Wish Bound (A Grimm Agency Novel Book 3)

by J. C. Nelson

  Behind me, nothingness. Not even Death’s wizened figure. Before me, a distant outline that looked all too familiar. I set out through the night forest, determined to make an end of this.

  “Marissa, thank goodness.” Grimm’s voice came from nowhere.

  I looked around, trying to find a mirror. “Ummm . . . where are you?”

  “Your bracelet. I embedded mirror dust into it. While I cannot see, it will allow us to converse. Remember. Get to her, wish her dead.”

  The sound of feet dragging over wood and stone told me I wasn’t alone. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the thorn sword.

  When I saw what made the noise, I forgot to breathe. Which was just as well, because otherwise I would have screamed. Grimm said you started with a corpse, the active term being “started.” Judging from what I saw, you then stripped away anything that wasn’t muscle. Then you grafted on more muscle, and teeth like sharks, and claws like eagles.

  “What is that? Another spell abomination like myself?”

  Grimm’s voice tingled in my ear as he spoke. “No. My daughter had made bodies for creatures from a lost realm. These are spirits who hunger only for destruction and death.”

  The lychron saw me and hissed, shaking itself so that its bones rattled like a diamondback.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I hefted the thorn sword. It failed to extend, and I shook it, smashing it against my leg until at last it grew, becoming a black blade.

  From the forest around me, answering rattles came, echoing, with the thud of running feet. The first lychron leaped at me, mouth open wide to take a bite of my skull, and before I could swing the sword, before I could move a muscle, the world changed.

  War’s gift acted like my own private quell. The lychron hung suspended in air, and my hands, they knew how to wield the sword. War had given me a sliver of his skill. The knowledge of a thousand years of battle, of a million fights won and lost, coursed through me.

  I sank the thorn sword through it, then took its head off, willing it to speed up so that I could see it collapse that much faster. It fell to the ground, a twisted heap of flesh, and pleasure wracked me harder than any drug. Each kill filled me with power, life, and strength, but in the blur of battle I couldn’t take time to ponder it. I welcomed the next set of eyes, and the next, and the next, until I stood in a circle, and everywhere I looked, glowing eyes gleamed back at me.

  I didn’t wait.

  I attacked before they could.

  Dodging claws, avoiding slices, rolling under spiked tails, crushing bones. With every kill, I grew stronger. Faster. Less human.

  The lychron ran, but I ran faster. Through the forest, I hunted them, using the gift of War to slaughter the abominations. That’s what I was. One abomination, killing others. With every blow, I left behind the woman I’d always been.

  I didn’t matter, I told myself.

  This was what I really was.

  I found the last in a den, a makeshift hole created by its thrashing, and laughed like a banshee, as I recognized the creature inside. Unlike the others, her limbs had no scars, her joints seemed almost natural. Though one leg was longer than the other, and the fingers looked more like a child’s than a lady’s, I had no doubts about who this was.

  She rose, trembles of agony shaking her, but made no movement toward me.

  “Rouge Faron.” Isolde’s mother. Grimm’s wife. “That’s you, right?”

  She nodded, but did not speak.

  “Why are you out here? Did Isolde kick you out?” My hands shook as I said the words. Here was the soul that started this all. The woman for whom countless thousands died, hiding in a hovel, in the dark.

  “No.” She answered in French. Her lilting voice reminded me of a songbird, so at odds with her deformed body.

  “You left on your own?”

  She knelt down, pressing her knees to the cold soil. “I begged my daughter to cease her madness. To release all those people from her spell. I told her if she would not, then she was no longer the daughter I raised and loved. I tried, but I am so very tired.”

  Death stood beside her in that instant. Not as the hideous reaper, but as an elderly Chinese man, and took her hand. “Rouge, I’m so sorry this happened to you. I give you my word it won’t happen again. It’s time for you to rest.”

  She looked up at him, tears of gratitude streaming down her face from eyes that didn’t quite match.

  And waited.

  Death glanced over at me. “Marissa. I am Death, not destruction. Release her soul from this body.”

  I shook my head, tears of my own coming now. “I’m not—” The words wouldn’t come. In the carnage, and the darkness, I’d killed every abomination, torn them to shreds, cut them to pieces, and in doing so, murdered what little remained of myself. Isolde’s creations weren’t so different from me, after all.

  I hadn’t been a killer.

  Now I was.

  The blade chose that moment to obey my command, slicing through Rouge’s chest, destroying her heart. Death shone like a searchlight for a millisecond, then he held in his hand a shrinking globe of light. “This one isn’t yours to deliver. I won’t let her be returned to purgatory. Not this time.” Then he was gone, taking her soul with him. Something I’d never had, and always wanted, without knowing the words to describe it.

  Numb with pain and sadness, I dismissed the blade and walked out of her den. One more murder, one more death remained. I should have known what I’d find on the other side of the forest. The Black Queen’s demesne was an exact copy of Kingdom’s old castle, once the seat of its government. I went there so long ago to stop an insane fairy from causing a war between the realms.

  The wooden doors hung open, and inside, torches lit the walls instead of fluorescent lighting. This was the castle, as it had been when Isolde lived there, for sure. Once, I’d been lost in its halls, but now I knew where I was headed. I made my way through to the center of the castle. To the vast feast room.

  The lush carpet padded my footfalls, but I slipped out of my shoes and ran on bare feet, watching for her at each turn.

  Grimm kept his silence, knowing that his words might betray my presence. Not that I intended to hide.

  When I made that final turn and descended to the Grand Hall, I froze. From inside, a soft humming came, like a small child singing to herself. I peeked through the door, to where she sat with her back to me, making herself up in a mirror I swear looked just like the one I saw in the Court of Queens.

  “You are here.” She didn’t turn around to see me. “Come out, Marissa.”

  I thought of Grimm’s words. To wish her dead on sight, but my hands still dripped with lychron blood, and the joy of slaughter still made my heart beat fast. Worse yet, as I looked at her, the tear in the veil aligned before me, and I truly saw her.

  Her true form looked like a wooden puppet, carved from the black wood of the thorn tree. Under that soft flesh lay the tree monster I’d watched attack Ari. More frightening, though, was the pillar of black clouds that jetted downward as if erupting from the ceiling.

  Hate. Pure hate, with side founts of rage. I’d known a litch, and it looked like a tiny garden hose of hate. This looked like a geyser, drenching her constantly in blackness. No wonder Death couldn’t claim her.

  The plan was to wish her dead. I made a plan of my own and walked into the throne room.

  Isolde rose and turned toward me, giving me another shock. Her unearthly beauty left behind, she looked back at me with eyes I recognized, a face familiar and strange at once. I knew now where Grimm got the other half of my DNA. From his own wife.

  “You are wounded?” Isolde looked me over, making me shiver.

  Though I dripped gore, none of it was my own. I gave her no answer.

  “He has sent you to kill me.”

  “No.” I finally found my ton
gue. “I came of my own free will. End the quell, and I will let you go.”

  She glanced at me dismissively. “It seems I was wrong about you. And you reek of magic, more magic than any human could survive. He sent you to wish me dead.”

  “Yes.” It shouldn’t have mattered. I’d killed lychron in the forest without a thought, but this was wrong. Different. And she didn’t react like I expected. Not afraid. How could she face death, knowing what would happen?

  “Well, then. Get to wishing. It won’t be the first time I’ve died. Nor the last.” Setting her hands on her hips, she waited, defiant.

  And I couldn’t speak. Because what I wanted to wish for wasn’t death at all. It was life. One life in particular.

  And she knew it. I saw it in her eyes. “Go ahead. If you spare me, I give you my word I will never harm him. Live out your lives here, together. On my power, I swear no harm will come to you or him.” The smug tone in her voice, the way she spoke with absolute confidence, cut to my core.

  “Handmaiden,” said Isolde, “remember: You will experience what you wish for me.” She held up her hand, wiggling her ring finger.

  I looked down at the ring locked on my finger. I didn’t plan on leaving here. When I took Death’s hand, I’d accepted there would be no return journey. And with acceptance, I found my voice. “I wish . . .” At the words, the power around me surged. Grimm’s promise echoed in my mind. That he would honor any wish I made. Anything.

  At that moment, I thought of Ari. Of her frozen in the quell, neither able to go on, nor back. What had she said? That all of this came because one woman couldn’t let go. Because of grief. Pain begets pain. I could never grant myself the only wish I truly wanted, without becoming the person I despised.

  I knew now how Isolde had built up a fountain of pain and hatred powerful enough to defy death. I could do it myself, by nursing this, and holding on to it, like the seed of anger that would last beyond the bounds of life. And I knew what to wish for.

  “I wish you love, for all the hate in your heart. I wish you joy, for all the sorrow. I wish you happiness, for all the grief.” At the words, my heart leaped. A wall of memories, a tidal wave of happiness swept across me, across us both.

  I felt myself in my father’s arms, safe in a thunderstorm, and heard the shout of joy as I scored a goal in high school. The sound of Liam’s voice, calling my name, the smell of his hair. Ari’s laughter. The pride of returning a kidnapped child to his parents.

  How long it went on, I cannot say, but when the wave receded, the brokenness inside me no longer burned. I missed Liam, and always would. But I wasn’t that person, and couldn’t return to that time.

  Across the room, Isolde rose. Her makeup streaked with tears, her hand to her mouth to cover a faint smile that drained to a look of horror. “What have you done?”

  From the edges of the room, wry laughter filled the room. Death, laughing. I twisted my head until I caught a glimpse through the veil. The fountain of darkness on Isolde was gone.

  “Go ahead. Hate me for it.” I advanced on her as she realized what I had done. My clothes no longer rippled with magic. I’d returned to my own clothes, having used all the power on earth to obliterate her grip on it.

  “Marissa, what did you do?” Grimm’s voice shocked us both.

  “Father!” Isolde screamed, looking around. “You cannot come here.”

  “No, but I can. And this time, when you die, you won’t have anything to hold you here. No well of hate. Not stolen power. This time, you will stay dead.” I took another step toward her, and she cringed.

  Isolde balled her fists and stood up, gathering magic. “I am the daughter of a fairy and a seal bearer. You come at me with a stick.” The magic rippled across her skin as she gathered power, building a ball of lightning twice the size of anything I’d ever seen Ari throw.

  I didn’t have time to dodge. The lightning leaped out at me, arcing across me, down my body, and into the ground. Again. And again.

  She switched to fire, which dripped off me, the way I’d seen Liam shed it so many times, then ice, which swept over me like a brush of cold air. With a gasp, she stepped backwards, a look of fear on her face like when Ari challenged her.

  “Daughter of the fairy. Creation of one. We’re cut off from the realm seals here, and without Fairy Godmother’s magic, everything you’ve got comes from Grimm. Grimm’s magic doesn’t work on himself.” I took out the thorn sword, triggering it, only to find it a lifeless stub.

  “Nor can you wield my tools against me.” Isolde sneered at me, her eyes locked on mine.

  She ran at me, and I willed the gift of War to take hold. To grant me inhuman reflexes and the knowledge of a million battles won and lost. The world quickened around me—but Isolde didn’t slow.

  She moved as fast as I did. Her fist slammed into my chest, knocking me to the ground, cracking my sternum. “You aren’t the only one who’s ever brought about an apocalypse.”

  This time I rose more carefully, circling her. The knowledge of how to fight, that all still remained, but I wouldn’t be dancing around her while she moved in quarter time.

  Isolde came for me, and I ran, backwards, toward the feast table with its heaps of meat.

  “What’s the matter? You aren’t afraid, are you, handmaiden?”

  “I hate that term.” I hated a lot of things, but not enough to keep me around once I died.

  Isolde walked back and forth, keeping me trapped between the table and the wall. “You would prefer ‘sister’?”

  I never got a chance to answer. Instead she ran at me, only this time, I didn’t stand around waiting for something that would never happen. I let her run, let her strike, and stepped just to the side, shoving her on so that she crashed into the table. She recoiled in fear, like a trapped animal.

  From side to side she stepped, looking at the table, cringing as she glanced to it. I considered that she might be allergic to venison, or grapes. Or fire. She didn’t fear the food. The flames on the candle, that terrified her. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the jar of infernal flame.

  If I thought she was afraid before, the terror painted across her face magnified a thousandfold. “You don’t dare.”

  I opened the top. “I do.”

  “We are linked, handmaiden. If I burn, you burn.” The fear in her eyes said she knew I spoke the truth.

  “Take the ring off, then.” I held up the hand, offering it.

  A mistake.

  In the moment where I couldn’t see her, pain blossomed from my knee, and I fell backwards. A steak knife stuck out from my knee, buried two inches deep. Isolde hefted another, and threw it at me, driving it through my shoulder into the floor.

  “When I ran errands for Father, I always preferred knives. Let me fetch a crossbow, and I will pin you to the wall for the rest of eternity. But first . . .” She strode over and seized the infernal flame from me. “Your hatred for me is delicious, Marissa.”

  Isolde nudged the thorn sword hilt toward me. “Oh, how you desire to harm me—with a hand cannon?” Her musical laugh filled the air. “You are a pawn, a tool used by those with power. Here.” She placed one hand on the sword, and it shrank, changing, dripping, and running. Changing into a gun.

  Not just any gun. A pistol. My original nine-millimeter pistol, which I’d taken with me to Fairy Godmother’s realm. Fairy Godmother’s words came back to me. “You don’t like that gun. You need to throw it.” Just looking at it made me shake and want to vomit. Grimm had warned me, it wasn’t a spell Fairy Godmother put on me. She’d changed me from inside.

  I struggled to pick it up, but my hands shook, and all I could do was push it farther away.

  “You see?” Isolde rose and turned. “You are a tool to be commanded, a shadow of a human. Only what your masters make you.”

  In that moment, I couldn’t have told you it was
a lie. But I needed it to be a lie. What had Grimm told me? That I never obeyed him. The Authority had said as much. I closed my eyes and felt for the gun with my good arm, wrapping my fingers about it.

  The first shot I fired shattered a crystal wineglass on the wrong side of the room.

  Isolde stopped and turned back to me, one hand on her hip, the other cradling the cask of infernal flame. “What folly is this? Dare you try to shoot me?”

  I squeezed the trigger again, but looking at the steel blue of my nine millimeter made my hands ache. I fired again, a bullet that glanced off the arched ceiling.

  “Oh, what fun we shall have,” said Isolde as she crossed the room to take a crossbow down. “I will heal you of your wounds each day, and every day find new ways to bless you with pain. You will be my eternal amusement.” She paused, putting one hand on her hip, and held the other to her chin. “But I suppose if you turn that gun on yourself, I might grant you the mercy of death. You’ve wasted two bullets already. The third shall be your last.”

  I closed my eyes, taking myself back to the moment at age sixteen I’d agreed to work for Grimm, and asked myself the questions I feared most: Who made me me? Who chose for me? Who decided? And the answer of my life came back in memories. Of every time I’d ignored the easy way, laughed at the right way, and done things my way.

  Who decided who I was?

  I did.

  My gun barked, and the vial of infernal flame exploded in Isolde’s hand. It leaped onto her like a thing alive. Pain? No. Pain is a feeling. What coursed through me was an essence. An explosion. A reality. And as Nick had warned me, the infernal flame was alive. It didn’t burn one spot. It streaked around, leaving a trail of scorched flesh, and laughing in a voice made of a fire’s crackle.

  My screams joined Isolde’s. The fire on my hand, on my arm, dancing along my elbow, burned her even faster. Her true nature, the thorn tree, had dried in the months since she left Fairy Godmother’s realm. Where the infernal flame left streaks on me, it scorched gashes of ash from her, racing up and down her faster than it could consume me. Liam’s ring, his gift to me, blunted the heat, shielded me, but she had no such protection. Isolde collapsed to the floor, her eyes locked on me between shrieks. “You can’t have my face.” She lifted her burning hand to her face, wiping it along her cheek, covering her eye.