“Mother Hulda,” Alice murmurs. “Or, the Librarian said it could also be Holle. She apparently is also magical.”
Of course she is.
“Well, I say we try heading straight to Hamelin.” Mary taps her fingers against the table, but immediately pulls back, frowning. “It’s utterly vile in here. The table is sticky. Anyway, as I was saying, if we can’t get through, then we will track this Hulda down, but until then, it’s best to go on as planned.”
It isn’t long before the food is brought alongside some crusty bread. The kitchen wench presses up against Victor as she slides the food onto the table, inspiring Mary’s ire. After she leaves, Victor gets an earful for doing absolutely nothing but sitting at a table.
I swear, those two.
I pull the pie toward me and cut it into slices. Plates are distributed as well as knives. We’re just about to dig in when Alice bursts out, “Wait!”
I set down my knife. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes are wide as she rotates her plate toward me. Shifting a bit of the crust with her knife, I get a good view of what has her so agitated.
It appears to be a slice of a human eyeball, blue iris glaring out at us.
Mary nearly chokes. Victor grabs the plate and slides it toward him.
“Finn.” Alice grips my sleeve. “Sheep irises are different than ours. They are more oval, or rectangular.”
My brother uses his knife to extract the piece. Roughly one-fourth the size of a normal human eye, its edges are jagged, as if it’d been minced. There is no doubt, though. The blue iris and rounded pupil are definitely not those of a sheep.
“It could be pig,” Victor murmurs. “Their eyes are quite similar to ours.”
“The waitress clearly said they were known for their mutton pies.” Mary shoves her plate away. “Not pork!”
I glance around the room. Nearly everyone who is eating is indulging in meat pies. And then it hits me. Meat pies. Human meat pies. Mrs. Nellie Lovett. Rosemary Lovett. It cannot be coincidence.
I’m off the bench, scanning the room before I find the door the wench is coming in and out of, the one that must lead to the kitchen.
“Go and find us some new transportation,” I tell Victor and Mary. “And try to track down the A.D. Chances are, we’re going to be leaving sooner rather than later.”
Alice also stands up. “You’re thinking Rosemary is here.”
I love that she’s already on the same page as me.
We make our way to the door through a rowdy crowd drunk on ale and feasting on pies. Nobody says anything when I push it open, nobody tries to stop us when we pass through. A small, smoky, dark hallway opens up before us. As if on cue, familiar voices surface.
“You’re such a stupid fuck! I said mince the meat, not cut it into strips!”
Rosemary.
“I’ll mince you if you don’t shut up, you ugly bitch!”
F.K. Jenkins. Well, now.
Rosemary cackles; a loud thunk followed by a series of curses follows.
I quietly tug out my gun, Alice does the same with a pair of her daggers. Thank God my brother saw fit to remember my silencer.
“I don’t see what we’re still fucking doing in this shithole,” the former proprietor of the Ex Libris bookstore bellows.
We inch down the hallway, weapons readied. Rosemary snarls, “We’re waiting for Todd, you sack of shit! Just like we’ve been told to. So unless you get back to work and mince that meat, you’re going to find yourself in one of my pies!”
They don’t know he’s dead.
“You think he’s still coming?” Jenkins’ laugh is ugly. “It’s been too long—”
Another thunk sounds, like that of a knife meeting wall or wood. A yelp precedes, “I’m going to fucking rip your throat out, you evil bitch!”
Discord is good. Discord means every man for themselves.
“We stick to the plan!” Yet another thunk. “As soon as Todd gets here, we’ll head to the mountain and meet up with the others for the convergence. There’s still time.”
Alice and I share a meaningful glance. I hold up three fingers and she nods.
“Yeah? Well, that plan fucking sucks! We should go there now—”
One finger down.
“—because you know he’s going to be pissed off at us for taking so long!”
Two fingers down.
“And I’m not looking forward to him being pissed off any more than he already is. I mean, maybe you are, but—”
Three. Alice and I burst around the corner, my gun out, her daggers ready. Rosemary has a butcher knife angled toward Jenkins; the bookstore owner, his back to us, has a cleaver angled toward her. Both are drenched in blood and guts.
The moment she sees us, she hisses, “You.”
Jenkins whips around, shock coloring his face. “You’re—you’re supposed to be—”
I point my gun right at him. “Chosen? Yeah, that didn’t happen.”
Suddenly, a shriek sounds from behind us. A quick glance shows the inn’s wench charging us, eyes crazed.
“I’ll take care of her,” Alice says grimly. “Subdue the others.”
The chaos gives Rosemary the perfect opportunity to send the knife in her hand flying. I duck and shoot, striking her arm just before Jenkins rams me. I manage to hold onto my weapon, though, knocking the sonofabitch into a wall. Rosemary hurls another knife, barely missing me and hitting Jenkins in the leg instead.
He rips out the knife, tossing it to the ground before he roars.
I fire at her again, hitting her throwing arm closer to the elbow. She howls in rage, grappling for another knife. How many of those things does she have in here, anyway? Before she can throw it, Jenkins grabs hold of one of my legs and knocks me off my feet.
Oh. Hell. No.
My fist smashes into his nose; blood squirts everywhere. His teeth gnash as he grapples for some kind of hold on me, but another punch leaves his head snapping back onto the ground. Nearby, the wench sprawls on the floor, several long slashes leaving trails of red ribbons across her gown. Seconds later, when she slams into the brick surrounding the fireplace, she does not get up.
Alice is already halfway across the room, in hot pursuit of Rosemary. I jab the barrel of my gun up against Jenkins’ forehead. “You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll kill you quickly.”
“Eat shit and die,” he snarls. But his fists against me are weakening.
I haul my arm back and hit him so hard he finally stills beneath me. And then I’m up, my gun angled once more at Rosemary. She and Alice are locked together, but my girl has the upper hand. Weakened by the two bullets I’ve put into her, even her desperation is no match for Alice’s tenacity.
And still, I yell, “Pivot!”
Alice deftly sinks both daggers into Rosemary’s waist, yanking her around. I send an angled shot straight into her back, just above where her heart lies. A scream doesn’t follow—it’s a gurgle. And when Alice removes her knives and kicks the bitch backward, right against the medieval oven she’s been baking human pies in, she falls and does not get up.
Alice is immediately on the ground next to her, though, one of her daggers at the woman’s throat. There’s a strange smile of sorts on her face, a gleam in her eye, and for a moment, I can truly imagine what Alice was like when she was mad in Wonderland. “You mentioned a mountain, Rosemary. Which one are you referring to?”
A wet laugh hisses through Todd’s paramour’s lips.
A quick survey of the room around me leaves my stomach churning. There is a human leg on the chopping table, its bone splintered. On the ground in the corner is a partial ribcage, deep groves in the bones. Intestines fill a basket; what appears to be a pile of fingers sits next to a pot.
“Todd is not coming for you.” I point my gun at Rosemary. “I killed that sonofabitch several days ago.”
She struggles weakly against Alice’s grip. “Liar!”
“I shot him right between the eyes. And then I shot him in the heart. If I could do it again, I would.”
The sob that chokes out of her is filled with anguish.
“You’re not going to leave this kitchen alive,” Alice says. “We cannot allow you to do so, Rosemary. You must be held responsible for the deeds you have done.”
The insane pie maker fumbles desperately for something, anything nearby, but I kick it all out of her reach.
“Now.” Alice presses her blade more firmly against the woman’s neck. “Tell us about this mountain you were to rendezvous at.”
The smile that curves Rosemary’s bloody lips coupled with the gleam in Alice’s eyes make a pretty damn terrifying sight, if I’m being honest.
“Is it perhaps . . . Koppenberg Mountain, just outside Hamelin, which is approximately sixty kilometers north of here?”
Ah. Alice has surprised her, because the smile dims significantly.
“Who was it that informed you that you must meet there with the others?” Alice continues. “Was it the Pied Piper of Hamelin?”
Rosemary’s face loses all color. “How—how do you know—”
“Tell me, Rosemary. Do you remember anything of your family in Hamelin?”
Tears well in the woman’s eyes. And still, I refuse to point my gun anywhere else but right at her head. She helped Todd find catalysts, she helped destroy them, including that of my parents’ Timeline.
“You told me once that your earliest memory is of a time sitting in a London orphanage,” Alice is saying. “I wonder if that is still true.”
Strength that was not there seconds before surges through Rosemary’s veins. She lashes out, struggling against Alice like a rabid dog. “He’s going to kill you all! You think you are safe? He will kill you! You are impure abominations!”
Alice drives her dagger into Rosemary’s heart and then ducks. My bullet meets the space between her eyes.
Behind us, Jenkins stirs, emitting a low groan.
“The wench is obviously working with them.” Alice dusts off the folds of her skirt as she stands up. The only glance spared for Rosemary is filled with disgust and a bit of satisfaction. “And I would hazard to say the innkeeper, too. It would be difficult to imagine a person being so wholly unaware of such atrocities happening beneath their roof. How far does the Piper’s reach stretch? It’s a terrifying prospect to consider.”
Rosemary and Jenkins had been in the wild now for less than a week, and they’d already managed to continue along their path of destruction and murder.
I make my way over to where Jenkins and the wench are lying. A quick press of fingers against the girl’s throat tells me her heartbeat is weak at best. The others have always been so impervious to pain during a fight, so maybe, just maybe, she’s a new recruit. But Jenkins, well . . . he’s a whole separate issue, isn’t he?
We quickly hogtie his feet and hands with twine found upon the butcher’s table. Then I grab a pail of bloody water from nearby and dump it on Jenkins’ head. He sputters, blinking behind his smudged glasses, struggling to move but finding it impossible.
I squat down next to him. “Her, I get.” I motion toward Rosemary’s body splayed out next to the oven. “She’s been involved in this shit for centuries and probably never knew differently. But you?” I shake my head. “You’re from Nebraska. How in the hell did a man like you get hooked up with the Pied Piper of Hamelin?”
His face turns just as white as Rosemary’s had. “Are you a fucking moron?” Jenkins pauses, swallows. “It’s only a matter of time before . . .” He swallows again. And then, in a choking whisper, “They always get what they want.”
Alice kneels down next to him, just out of reach. “They?”
“You two fuckers better promise me you’ll kill me before you leave. You can’t leave me behind, okay? I’ll—I’ll tell you what you want. You just have to promise to kill me. Anything they’ll do to me for this failure will be far worse.”
What?
“Is it a deal?”
“If that is what you wish,” Alice says flatly.
He coughs, but it’s more like a gurgle. “You want to know how I was recruited? I don’t fucking know. It was shortly after I got the last round of rejections from agents for a book I submitted. I was pretty despondent, and considered shooting my brains out because I was such a fucking failure, but then one day I found an envelope on my desk with money and a small note that said, ‘Your services are required.’ I didn’t know what the hell it meant, but . . .” He coughs again. “It was a shit ton of money. After that, I just woke up knowing things, knowing what I was supposed to do, like it was ESP or that weird psychic shit. Eventually, I started getting emails and phone calls. Those freaks Todd and Rosemary showed up at the bookstore with a note saying I had to let them live with me. That they’d be my team. I was to do the research, they were to go and find the stuff I dreamed up.”
“Did you know what you were doing?” Alice asks harshly. “Did you know that you were allowing them to find and then destroy catalysts, thereby murdering countless souls?”
“I didn’t give a fuck.” His laugh is cruel. “I knew. I didn’t care. I wanted to care, if it’s any consolation, but I didn’t. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, whatever. It was like that part of me that actually could give a shit about anyone’s life was taken out of me or died.”
“Why didn’t you tell the Society this when we were interrogating you?” I ask.
He attempts to shrug, but it’s difficult, being hogtied and all. “I wasn’t allowed to, not even with your damn truth serum.”
They played us. The whole time, they played us.
“Did you know it was the Piper you served?”
“I’m not a moron, you know!”
“No,” she says coldly. “You’re a murderous fiend who deserves no mercy.”
He blanches at her arctic tone. She means business, and I think he’s finally understanding that.
“How is it you’re able to tell us now?” I press.
Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth onto the dirt floor. “They want you to know.” His laugh is now ugly. “They want you two, you know. They’ll do whatever it takes to own your souls. You’d be like the fucking cherries and nuts on top of their sundaes.”
“You keep saying they,” Alice prompts.
I didn’t think it possible, but Jenkins turns even whiter, his body shaking. “Yeah,” he whispers. “The king and queen of the mountain.”
Alice’s eyes meet mine. “How much do you want to bet the queen is the thirteenth Wise Woman?”
It makes a hell of a lot of sense.
“Is it Koppenberg Mountain?” I ask.
“Nobody will be able to tell you where it is.” His coughing is far wetter now. “Almost everybody has forgotten about it—or at least, those who know what’s good for them. Hell, it doesn’t even really exist except for them and their needs.”
“What does that even mean? How can anyone forget a mountain, let alone have it exist solely for a pair of people?” Alice asks incredulously.
“What is this convergence you were talking about?” I ask.
Spittle mixes with the blood trickling from his lips. “The Chosen have been summoned home.”
“Can we get to it from here?” I press. “The mountain, I mean? Are the Timelines really connected?”
Suddenly, the wench lurches to her feet and darts across the room, claiming a knife that juts from the wall. Just before I can shoot her, though, she whispers, “Fear not the blade of death,” and then slashes the knife hard across her throat. Blood sprays everywhere.
“Dear God,” Alice murmurs. Both of us stare in shock as the girl crumples to the ground.
“I’ve told you all I can, all that I know.” Jenkins tries to scoot closer. “Now, fulfill your end of the agreement. Kill me! Don’t let them get their hands on me!”
“Not before you tell me whether or not the Timelines are actually connected.”
“As f
ar as I know, yes! I never heard about any other doors. Please, do it before it’s too late!”
He genuinely sounds scared shitless. Even though the bastard deserves no mercy, I put my gun against his temple and pull the trigger.
Alice gets up and makes her way back over to where Rosemary lies. She pushes the woman onto her belly, ignoring the large, messy hole in the back of her head. She tugs down the dress and chemise, staring down at Rosemary’s shoulder.
“A rat,” she says emotionlessly.
I come closer to see what she’s pointing out. Sure enough, what looks like a birthmark shaped like a rat marks the pie maker’s shoulder.
“She was one of the children, I am sure of it.” Alice stands back up. “One of the ones he stole all those years ago.”
Neither the wench nor Jenkins have the mark, though.
The two of us are a mess from the fight. Blood and dirt from rolling around on the ground cake our clothes and skin. I fear there is brain matter on me, too. We spend several minutes quickly cleaning ourselves up the best we can before heading out.
I dip a rag in the only clean bucket of water we found in the whole kitchen and gently wipe it across Alice’s face. “Are you okay?”
Her hand cups mine. “We need to find them, Finn. They have to pay for what they’ve done. We cannot stop until every last one is neutralized.”
“I know.” I can’t help it—I lean forward and kiss her. The horror of the room is just too much to bear. It’s like a slasher film in here, and the two of us are left shell-shocked. “We will.”
She whispers, voice taut as a string pulled across a violin, “They knew you were supposed to be one of the Chosen.”
“I’m not. You saved me, remember?”
She steps into me, arms wrapping around my waist. “It will never happen. Never. I will not allow it.”
Jenkins said they wanted us both, though. They want Alice, and I’ll be damned if I ever allow that to happen.
“I know you won’t.” I kiss her newly clean forehead. “That’s one of the perks of being in love with a kickass queen.”
The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3) Page 24