by J. C. Nelson
The other woman rose, and I couldn’t squelch the gasp that escaped me. Kyra’s hair, once blond, hung in a braid that reached to her toes. What really got me wasn’t the hair, as much as her face. I’d memorized her features, chasing her from store to store one New Year’s Eve. Her face, too, had changed, both familiar and beautiful in a way that left me amazed.
Kyra waltzed over and curtsied. “Greetings, sister. Do you like our queen’s gift to me? I am a vision unlike any other.” Before I could comment on how long that hair was going to take to wash and brush, she walked to the table and took a seat at the Black Queen’s right hand.
I didn’t want to sit beside her. I didn’t want to sit in the same castle as Gwendolyn Thromson. Isolde turned toward me, her brown eyes lit with a sparkle that said she enjoyed the flavor of my discomfort more than any wine. “Since you invited yourself, don’t be difficult.”
Far as I could tell, difficult was the only thing I knew how to be. Liam always said that what I lacked in height I made up for in pure stubbornness. I reminded myself of why I was there, and took a seat.
Isolde held out her hands, gesturing to our plates. “I’ve taken the liberty of conjuring you a meal to remind you of your loyalty. Eat, and remember: There is always more I can take from you.”
I took the silver dome off my plate and my stomach convulsed. Before me sat a heap of spaghetti in a worn yellow bowl. The silverware had spots that were either unwashed food or soap scum, and the drink, a bottle of cheap beer.
Liam’s favorite meal, from his favorite restaurant.
Across the table, Kyra’s look of horror told me I wasn’t the only one surprised. On her plate sat an array of chicken nuggets, fish sticks, and carrots. The sippy cup on her platter held what looked to be apple juice.
Gwendolyn’s place setting was empty, without as much as a glass.
“Eat.” The Black Queen sliced her own food, a steak drowned in butter and garlic.
Leaving the silverware on the table, I picked up a handful of spaghetti and slurped it into my mouth. Slimy and cold, it might have just been served from the bowl at Froni’s.
“How do you know what the meal should be?” Kyra chewed a chicken nugget, the edge in her voice unmistakable as she stared at Isolde.
“I don’t. I simply told the platters to remind you of what you stand to lose if you fail to serve me.” Isolde continued with her steak, as if we discussed the weather. “Continue to eliminate princes, and I’ll have no reason to question your loyalty.”
“As you command, my queen.” I’d seen that look on Kyra’s face. Worn it myself on more than one occasion. The sort of determination that says “I will do what I have to, and pity the people who stand in my way.”
I glanced over to Gwendolyn, who sat with her hands folded before her on the table, and spoke to keep myself from spitting. “You’re on one hell of a diet.” I strangled the urge to shove my fork into her eye.
“Jealous? I have nothing to lose, but if I waver, I get nothing.” Contempt dripped from Gwendolyn’s lips like spittle from a rabid dog. “I cannot be threatened. Only rewarded. How is that insolent stepdaughter of mine doing? The one who challenged our queen?”
“She’s fine. Training harder. Getting stronger.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “When the matter of High Queen is settled, the first edict I will give is to have all witches put to death. We’ll see how strong she is then.”
Without a pause I flipped my fork over and drove it through the flesh between her thumb and forefinger, nailing her hand to the table. Wyatt once told me that applying pressure there would help with headaches. There was probably a fine line between “helping” and “causing,” a line I burst across without ever looking back.
Gwendolyn screamed, but the rage that filled me, the desire to tear her heart out and feed it to the dogs in Low Kingdom, made it the sweetest of music. I delivered a right hook across her cheek, then rose and seized my chair, swinging it like a baseball bat. As I did, the air around me boiled in a feeling that told me a spell had activated nearby.
The chair exploded against a body like a brick wall. My eyes followed the wall of flesh and muscle upward. Another abomination, this one humanoid, loomed above me. Far too large for a normal man, it looked like someone had fashioned it from an ogre, then wrapped the body in human skin. On top of shoulders as wide as a table hung a mockery of a human skull, twisted. Then it spoke. “Marissa.”
I struggled to keep the spaghetti I’d swallowed down, because I knew the voice, a monster of a person whose outside now nearly matched the hideous person inside. “Prince Mihail.”
He shook the head, causing pink slobber to swing from the jaw. “Not anymore. You poisoned me.”
Technically, I’d like to point out the apple poisoned him. I threw it, but not at him. Convenient that he forgot that tiny detail. “You tried to kill Ari and me. You had it coming.” I couldn’t hide the shaking in my hands or the fear that crawled up from the depths of Inferno to make its home in my spine. “I have it on good authority you pulled a prison break.”
Monster Mihail leaned over, bending for what seemed like an eternity to bring his face to my level. “When I have a proper new body, we’ll talk again. When I’ve killed everything and everyone near you, we’ll talk.” With a hand the size of my head, he tore the fork from the table and lumbered to stand behind Gwendolyn.
Obviously Gwendolyn hadn’t lived through enough pain, because a simple stab through the fleshy part of her hand left her shaking. She spat on the table. “My guardian will tear your arms off if you lay a hand on me again.”
“The souls,” I whispered, more to myself. And the rest of the situation clicked into place for me. I turned back toward Kyra. “Where is Irina Mihail? Step-bitch here got the prince. I’m guessing you have the Queen of Crazy as your pet.”
“She’s been looking forward to meeting you again.” Kyra narrowed her eyes at me, then closed them, concentrating.
This time around I recognized the spell activating. Most spells came with aural or visual hallucinations. This one smelled like burned fish, which I usually associated with some form of summoning. When a hulk the size of Prince Mihail’s modern monster lumbered from the shadows behind Kyra, I wasn’t at all surprised. I stepped up onto the table so that I could at least look her in the eye.
Irina Mihail’s fresh body had the same basic semblance as the one that her son wore, with the addition of gargantuan breasts that resembled bowling balls in leather sacks and served absolutely no purpose. The hatred in her eyes burned like a coal fire, and her lips cracked as she drew them back to smile, revealing rows of pointed teeth.
I wasn’t impressed by the twelve-foot-tall psycho ex-queen. I’d sent her to hell once, beating a demon at his own game, and I could do it again. “I figured you’d be hanging out with step-bitch, not following a low-class thief.”
Irina-monster worked at it, mouthing the words over and over again, but when she spoke, the clear Russian accent sounded like she’d never died and gone to hell. “I chose this. Remember, when the culling comes, I will be there to defend her, and to end your miserable life. Wrath, Marissa. I have it stored up for you.”
Kyra whistled, calling her pet back. “I have work to do. Tonight we will finish the fourth and fifth houses.” She looked back to me. “What about you? Did you receive a guardian?”
Guardian. I finally made the connection to the creature from the Agency. I didn’t exactly want to bring up that I might have destroyed my guardian on account of not knowing it was mine. Also on account of not keeping monstrosities as pets, unless you counted the cat I once owned.
“Marissa declined my generous gift.” Isolde spoke, her voice commanding I turn and look back to her. “So I have selected a different one for her. Something she needs more. Go, my servants. Make ready my way.”
At last, I knew where the missing souls were. And
I knew why they hadn’t come looking for me like the Adversary expected. Now the question was whether or not the news would appease him long enough for me to figure out a way to kill them.
Kyra rose with a bow and stalked off down the tunnel, her nightmare guardian following. I can’t say where Gwendolyn went, because I couldn’t take my eyes off the Black Queen.
When their footsteps faded to silence, she released me. “A man’s meal. You fear the loss of your boyfriend most.”
“Ari loves that place.” As I spoke, the thorn near my heart shifted, and my blood ran cold. But this lie was my own, not Grimm’s.
“A good lie, but a lie nonetheless. Remember, I am the Root of Lies, you cannot fool me. You love a man, though I cannot divine even his name. Does my father interfere?”
“I hope so.”
“Did you like my guardians? I’ve been practicing here on the denizens of this miserable plane. My father can form bodies so wonderful they look natural. My efforts are but a shadow of his. That’s all I ask of him. A body, a perfect one, made as only he can.” The pain and eagerness in Isolde’s voice gave her away.
“He won’t ever do that. Grimm says your mother has to move on.”
A blast of elemental magic tore the carpet from under me, sending me rolling across the floor.
Isolde’s voice came out a shriek. “Sticking Mother in purgatory for my sins was not letting her move on. When I master the secrets of flesh, I will make her new bodies forever. She will never grow sick, never die, and never leave me.” Her hair stood out from her head the way Ari’s did when Ari cast spells.
“You shouldn’t have stolen souls from the vault. The Adversary knows what you did. He’ll—”
“Do nothing,” said Isolde, “beyond order some servant to retrieve them. Did he threaten to take out his anger on innocents? I cannot be threatened so. And I care nothing for the queen and her son, but their hatred for you was too delicious to resist. Now, let us arrange for your gift.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“No, but you do want something.” Her words hit me harder than any fist. When she spoke, Fairy Godmother’s voice echoed, the same words she’d said to me when I first met her. “You are unpresentable, unfit to be my proxy.” For a moment, I thought she meant to remove the queen’s ring I wore. A ring only she could remove.
She paced toward me, and I couldn’t help shrinking back. “Where is the brave Marissa I heard so much about?” She cast her hand at me, throwing a wave of glitter at me, and I flinched.
Nothing. Nothing happened at all. Well, not quite nothing. My clothing transformed into an old-style ball gown. Taking a single step required more effort than walking a marathon. The dress featured enough fabric below my waist to act as an emergency flotation device. I looked up to see Isolde walking away, returning to her throne. When she’d taken her seat, she folded her hands before her. “Go home, handmaiden. Return to this man of yours, and find out if he truly loves you.”
• • •
I MADE IT out of Low Kingdom and back to my apartment in record time, terrified that she had cast some spell on Liam, or kidnapped him. When I threw the apartment door open, he jumped from his recliner, spilling beer all over the carpet.
Relief swept through me. “Thank Kingdom you’re here.”
Liam looked at me sideways and took a step away. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?”
Seventeen
I DIDN’T SPEAK. Couldn’t speak. Liam continued to move until the bar no longer stood between us. “Where is Marissa? Are you the other handmaiden?” His voice deepened, the curse speaking through him. “I’ll cull you now if you are.”
“It’s me.” My own voice sounded foreign. More musical, less whiny. “Marissa.”
Liam shook his head. “Sure, and I’m the King of Jersey. If you’ve harmed her, I won’t leave enough of you to feed a cat. If you know where she is, now would be a good time to say so. While you still have a tongue.” He picked up a meat tenderizer off the counter and advanced on me.
I held up my hand, to show him the handmaiden’s mark, and his engagement ring. My skin, smooth and tan like it had never been, bore no scares. My fingers were bare. “Grimm!” I shrieked. “I need you.”
He burst into the living room mirror, a look of horror on his face. Then he looked to Liam. “Stop, Mr. Stone.”
Liam wavered, his gaze flipping between Grimm and me.
Grimm shook his head. “You don’t want to harm your fiancée.”
“That isn’t Marissa.” His gaze roved over my body again, fixating on my face. “Is it?”
I went to the mirror, and Grimm faded out, letting me see. The person who looked back at me had brown hair, true, and brown eyes. Her hair hung past her shoulders, silky, with gentle waves in it; her complexion looked like the one I’d always wished I had; her eyes normal sized instead of part bat. The person who stared back was me as I’d always dreamed I might look. “What happened?”
I touched a hand to my face, making sure my cheekbones really did angle out like that.
Grimm reappeared, alternating between rage and frustration. “It is a lie. My daughter’s talent at work, lies so real you can scarce tell them from the truth. Lies that become real, if embraced. Mr. Stone, take Marissa’s hand. I will do what I can to unravel the web and prove who she is. If Arianna were available, she too could confirm Marissa’s identity. Her spirit sight would not be fooled by such trivial changes.”
I watched Liam approach from the mirror, the look of confusion on his face as he reached for my shoulder. “I’m ready.”
Grimm’s power surged out like a river, swirling around me, buffeting me like a hurricane. The woman in the mirror flickered. Vibrated. Split, like double vision, until both of me looked back. My face, as I always knew it, and the one she’d given me.
Liam spun us around and wrapped me in his arms, nearly crushing me. “I couldn’t tell.”
I looked over his shoulder at Grimm. “You said you would protect me from her changes.”
Grimm shook his head. “I am protecting you. Your personality is mostly intact, with a minor influx of bloodlust. Such illusions, however, you must reject to prevent them from becoming real.”
The problem was, it didn’t feel like a lie. Different? Sure. But maybe good. “I found the missing souls.” I waited, but Grimm seemed neither surprised nor impressed. “And Kyra. She’s killing the princes.” After I recounted my experiences in the old castle, Grimm remained silent, lost in thought.
My thoughts, on the other hand, fell to the man right in front of me, and the way he looked at me, almost frightened, or excited. Liam let me go, just a little, and put one hand beside my face; with the other he traced my nose and lips, his eyes wide with wonder or fear.
I batted my eyes at him. “Am I beautiful?”
“Always. Still.” Liam closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss me, and it hit me that he didn’t have to lean so far. I was at least three inches taller. His lips brushed mine, and I drank in the heat that radiated from him, kissing him back the way I always did. “It’s you. It’s really you.”
I peeked open my eyes to see Grimm gone from the mirror. On any other night, we’d have Svetlana sitting on the couch, watching us with Olympic-class boredom. With her still locked in her fruit smoothie spa treatment, we could relax.
I pulled Liam toward the bedroom, eager to hold him in my arms. With both hands, I shoved him backwards into the room, showering his face with kisses, but found my mouth didn’t fit—to kiss his ears and jaw, I had to bend my head until my neck hurt, and his attempts to kiss me back had him licking my nose or my chin, until I bit his lip ever so gently.
His hands roved over me, exploring curves I’d always wanted but never had. The frustration mounted, as I attempted to take off my shirt, only to find it stitched to the skirt Isolde transformed my
clothes into. I tossed Liam’s T-shirt onto the fan, and fought with the laced front of what might have been an attractive top three hundred years earlier.
The tension in Liam’s body grew like a spring as we fought with the clothes, until I shoved him onto the bed. “Give me a moment.” I dashed out into the kitchen to the silverware drawer.
After a few moments, Liam joined me, stripped to the waist, and used a steak knife to saw the lacing on my top apart.
And walking hurt. Every step, as my breasts bounced, pulling the skin on my shoulders tight. We sat on the bed, and I bit my tongue as his sandpaper-like hands traced my nipples, which never seemed to react like that before. Where before, the trace of his thumbs around my nipple sent electric chills from my chin to my pelvis, now his fingers reminded me of dragsters with snow tires making laps. I finally understood the term aching nipples from those vampire romance novels Ari loved, and the term would never conjure the same image for me. I slid Liam’s hands to my hips and pulled his jeans down, as he thrust his tongue into my nose for at least the tenth time.
As his hands traced my hips, they rose. A murmur escaped my lips, and a clink sounded from my crotch.
Yeah, that definitely put the lovemaking on hold. I reached over and switched on the lamp, wriggling out of the skirt bottom. The panties, definitely fur on the inside, had woven chain mail, with a tight metal cord at the top sealing them on.
“Oh, come on.” Now it was my turn to be frustrated, as I fought to slide the formfitting steel panties past my hips.
Liam stood up, a frustrated snort escaping him, and marched out in his underwear. A few minutes later, he returned with pair of bolt cutters. “I got them from the building superintendent. Suck in your stomach.”
He slid the bolt cutter in at my navel, making me tremble for all the wrong reasons, and flexed his gleaming muscles. When he pulled back the bolt cutters, a gasp of relief wracked me. I yanked the chastity panties off, yelping as the frayed wire scratched me.