He’s not talking about our father. “You know it wasn’t real. You admitted you were in the middle of an episode.”
Painful, bitterly rueful laughter falls out of Victor. “It felt real. It still feels like he’s here, following me. Watching.”
My brother has never met his biological father’s monster, has never seen anything outside of what Halloween and Hollywood has had to offer up in terms of vision and appearance. And yet, he’s inexplicably dreamed of and feared the creature his entire life. I overheard our parents discussing it shortly after they adopted me, of how Katrina was legitimately worried what it all meant. “You know this all started when he was four. How is that possible, Brom? How could he know of his father’s creation? He never met Dr. Frankenstein, not even once. His mother was illiterate and knew nothing outside of his name of the man she spent a single evening with. Yet Victor knew the creature’s description long before he knew how to read. It cannot be a coincidence!”
My father had no idea what to say. Years later, none of us do. Not Victor’s shrink, not our father, not our mother, not myself, not even Mary. But all this time, he’s only ever dreamed of the creature—never seen. Not even in his worst, manic episodes.
Until now.
“You know he didn’t die,” Victor continues bleakly. “He only disappeared at the end of the blasted book. Floated off on some chunk of bloody ice.”
It’s a conversation we’ve had countless times. There is nothing I can say, nothing our parents have ever been able to say, that can assure him that the monster isn’t coming for him.
And still, we try, and will continue doing so.
“Victor.” My tone forces his eyes back to my face. “I’m not going to insist he wasn’t there, considering I was out the whole time, but you know the odds that he was are slim to none. He’d have to first figure out that you exist. How would he do that? Your mother died shortly after Brom brought you home. I’m sure it wasn’t like she bragged to a bunch of people that she bagged and then got knocked up by some psychotic doctor, you know?”
He lets out a tiny puff of rueful amusement.
“Nothing in the book indicates he was psychic. But even if he was,”—because we’d heard this theory from Victor before—“he’d have to figure out how to edit. You know the odds of him being able to do so naturally are tiny. And honestly, how would he know you were in 1905BUR-LP? We didn’t even know where we were until after Todd was dead.”
He bites his lip. “I know. I know. Dad said the same thing.”
And still, it kills me that he still believes it all is a possibility.
I clear my throat. Change the subject, because allowing Victor to dwell too long on his asinine bio-dad’s crazy-ass mistakes is tantamount to validating them. “Sara didn’t admit anything to you while we were there?”
Victor rubs at his hair. “No. She had her hands full dealing with us. We fought a few times, but it was about stupid stuff.” He lets out a puff of amusement. “Normal stuff for me and her, at least when I was coherent.”
I cannot believe that Sara was a mole. It just—it’s almost like a kick to the nuts to hear that. For years, she was like my sister, one of my closest friends. She was my partner.
The Piper is going to pay for what he’s done. It’s only a matter of when, not if.
“Is everything okay?”
I glance up at Alice. Her lower lip is tugged between her teeth; it’s obvious she’s still worried. But it turns out her question isn’t to me but my brother, because he says, “Everything seems fine. When we get back, I plan on doing some blood work, but other than him needing to take it easy so he doesn’t tear his stitches, he’s in decent health.”
She sits down next to me, taking hold of my hand. “Excellent.”
A low groan comes from the nearby floor. “Do you two ever stop shagging in public? Did I do something in a past life, so that it was my punishment to be constantly surrounded by lovey-dovies?”
Well, there goes the quiet morning.
When Alice levels him with a scathing look, he winces. “Does this mean our own love affair is over, Your Majesty?”
Her exasperated sigh is quite loud.
His rubbery lips curve upward in response. “You adore me the way I am. Admit it.” But his humor fades when Grymsdyke lowers himself from the ceiling before him.
“What I’ll admit,” Alice stresses, “is that it’s troubling that there’s a Wise Woman working with the Piper on some level. The enchantment, from what Bunting claims, is specific toward turning people into the Piper’s Chosen.”
“The fact that the angriest, most vindictive one of the lot has joined in with the Piper is pretty damn terrifying, if you ask me,” Victor mutters.
More solemn from before, the A.D. pretends to shudder. “The team from hell is what they are.”
“So many of the Chosen have been with the Piper for hundreds of years,” Alice says. “We have no idea if he was able to hypnotize them into their current state of being or if it’s a result of the thirteenth Wise Woman’s spell.”
“Or,” Victor adds, “a combination of both.”
“Is it even possible for the curse to be broken or altered?” the A.D. asks.
“It would be incredibly difficult,” says a voice from behind us.
We turn to find Mary and the Wise Woman who was in the clearing with Alice and me last night, both carrying baskets filled with herbs. She unnerves me, to be honest. There’s something off about her. Almost inhuman. Her movements, while graceful, aren’t like anyone else’s I’ve ever seen. Nor are her eyes. When she stares at you, she’s cutting straight through skin, muscle, and bones. She hardly blinks and I’m beginning to wonder if she even breathes.
“The spell last night was altered because there was already an enchantment put in place.” The woman who introduced herself to me as Gertrude sets her basket upon a table. “The queen’s blood magic had been enacted prior to my sister’s, and therefore offered some protection. But if you remember, I warned you last night that even this bit of powerful magic would not hold indefinitely. Sooner or later, my sister’s enchantment would have overcome it.”
“You say it’s been altered,” Alice says. “Not broken.”
The Wise Woman considers my north star. “No. Not broken. I suppose it’s a good thing you had giant’s blood to aid you in such a powerful alteration last night, is it not?”
She’d told Alice, “As long as you live, as long as your love holds true, he is safe.” Christ, just thinking of that has me in a sweat—not so much for my chances, but the threat it seems to pose toward Alice.
Wait. Wait. Back up a moment. Giant’s blood?
“Do you know where the thirteenth Wise Woman is now?” Alice is asking.
The A.D. holds out a hand. “Whoa. What giant’s blood?”
Exactly. What he said.
The Wise Woman fixes those unblinking eyes of hers on my father’s assistant. “Why, the one the queen slew last night.”
What. The. HELL?
“A giant!” Mary exclaims. “How wonderfully fairy tale-ish. Did it know you were an Englishman? Fi-Fi-Fo-Fum and all that?”
Before Alice can answer, I ask, “When was this?”
“On the way to the clearing.” She’s utterly unapologetic. “It seemed quite put out with me for reasons unknown, and picked a rather nasty fight.”
Mary claps. “I swear, somebody needs to write this down. The queen, en route to save her, well, lover, with true love’s kiss, battles a giant. Perhaps we can slip it into a new volume of fairy tales. A feminist one that proves ladies can kick ass and save men just as well as men can save them.”
“The Queen of Diamonds has always been one of Wonderland’s fiercest champions,” Grymsdyke barks. “There are precious few who can best her in battle.”
“You’re neglecting that there are already are some stories where women save men,” Victor points out to Mary. “There’s one where a prince was turned into a stove. A princess sa
ved him. Remember that one, Finn?”
He’s right—that’s not one of his hallucinations. It’s a story we used to think was ridiculous. But, I’m still overly focused on the fact that Alice battled a giant. A giant.
Mary scoffs. “A stove? Goodness. How unromantic and rather embarrassing all at once.” She comes over and pats Victor’s face. “Try not to allow yourself to be turned into something so wholly undignified while we’re here. I’m not a princess, you know. Chances are, I wouldn’t be able to turn you back.”
“What kind of land allows a prince to become a stove?” Grymsdyke mutters. “Stoves are not people.”
“Are you okay?” I gently grab hold of both of Alice’s hands. She’s got scratches on her face. One cheek is bruised. Her palms are a bit raw, and she’s moving slower than normal today.
“Victor tended to me last night, remember?” Her smile is faint but genuine. “I’m perfectly fine. Granted, I do not wish to face another giant in the near future . . .”
Alice fought a giant and kicked its ass. She’s amazing.
“Yet, I’m afraid we digress. I was asking the Wise Woman whether or not she knows where the thirteenth of her sisters now resides.”
Gertrude admits, “It has been well over a century since I have last seen her.”
Alice is undeterred. “Have you ever heard of the Pied Piper of Hamelin?”
This gets her attention. Her head snaps sharply up with the name.
I remember the first time Katrina read me the story of the Piper. I was sixteen, I think. It was a rainy day in New York City, and she and I were sitting before a fire and working on my reading. While I had several top-notch tutors on top of the private school I went to, it still felt safer to work with her than anyone else. She never judged me. Never made fun of me about how badly I had to sound a word out or had no clue about a subject—not that she or Brom would have ever tolerated anyone else doing so, either, but still. Katrina equaled acceptance, love, and safety. And when we read together, even though I was sixteen and still more than a bit of a punk, I felt like everything might just turn out okay.
I had a mother, one who cared. One who wanted to read with me.
But that story . . . yeah, it was terrifying as all hell. I mean, some dude can come and kidnap all of a town’s children out of revenge?
“Some people are downright evil,” I’d told Katrina.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “that’s true. But there is also so much goodness in others. Never forget that. Never close your eyes to the kindnesses in the worlds, even when you are faced with the worst of souls.”
Sometimes it’s hard to remember, especially when it turns out the same monster that prompted these words is most likely the mastermind behind her murder. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.
“Yes,” the Wise Woman is saying in response to Alice’s question.
“Is he of your acquaintance?” Alice presses.
The Wise Woman is quiet for a long moment, as if she’s weighing whether or not to answer. I love that Alice isn’t afraid to ask such questions, though. A lot of agents might be scared shitless to press their luck with somebody who could turn them into a toad, but not Alice.
God, I respect her so much.
“We crossed paths once,” the Wise Woman finally admits. She places a clump of moss from her basket on the table. “Long, long ago, before I left the sisterhood.”
“We have reason to believe he might be in league with the thirteenth Wise Woman,” Alice continues. “The sword with your sister’s enchantment was wielded by one of his associates. May I inquire as to your opinion of the person in question?”
“His soul,” the Wise Woman says carefully, “is not like many others.’ There is a darkness inside, one that is not easy to understand.”
Is evil ever easy to do so, though?
“We suspect that he is the perpetrator behind the extinguishing of many lives. During your encounter in the past, were you able to intuit any reasons as to why a man such as he would embark upon such terrible deeds?”
“When there is a gaping hole such as his, attempts are often made to fill it.”
It isn’t really an answer, or at least it isn’t one that couldn’t already be guessed.
“Do you believe in good and evil?” Mary asks.
“It is the foolish who do not understand that the world is built of many shades of both,” the woman says simply.
Such painful truth.
“Your journeys will not be easy.” When I refocus on our hostess, she’s holding a large dagger, her eyes that eerie white from the night before. Her voice doesn’t even sound human anymore. But more importantly, her hair is now floating around her head, her feet dangling off the damn floor. “There will be blood. There will be pain and grief. Nightmares will come to life. The impossible will be asked of each of you when light seems the furthest away. If you falter, if you give in, if you allow yourself to embrace the darkness that wishes to curl within and fill the holes inside you, there will be no turning back to what once was.”
“How very specific,” the A.D. mutters. I kick his foot and he quietly yelps.
But when I look at the woman again, her eyes are normal, her feet are on the ground. Her hair is looped in braids around her head.
She helped save my life and all, but damn, that woman is freaky.
“I feel as if we’re practically sitting ducks amongst such evil, magical beings,” the A.D. continues. “Sure, we’ve got Alice, Finn is back, and the rest of us can hold our own in fights, but it means very little if the Piper can just music away anything, or the thirteenth Wise Woman feels like transforming us during battle. I wish there were a way to protect ourselves, especially if we’ve now got somebody telling us we’re basically walking into the mouth of hell.”
Sometimes, the A.D. never figures out when to shut his trap. But, he has a point here.
“I will make a meal for you before you leave.” The Wise Woman drags a wooden bowl over to where she stands. “You will not want to go as far as you must on empty stomachs.” A long, wooden spoon is pointed at Alice. “There are chickens in the back. Fetch the eggs and then milk the cow. There is a basket and pail by the front door for you to use.” The spoon swivels toward me. “Fetch the goose with the lame leg that rests within the coop. She is old and ready to sleep. I have held on too long out of sentimentality, but now is as good as time as any to honor her wishes.”
Oookay?
When Alice and I reach the door, the Wise Woman is already issuing orders to the rest of the group, including Grymsdyke.
It’s cold outside. Frost tips the leaves on the trees around us. The ground is soft enough to suck in our shoes, the wind cutting. Thunder rumbles in the distance, making sure we know that the storm isn’t quite done with us yet.
Once, just once, I wish one of my assignments took me to somewhere like Tahiti or Hawaii.
I throw my cloak around my shoulders; Alice does the same. I say, “She’s interesting.”
Alice doesn’t comment, but takes hold of my hand again and pulls me around the back of the house. A coop sits fifty or so feet back from the cottage, with a neat herb garden filling the space in between. Farther on back is a small barn of sorts; somewhere within, a horse neighs quietly.
Before I can say anything, she slides her arms beneath my cloak, tugging me closer. I return the favor, and for several long seconds, we say nothing as we stand there, holding each other as the wind howls about us. And then, she reaches up, both hands cupping my face as she studies me intently.
Somehow, her concern doesn’t feel as claustrophobic as Victor’s.
She didn’t give up on me. Everyone else thought Victor and I were dead, but Alice refused to accept it. She came for me when no one thought it was possible. She figured out who it was that cursed the blade that stabbed me, tracked down the Timeline, and battled a giant. And here she is, here we are, and she gave that woman inside her blood in order to heal me.
She saved
me with her blood. With true love’s kiss. Her love is now written across my body. If this isn’t a fairy tale, then I don’t know what else to call it. Any kind of reasonable words, any kind that actually could express what I’m feeling inside, are way out of my current reach.
She rises to her tiptoes, her lips brushing against mine. My breath stutters in my chest, the muscle in my chest feels like it might actually burst out of my ribcage. I love this woman so much. I want her. Need her. Value her. She’s my partner. My sounding board. My heart. How did this happen? How did she get so irrevocably under my skin and into my head and heart so quickly?
I kiss her then, slowly, meaningfully. Our warm breaths mingle in the chilly air. Soon enough, though, our foreheads touch as we try to catch those breaths. Her pulse races just as fast as mine.
I wish we had more time. More privacy. It’s pitiful, but I tell her, “Thank you.”
Her forehead settles in the crook of my neck as her arms once more loop my waist. “Would you like to hear another fairy tale?”
She told me one once, a Wonderlandian one. I think it’s my favorite of all stories now.
“From you? Always. Will it be a feminist one like Mary wants?”
“You are a rapscallion, you know.”
“I do my best. But please, go on. I’d love to hear it.”
“Once upon a time, there was a queen,” she says quietly, “one who had a wonderful kingdom that she loved very much. Her life was very full. She had goals and aspirations to ensure the people of her kingdom never had to want like those in so many others. She desired and hoped for more for them and was willing to sacrifice much to provide all that she could. While she ruled alone, it did not mean her heart was empty. A king from another Court loved her just as much as she loved him. For many years, she felt content. Blessed. Together, they combined their dreams and planned for the future of their lands.
“But seasons changed as they always do. The land and her people’s needs altered, and the queen struggled with what was asked of her. But she had made a promise the day she received her crown: she vowed she would always do everything in her power to provide for those who relied upon her. Heart heavy, she gave up all that she knew, all that she loved, in order to fulfill her promise.
The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3) Page 20