouth fell open, but I did not scream.
“For a girl,” the monster said, sounding annoyed, “you were surprisingly difficult to track. Using the river was clever.”
I twisted and rammed myself deeper into the mass of soil and roots, digging frantically with my good hand. But the monster had other intentions. I felt him grab the back of my collar and tug. I flailed helplessly.
“Stop struggling,” he growled. His fingers scratched my shoulder as I writhed, desperate to evade him. “You’re killing yourself faster, girl!” He gave me another yank, hauling me out. I caught him with my fists a couple of times, but it was like hitting my knuckles against a brick wall.
“I will not hurt you,” he said. I did not believe him and swung again. He grabbed me around the waist then and tossed me over his shoulder as if I were nothing. His shoulder dug into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I gasped and grabbed at the back of his shirt to find some way to reorient myself. I kicked, but my struggles were as nothing to him. Blood rushed into my swinging head, and a wave of blackness robbed me of all fight. I could hear his raspy breathing, could feel his body moving across the ground in a strange uneven fashion, almost as if he were lurching.
It was a dark, nauseating dream, and I was so cold.
“We’re here,” he panted. Twisting my neck, I peered about and tried to focus. I could see black walls rising from the darkness. Mist lay thick on the ground, curling as we eased through it. The beast heaved against a wrought-iron gate with his shoulder. My feet clanged against the metal. Muttering, he repositioned and used his other shoulder.
“This isn’t the time!” he bellowed. “Let me in!”
The gate groaned and fell back, screaming on rusty hinges. I saw uneven cobblestones disappear into the fog as the monster walked a makeshift road guarded by stone gargoyles hulking on crude pedestals. Some animal darted around us and ran ahead. The air was oppressive and thick with the smell of wet dog and roses.
It would be roses, I thought as the darkness spirited me away.
Chapter 4
Corwin
IF SHE DIED, her blood would be on my head.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Her blood was warm, metallic, salty. The taste nearly sickened me, but the poison was worse. Like rot. Like drinking death.
I spat several more times, trying to rid myself of it.
The girl was blissfully unconscious. I had no desire to explain to her the seriousness of what had just happened. Had Quarrel not arrived when he did, she would be dead. She might die even yet if her constitution was poor.
I studied her, my eyes keen even in the darkness. Her complexion was dark and her limbs firm, accustomed to working. I lowered my nose and sniffed her neck. I could still smell the sun on her.
She would probably survive. She seemed hardy enough.
I had seen her confront the ghoul and must give credit where credit was due. She had come face to face with her own death with no begging or swooning. This one was a fighter.
I thought of the younger sister and tried to imagine how she would have reacted in this same situation. I considered hard, playing the scene from every angle. In no imaginable scenario could the little one hav
e survived.
Gentleness and kindness had its place, but not in the Neverway.
Perhaps my first estimation had been hasty. After all, there was no leeway here for weakness, for frailty. Yes, I needed a woman who could empathize with my need, but I also required one who could survive the horror of the truth.
I pressed my mouth against her skin again, ripping into the soft flesh with my teeth.
I needed a woman who could survive the horror of me.
Chapter 5
Bet
I BOBBED TO the surface of consciousness again. The ground was uneven beneath me. I could feel smooth stones, dirt, and something soft and damp. Moss, perhaps. I shifted and opened my eyes.
There were torches above me, but I must have been delirious, because they seemed to be floating on air, strung on nothing. I shifted my eyes and saw a wall of briars towering toward the sky, thick with the scent of roses. I heard frantic whispering, but I saw only one great shadow hulking over me, holding me down. I jerked.
“Be still,” the monster grunted. I ignored him, struggling harder. “I said to be still!”
The burning ice had climbed to my shoulder. I no longer felt my arm. A pale head leaned over me. I saw a tangle of snarled white hair, a flash of milky eyes. Then he bent his head, and I felt the pressure of teeth. I realized the truth too late.
He was sucking my blood.
I thrashed against his hold but felt as if I were losing control of my own limbs. He never said a word, merely repositioned so that he crouched over me, using his heavy legs to keep me pinned down. He turned his head away from me and spat loudly. Then I felt his lips against my burning skin.
Bile clawed at the back of my throat as another wave of dizziness swept over me. If I must lose the contents of my stomach, I hoped I lost them all over him. But the ice in my arm began to recede and with it the nausea.
“I will take her to her chamber,” the voice said. I strained my eyes but could not seem to focus on his face. “Keep her there until dawn.”
I wanted to yell, to have a say in whatever terrible plans he had for me. But I could not seem to speak. I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Be at peace,” the beast said in a voice that did little to pacify me. “The paralysis will wear off. I’ve instructed the Lonely to give you something to help you sleep until it passes.”
Merciful After, I did not want to sleep! I wanted to fight back, to defend myself. I saw no one approach, but a cup pressed against my lips and hands lifted my head. I could not fight the sickly sweet liquid filling my mouth any more than I could fight the numbing exhaustion that followed.
My dear father and sisters consumed my last thoughts.
I surfaced to heat and a musty, ticklish smell that pressed against me. I wrenched awake with a start. A vaulted ceiling arched over me and away into shadows. I blinked and gasped for steady breaths, lifting my head to better see my surroundings. I was alone in a massive chamber, lying on some sort of settee next to a roaring fire. I saw a large set of double doors and narrow arched windows covered by shutters. There were several tall wardrobes along one wall, and in the far corner a giant copper tub with feet fashioned like animal claws.
The smell bothered me again, and I shoved at the weight on my chest. It slid back scant inches, so I shoved more forcefully. The animal hide slid away from me and fell to the floor with a resounding thump. The smell dissipated, but my body protested each movement.
I groaned and took quick stock of myself. My arm throbbed, but when I reached to feel it, my skin was covered in a bandage. I could feel lace against my throat and lifted a hand to pull at it. I wore, not my overalls and work jacket, but a white nightgown. I felt clean as well, not covered in blood and grime. When had that happened?
Memories came flooding back on me, like a deluge.
I sat up too quickly and nearly fell off the settee, woozy and lightheaded. Cold hands caught and righted me. Startled, I turned to look, and my jaw slackened. I saw only rippling air where I expected to see a person.
I wrenched the other way and toppled off the settee onto the animal hide. Voices chittered around me too softly to be understood. They sounded like leaves shivering in the wind. As I sat up, I felt cold hands smoothing my hair and caressing my face, moving up and down my arms and even down to my bare feet. I yanked my feet away.
There was more chattering, like laughter. I felt a brief pressure against my cheek, as if it had been tweaked. Another shimmering entity appeared and offered me a pewter mug. I shook my head. I felt a surge of irritation that was not my own, and the thing shoved the mug toward my face.
I sniffed the contents. I could see a faint curl of steam rising from the top. Did they intend to drug me again? My stomach twisted at the thought and I shook my head. “Not yet. Please.”
I expected an argument, but the shimmering being took the mug away and set it on a small table next to the settee.
The beings let me alone as I rose to my feet, clinging to the back of the settee. The room tipped but soon settled, and I dared to take several steps. I tried to remember the last moments before I’d succumbed to my wounds and the sleeping draught they’d given me. What had the Beast said? I’ve instructed the Lonely. Were these strange servants what he called the Lonely? I had never heard of such a thing.
It did explain the ghost stories, however.
The shutters on a nearby window suddenly slammed open and started banging, and a cold night breeze buffeted me. I saw shimmering as one of the beings—one of the supposed Lonely—hurried toward the window. The shutters seemed to have become jammed on something, and no matter how the Lonely pulled, would not close.
I saw darkness through the window.
Tears began to throb behind my eyes. I couldn’t understand why I felt like crying now, when I had not buckled during the previous night’s horrific events. I rarely cried, especially in front of strangers. But the pulsing of emotions did not subside. I found myself succumbing. After all, I’d had a night of it, and if I wanted to cry, why shouldn’t I? Besides, I told myself, tears would make me blotchy and unattractive. Then perhaps my blood-sucking host would lose interest in me and send me home.
So I perched on the edge of the settee and wept.
Cold fingers brushed up and down my neck and shoulders, touching my cheeks, skimming away tears. I was not consoled. I hated crying and was convinced that my current weakness had something to do with these shimmery busybodies, some sort of lowdown magic. I grabbed the edge of the little metal table beside us and shoved it away. It clattered to the stone floor, splattering milk. The pewter mug rolled to a stop.
In the following silence I could feel them hovering. I swiped at my face with the back of my good hand as sobs subsided into choppy breaths.
One of the servants moved to clean up the mess I had made. I sighed, knowing I should not have knocked over the table. I stood up. “Oh, let me do that,” I said in a choking, irritated voice. I hated how weak I sounded.
Once again I felt a surge of emotion that did not seem to come from me. It was stronger than before, now filled with something more than mere irritation. I sat back down, hard. Fingers patted my hair. After mopping up the mess with a cloth, the angry one disappeared with the mug and table. I turned my attention to the one still playing with my hair. “May I please have my clothes?” I managed.
The room felt suddenly empty.
I swallowed hard. Perhaps my clothes were no longer fit to wear. I had not considered that. “If I can’t have mine, might I please have any clothes?”
This seemed to change things. The being, suddenly present once more, moved away from me to one of the wardrobes and returned with a gauzy gown in cream and gold.
I gaped in disbelief, heat creeping up to my ears. “Merciful After, haven’t you anything—um, practical?”
She did not move, but I felt a sudden sense of distress. I could feel deep emotions from this one, emotions that ached like a raw wound. I did not wish to hurt her by being difficult, but how was
I to fight off a bloodsucker while wearing a gown?
With no alternative offered, however, I heaved a sigh. “Very well.” I may as well have said, “Do your worst.”
I felt foolish, sitting there letting her dress me and play with my hair as if I were a helpless child. It wasn’t until she was done that I had the uneasy feeling I was being dressed for him.
I tried to delay, but she whisked me toward a set of large double doors. The heeled shoes she had given me wobbled beneath my feet. I wavered at the doors, but she prodded me into the stone-walled corridor flanked with torches and boasting narrow slits for windows. I paused to look out one of the slits but could not see even the twinkle of a star. For some reason this bothered me. I felt as though I were in a foreign world where even the simplest laws of nature no longer applied.
It was one thing to imagine this place from the safety of my village. Actually being here was another thing entirely.
Chapter 6
Corwin
I WAS WAITING when the Lonely brought her down to dinner.
The girl peeked around the door frame of the dining hall. She paused, glancing from the fire crackling along the north wall, to the long table made of wood planks, to the oil lamps illuminating the stone walls opposite the fireplace. Her posture reminded me of a wild deer, nose quivering, body poised for immediate flight.
She edged into the room. She did not seem to notice us waiting in the shadows.
The wolfhound bolted, ignoring my shout of protest. He scrabbled across the stone floor, skidded into her, and knocked her clean off her feet. She went down with a loud cry. I jolted forward, dismayed.
“Quarrel, get back!” The command came out as a snarl. The dog whimpered and ducked his head, tail between his legs, and dropped to the ground as the girl stood up. I paused and watched them. She clutched the sides of her skirts and breathed uneasily.
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 11