by Jasmine Walt
I smirked as I shut the door behind me and pulled the moss from my pocket. If Oscar was right, then she was very wrong.
I settled onto my bed, then popped the moss into my mouth before I could think about it too much. The stuff had dried in my pocket, and it had a fuzzy texture as it slid against my tongue. At first, I tasted only bitterness, but as I continued chewing, a strange sweetness seeped into my taste buds. I swallowed, then gasped as the stuff sizzled down my throat even though it had been completely cool to the touch.
A series of visions hit me then, coming so fast I could barely keep track. Cityscapes and monsters, blood, bullets, fangs, sex, love, betrayal—I clutched my head as the memories kept coming, overwhelming me. It was all too much to take, and before I could suck in another breath, my eyes rolled back into my head, and blackness engulfed me.
Chapter 4
I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, and more rage in my heart than I could ever remember feeling in my entire life.
My brain had rearranged itself while I’d been passed out, figuring out how to reorganize now that my suppressed memories had come flooding back. I remembered everything. Who I was, where I’d come from, and how the fuck I’d gotten onto this godforsaken island.
A pulse of magic burst from the center of my body and swept through the room, shaking the cot and the small dresser with the washbasin atop it. The ceramic basin rattled as dust from the walls rained to the floor, and I sucked in a deep breath to try to calm myself.
I couldn’t act as if anything was out of the ordinary, as if I were anything other than the pathetic servant I’d been reduced to for the past…months? Years? Who knew. All I cared about was getting the hell out of here, and that meant keeping my head down so the housekeeper didn’t have any reason to suspect I was in possession of all my faculties again.
I got up and dressed, then went to the kitchen. My bowl of porridge was already waiting, and I could barely smother the look of disgust on my face as I sat down to eat it.
“What’s the matter?” the housekeeper challenged, propping her hands on her wide hips as she glared at me, spatula still in hand. The scent and sound of sausage frying on the stove behind her made my stomach rumble so fiercely I thought it might devour itself. “Can’t muster up the good manners to thank me for your breakfast?”
“Thank you for the porridge,” I said meekly, keeping my head down to hide the anger simmering inside me.
“Humph.” The housekeeper stared at me for a long moment, but I kept my gaze glued to my bowl. After a minute or so, she grew bored and turned back to the stove.
I did my best to ignore the delicious scent of cooking sausage as I shoveled oats that were flavored with only a tiny bit of milk into my mouth. The meal tasted even worse than usual now that I remembered what real food was like and how well I’d eaten before I came here. Man, what I wouldn’t give for a slice of pizza or a lobster roll! When I got back to Salem, I was going to stuff my face.
After you kick Maddock’s ass, I reminded myself.
And before Baxter catches up with you, a voice in my head added.
But I was too angry with Maddock to simmer too long on my worries with Baxter. After everything Maddock and I had been through together, the bastard had left me to suffer my fate at the hands of the Morrigan. If I never saw that smug, arrogant face again, it would be too soon.
Even so, the vision of us kissing kept popping into my mind throughout the coming days, making my hands tremble as they gripped a broom or a scrub brush. I wished Oscar had never brought Maddock’s cuff link, never filled me with that sense of lust and longing. It was stuck to me now, like a sticky film I couldn’t quite wash off, even though I knew better.
Maddock Tremaine was a selfish bastard, and he’d only cared about me until my usefulness had expired. After I’d delivered the final artifact, he’d tossed me aside like a piece of trash at the first opportunity, assuming the worst.
He hadn’t even given me a chance to explain.
“What are you doing, sniveling like that on the ground floor,” the housekeeper barked. I jerked my head up to see her at the top of the staircase I was scrubbing clean. “You don’t have time to sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Hurry up!”
Slowly, I rose to my full height, clutching the handle of my scrub brush so tightly I thought the wooden handle might crack. The housekeeper’s eyes widened, her face paling a little as if she were suddenly afraid.
“Why don’t you clean up this mess yourself, if you’re so worried about it?” I hissed. “I never see you doing any work around here. What kind of housekeeper are you?”
The housekeeper moved with inhuman speed. One moment, she was at the top of the stairs; the next, she had me up against the wall, her spindly fingers wrapped around my throat in a surprisingly strong grip. I gasped and sputtered for breath as she glared at me with yellowed eyes. Her pale skin was now a mottled, ugly blue, and rows of tiny, sharp teeth gleamed as she bared them at me.
“Perhaps I have been too kind to you recently, if you think to speak to me with such insolence,” she snarled. “I should gut you now and feast on your entrails. It would certainly make a welcome change in diet.”
“P-please,” I gasped, tears rolling down my cheeks. I could use my magic to get her off me, or any of the several techniques I knew to break her grip, but I needed her to think I was still a pathetic weakling under her control. “I—I’m…just…tired…”
“Tired?” The housekeeper sneered. She released my throat, and I sagged against the wall, taking in raw, gasping breaths. “Very well. Let’s give you a bit of a break, shall we?”
She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me down to the dungeon. It took everything I had to let her lock me into one of the dark, unused cells, when what I really wanted to do was break her neck and toss her out the nearest castle window. The cell door clanged shut behind me with a kind of finality that sent shivers up my spine, and I did my best not to touch anything lest I trigger one of the nightmarish visions embedded into this place.
Still, I couldn’t stand forever. My legs grew tired, so I slowly lowered myself onto the hard cot, bracing for a vision. To my relief, none came—perhaps nothing eventful had happened in this particular cell. Aside from the fact that there was no candle for me to light, and I couldn’t leave, this really wasn’t very different from my room upstairs. And if the Morrigan did show up tonight, I would use my magic to force the cell door open and sneak into her room. My magic seemed to be a lot stronger here—I hadn’t been able to use it to direct mops and buckets, or control small herds of cows, back home.
Not that you tried.
The housekeeper left me in the dungeon for two days and two nights. By the time I woke up on the third morning, I was so weak from hunger I thought I might never be able to move again.
Maybe I’ll just die here, I thought dully as I stared at the ceiling. Yep, that was how Brooke Chandler, police detective and shadow, was going to go out. Death by starvation.
A door swung open, and I bolted upright despite my exhaustion. The housekeeper strolled up the hall toward me, and relief sang in my veins when I saw the iron ring of keys in her hand.
“I’ve grown bored of tending the cows,” she drawled, the keys jangling as she unlocked the door. “Come out and do your duties. And clean yourself up,” she added, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said fervently, dipping into a low bow. Bobbing my head in thanks as I hurried past her, I managed to restrain from smashing my forehead into her smug face on my way out. I was weak from hunger, after all, and this woman was fae. I might lose if I picked a fight with her, especially since I didn’t know what powers she had.
Besides, she wasn’t my objective. Getting the hell out of this place was. I had to keep my eye on the prize, and not get caught up in petty desires for revenge.
The next week passed with such mind-numbing slowness I thought I might tear my hair out. Oscar didn’t come to visit, and wit
h only the cows and the waves crashing against the surf to keep me company, I was losing my mind. God, but how did I manage to survive being here this long without going stir crazy? Maybe ignorance really was bliss.
As I sat in the pasture with the cows on yet another dull morning, contemplating whether there was any merit to throwing myself in the ocean, I felt a ripple of magic in the air. The hair along my arms stood straight on end, and excitement rushed through my veins as I realized the Morrigan was here. Every time she’d come to visit, I’d felt that same ripple. It must have been caused by her ripping a hole into this world in order to enter.
Today’s the day, I thought as I trekked back up the hill toward the castle. Today’s the day you’re finally going to be free.
A ball of tension knotted in my stomach when I passed through the front entrance to the castle. What if I fucked this up somehow, and the Morrigan caught me stealing the horn? She would kill me—I was sure of it. Either right away out of sheer rage, or she’d take me down to the dungeons and torture me until I gave out. Yes, I had a plan, but she was an ancient Unseelie fae who had way more power and experience.
“Girl,” the housekeeper snapped, bustling in from one of halls. “Go and get yourself cleaned up, then meet me in the kitchens. The mistress is here!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I curtsied, then hurried off to a nearby bathroom to wash up. I didn’t know why the hell she cared so much about me looking clean—I was just a servant girl, and I did dirty work all day. Didn’t she want me to look like I was working, and not like I was sitting around, too delicate to allow dirt to touch my dainty fingers?
I let out a bitter chuckle at that, studying my fingers as I ran them beneath the cold water. They were calloused, as were my knees from all the time I spent scrubbing the floors. Nobody could ever mistake me for some prissy princess.
But you are a princess, aren’t you? a voice whispered in my mind. A daughter of the Winter King.
I paused. That was true. And before I’d ended up in the Morrigan’s clutches, I’d wanted to find my father, to see if he could help me out of the mess I’d gotten myself into with her. Should I try to find him when I got back? After all, there were no friendly faces waiting for me back in the human world aside from Oscar.
After washing my face and combing the straw out of my hair, I hurried to the kitchens. The housekeeper was already hard at work, putting away the stores of grain, salted meats, and spices piled high on the counter.
Whenever the Morrigan came, she brought food to help replenish the castle stores—after all, the housekeeper needed to eat, and so did the Morrigan herself whenever she was here. The cows here were sacred, only good for milk and cheese, and there wasn’t any game to hunt, so the castle relied heavily on these imports for food.
On my way back up from the cellar, where I’d been hauling sacks of root vegetables and dried meat, I nibbled on a strip of salted beef. No one would notice it missing, and I was so damned hungry. Besides, what did it matter now? I was about to escape. In just a matter of hours, I would be—
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I whirled around to see the Morrigan standing in the shadows, watching me from the depths of those cold black eyes. She wore her maiden guise today, her black hair flowing freely down her shoulders, her face smooth and unlined, her willowy figure accented by the form-fitting black dress she wore beneath her feather cloak. Her raven familiar was perched on her shoulder, and he titled his head, regarding me out of one of his black, beady eyes.
I swallowed the last bit of jerky, then dipped into a bow. “M-mistress. How lovely to see you.”
The Morrigan slapped me hard across my face as I came up. My cheek stung as I stumbled back into the wall, and as I reached out a hand to steady myself, the last bit of jerky slipped from my fingers. The Morrigan caught it, her full mouth curling into a sneer.
“Stealing food from the cellar, are you?” she accused, and her familiar let out a caw, as if chastising me as well. “Are you saying we don’t give you enough to satisfy you?”
Have you seen me? I wanted to shout, thinking about the way my raggedy dress hung limp on my too-thin frame. But instead, I hung my head. “No, Mistress, of course not. It’s just that I wanted some meat, and I took so little. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t.” The Morrigan grabbed my chin and forced me to look into her eyes. There was something smug about the look on her face, as though she was happy with what she saw—a cowed servant girl who had no idea who she’d once been. Anger boiled in my gut, and I forced myself to remain calm, to not reveal my true feelings.
“Five strikes with the cane, for your insolence.” She spun me around, then shoved me into the wall. My hands slapped against the cold stone just in time to keep my nose from crunching into it, but I couldn’t stop from crying out as the Morrigan ripped the back of my dress open with one of her talons. The claw scratched my bare skin, and I felt a thin trickle of blood slowly work its way down my back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Morrigan conjure a cane, and bile rose in my throat. I didn’t stop myself from crying out when the first strike hit, slashing hot pain across my back. Didn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks as the third strike hit, and more blood started to trickle down my back. And I didn’t stop myself from sobbing aloud in pain and relief as the fifth and final strike cracked across my flesh, sending agony rippling through me.
Because I had to play along. I had to pretend I was a meek little servant who had no fire left in her—or I was dead.
“Now go clean yourself up and get back to work,” the Morrigan said coldly. “I expect lunch in an hour.”
After her footsteps receded, I pushed off the wall and stumbled back to my room to change. I hugged myself as I walked, both to hold my tattered gown up, and to try to stop my violent trembling.
God, but I wanted to rip her apart with my bare hands. I wished I was strong enough to do it. There would be no sneaking around if I was—I would barge into her room and tear her to shreds, take the horn, and never look back. I’d never have to look over my shoulder again, wondering if she was coming for me. And the other supernaturals would adopt a healthy amount of respect and fear for me.
But I wasn’t strong enough. Maybe one day, but not now. I vowed to delve into an in-depth exploration of my powers and abilities once I got out of here. I needed to know what someone like me was fully capable of.
There wasn’t time to do much more than wash my back in the servants’ bathroom—I checked in the mirror, relieved to see it was mostly bruising. Only one of the wounds had split open. I used an old rag to bandage it as best I could, then slipped my other dress on and went to the kitchens to finish work.
The housekeeper berated me for taking so long to return, but she didn’t say anything else. I suspected the Morrigan hadn’t yet told her of my theft, or had decided not to bother. So I tried to move normally, as if I weren’t in pain, while I rushed about the kitchen and helped prepare a fish stew and fresh bread for lunch.
For once, I was allowed some of the food, though my portion had very little fish and the crust of bread was hard. Still, it was better than usual, and I sat at the counter and wolfed it down, grateful the housekeeper was serving the Morrigan.
I wasn’t sure I could face that hateful bitch again without showing my true feelings.
By the time I crept back to my rooms for the evening, I was so exhausted that part of me just wanted to crash onto my cot and sleep like the dead. But the other hummed with fear and excitement, anxiety bouncing around my nerves like a pinball. My back still ached from the beating the Morrigan had given me, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it should have been. I had a feeling the extra magic I was constantly taking in had accelerated my body’s natural healing process.
The thought made me wonder just why there was so much magic on this island. From what I understood, magic was everywhere in Faerie, but Oscar had told me that this wasn’t part of it. Could this place
have once been part of the Unseelie lands, and the Morrigan had somehow found a way to transport it to a different dimension? How the hell would that even work? And how powerful would someone have to be to accomplish it?
I chased thoughts like these around for the next few hours to keep myself from falling asleep while I waited. When I was reasonably certain no one would be awake, I shaded myself, then whispered the spell Oscar had taught me that would quiet my movements.
As I crept through the halls and up the steps toward the Morrigan’s tower rooms, I chanted the spell that would activate the horn over and over again in my mind. I’d gotten the stealth spell right—surely, I had this other one correct, too. But what if I didn’t? What if I grabbed the horn and spoke the spell, only to have it fail and find myself at the mercy of the Morrigan?
My palms grew damp with fear, and I wiped them on my skirts and hurried on. I refused to slow for even a moment, for worry my fears and anxieties would paralyze me and send me running back to the “safety” of my rooms. I couldn’t allow my emotions to get in the way of my mission. I would get out of this place, or I would die trying.
The trek up the winding staircase seemed to take forever, but eventually, a large wooden door with a golden, raven-shaped knocker came into view. Pausing on the landing, I pressed my ear against the door, listening intently. I barely managed to pick up the sound of soft snoring through the thick door, and I let out a tiny sigh of relief. My heart slowly rose into my throat as I reached for the door handle, but I only allowed myself to hesitate for a moment before pushing it open.
Thankfully, Oscar’s spell held true. The door swung open silently, and I crept into the room unnoticed. The cloud cover was thicker than usual, and very little moonlight spilled in through the tower windows, but a low flame flickering in the grate cast enough light for me to make out the size of the expansive circular room with its four-poster bed on the far side.
There, the Morrigan slept, her chest rising and falling gently beneath her woolen blankets. Even in sleep, she looked unpleasant, a faint crease between her eyebrows and her mouth bowed down in displeasure. Who had pissed her royal highness off in her dreams, and what punishment was she devising for him?