Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2)

by Nina Smith

  But vibe was madness. Impossible madness. He was done with it. The Freakin Fairies had given him his life back, who was he to throw away such a gift?

  The Tormentor poured the drug with agonising slowness into a tall crystal glass. The shadows thickened and shifted like living creatures. “Drink,” he said.

  “No.” Nikifor’s whisper was ragged but stubborn. The urge to know who tormented him so, to remember, to see the face, gripped him like a fever.

  “Drink!” The Tormentor’s fist slammed onto the table.

  He flinched. “I will not.”

  The Tormentor paced around the table, bent over Nikifor’s shoulder and lifted the glass to his lips. ”You know this is all you desire. This is all you are.”

  The intoxicating fragrance enveloped his senses like moss on a forest floor, like a woman’s perfume, like bottled darkness. He closed his eyes. The glass touched his lips.

  The Tormentor laughed low in his ear. “You were a fool to think you could escape me.”

  Nikifor wrapped his fingers around the cold, hard crystal. Oblivion. No longer a path he could choose. Never again. His fingers trembled. The anger that always lurked so far beneath flared like magma from a volcano and he dashed the vessel into the Tormentor’s face. Crystal shattered on skin, tinkled to the ground. The Tormentor uttered a hoarse cry of pain and clutched his eyes. Blood welled from fine cuts.

  The bloodied hands dropped. “What was that? You’re not supposed to be able to do that. Tell me what that was!” He grabbed Nikifor’s shoulders and threw him so hard he struck the wall. “Tell me how can you possibly defy me?”

  Nikifor threw up his hands to shield his face. “I will not submit!” he roared.

  The stone room melted away into sweating darkness, an aching skull and the smell of wet sackcloth.

  Nikifor gulped fresh cold air when the rough cloth was snatched from his face. His heart hammered and his blood raced through his veins as though he had just won a mortal battle. He could taste victory, but had no idea what he’d won. He cringed when a flaming brand blinded him. “Tell me where your king is!”

  Nikifor recoiled, but could not get far. His hands were bound behind his back and any amount of movement threatened to injure them. The brittle, angry female voice made his head pound.

  She brandished the fire so close his hair singed and curled. “Tell me where your king is, Muse, or so help me I’ll cover you in fairy dust and play kick with your petrified remains!”

  His nerve broke. “I don’t know! I don’t know where he is!”

  “Then what were you doing at the mines?” The woman’s voice wound up a notch.

  “We were looking for eight hundred missing Freakin Fairies!” Nikifor’s descended into a coughing fit. His wits returned with customary reluctance to inform him he was probably about to be murdered by an angry Bloody Fairy and there was nothing he could do about it.

  The woman calmed, but not by much. The fire blocked out all vision of her face. “Why? What are you anyway, a pair of giant Freakin Fairies?”

  “Flower?” Nikifor said. “Where is Flower?” Fear slid into rage at the thought something might have befallen her at the hands of this unknown enemy. “Flower!” he roared. “I swear to Shadow if they’ve hurt you I will seek vengeance!”

  “Shut him up,” the woman said.

  “I told you you hit him too hard. Probably knocked his brains loose.” A hand shoved a gag in his mouth.

  A shuffle and a thump followed by a gasp for air told him they’d turned their attention to Flower.

  “You,” the woman said. “Tell me where your king is!”

  Flower’s reply was calm and measured, and told Nikifor she was unharmed. “I don’t know,” she said. “The king is missing.”

  The woman snorted. “Him and everyone else.”

  The flames retreated. When Nikifor’s vision cleared, the darkness had been banished by a ring of torches bordering a big, sandy cave crowded with busy forms.

  A woman moved into the light. She couldn’t have been much more than five foot tall. The sides of her head were shaved, while dreadlocks pinned to the middle of her scalp reached halfway down her back, all of them decorated with shiny beads, crystals and stones. She wore a vest and pants that looked as though they’d been cobbled together from pieces of animal hide using a fishbone. Her skin was tanned dark by living outdoors and her grim, weathered face bore several deep scars.

  She looked at Flower expectantly.

  Flower betrayed nothing. Instead, she spoke again in the same even tones. “Bloody Fairies. I might have guessed. Perhaps you would be so good as to remove my friend’s gag. He’s been cursed by the Freakin Fairies, he can’t help what comes out of his mouth at the moment, but he won’t harm you.”

  The woman jerked her head. A boy of perhaps twelve snatched the gag from him and quickly retreated.

  Nikifor took a deep breath and swallowed a few times to try and remove the bad taste from his mouth. When he was quite sure he could breathe again, he returned his attention to the Bloody Fairy. He wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t look away. Words froze in his throat. The Tormentor stood behind her, bent over her, ran long fingers over her snarled hair. He looked right at Nikifor; those depthless eyes made his spine prickle.

  “What are you staring at, Muse?” the fairy pulled a knife from her belt and walked to him.

  Nikifor couldn’t reply. Even while she walked, the Tormentor ran a hand down her arm, leaving a bloody mark there.

  The fairy circled behind him. “So if you’re Flower,” she said, “who is this?” She grabbed Nikifor’s hair and jerked his head back.

  “His name is Nikifor.” Flower’s voice developed an edge. “Look what do you want from us because-”

  “I want to know where your king is,” the fairy said. “Now.”

  “I told you, we don’t know!”

  “You’re lying.” She yanked on Nikifor’s hair, bringing tears to his eyes. “Want to know how I know?”

  “Stop hurting him!” Flower struggled with her bonds.

  “I know,” the fairy continued, “because if you were really Flower and Nikifor you’d know me. But you don’t, so you’re obviously imposters.”

  Nikifor twisted his head to look at Flower’s face in the firelight. Her confusion reflected his.

  “How could I know you?” she protested. “I fought the Vampire Wars with the Bloody Fairies, but I don’t recognise-” she hesitated. “No, wait. I think I fought them. I seem to remember–”

  The fairy’s knife flashed past Nikifor’s face. Cold steel pricked at his throat. “Go on, Muse,” she said. “Think harder.”

  The Tormentor bent over Nikifor. He closed his eyes to block out the sight, but when he did that he saw a young girl with long, long black hair who scowled at him and-

  He flinched. No. Somehow the sight of her frightened him even more.

  “Wait!” Flower said. “Of course I remember you, you’re-” she stopped again.

  “I’m losing patience,” the woman said. “You’re obviously false muses. Tell me where your king is or I’ll start opening veins and see if this one bleeds or smokes.”

  “False muses?” Flower’s voice was sharp.

  The girl with the long, long hair looked up at Nikifor with big dark eyes. She looked serious and angry at the same time and Nikifor knew, more certainly than he’d known anything in decades, that he knew her.

  “You have to fight him,” she said.

  His breath rasped out. The name formed on his lips even as the Tormentor reached out for him with grasping fingers he knew he could not escape.

  “Hippy Ishtar!” he roared.

  The Tormentor gave a hiss of fury and retreated, but the fairy woman planted a foot in his back and tumbled him to the ground, face bright red with fury. “How dare you say her name?”

  “I knew her.” He focused on the Tormentor leaning over the fairy and vented his frustration at that shadow. “I knew her and I know she helped me.
You can’t take that away from me!”

  The fairy moved away from him, deflated. A flash of light from the torch laid the raw grief bare in her face. “Cat, Scathach, cut them loose,” she said. “It’s really them.”

  Two children who could have been identical twins moved in, slashed their bonds and disappeared into the shadows just as quickly.

  Nikifor sat up and chafed his wrists. Flower moved quickly over to him. “Are you alright?”

  He nodded, but he kept his eyes on the fairy.

  “I don’t understand,” Flower said.

  “We had to be sure it was you.” The woman scowled around at her companions. “Well what are you waiting for? This is as good a camp as any. Get a fire lit and some food on. Cat, take your sister and find some water. You three hide that cave mouth, no doubt there’ll be Moon Troopers looking for these two tonight.”

  The fairies jumped to obey orders. Within moments a fire crackled in the centre of the cave, filling the high roof with smoke.

  The fairy woman squatted by the flames and beckoned them over.

  Nikifor moved the short distance and stretched his hands to the fire. They trembled. The Tormentor was not far, he was never far, but he’d won a victory. He felt it in his blood.

  The fairy sighed. “What are you two doing messing about with Freakin Fairies?”

  Flower gave her a wary look. “I’d be happy to tell you if I had a name to call you by.”

  The woman met her gaze steadily. “My name is Ishtar Ishtar.”

  “Ishtar.” Flower frowned. “I seem to–no, that can’t be right.”

  “Did I knock you both a bit too hard on your unusually large heads?” Ishtar scowled across the flames. “You were the only muse brave enough to bring me any news after your so-called king stole my sister away to Dream. I know it’s been twenty-five years, but I’m not that hard to remember.”

  Flower massaged her own temples. “It’s the oddest thing. I know I fought with Bloody Fairies. I know I knew many of you, the whole thing is like a buzz in the back of my mind, but anytime I try to pin a single detail down, I just can’t.”

  Ishtar looked thoughtful. “Sounds like someone’s been messing with you.”

  Flower snapped to her usual inflexible certainty like a spring. “Impossible.”

  Ishtar shrugged. “You keep telling yourself that.” She turned her attention to Nikifor. “And what’s wrong with him?”

  Nikifor met her eyes and was troubled by the similarity to the eyes of the girl in his vision. He couldn’t even begin to frame an answer to her question.

  “He’s a vibe addict.” Flower’s words were clipped and cold. “We came to seek the help of the Freakin Fairies to cure him.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Sort of, until they cursed him.”

  Ishtar chuckled. “You must have been desperate. Freakin Fairies are completely nuts, you know.”

  “Why do you seek our king, Ishtar?” Flower asked.

  Ishtar’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think? He killed my sister. He must die.”

  Flower and Nikifor’s indrawn breaths were simultaneous and shocked. Flower went for a non-existent weapon. Nikifor fought back a blind panic. “You cannot kill the king!” he boomed.

  Ishtar scowled. “Keep your voice down, Curse Boy.”

  “But he’s right!” Flower shifted onto her knees. “The king is Shadow! You kill him, you bring our whole world to an end!”

  “Says who? The king? He would.” Ishtar slammed a fist into her hand to punctuate the point. “My sister brought the vamp wars to an end by killing the vamp king, and for her troubles she was murdered. She must be avenged.”

  “Hippy Ishtar died of wounds she sustained fighting the vampire king!” Flower snapped.

  “That’s a lie, I was there, I saw her die and I saw the muse king walk away from her!”

  “He would never have done that!” Flower flushed bright red. “He loved her!” She stopped and looked at Nikifor uncertainly. “Didn’t he?”

  “I’m telling you, someone’s messed with you,” Ishtar said, before Nikifor could reply. “You need help.” She turned her gaze to Nikifor. “You, on the other hand-” she paused and heaved a sigh. “You helped my sister. And then she saved your life. I know, because her Freakin Fairy friend told me. He gave me something to give to you, should I ever see you again.”

  “Freakin Fairy friend?” Nikifor’s voice wavered. He searched desperately back through his mind for something, anything, but all he found were whispers and shadows. “What friend?”

  “He had a funny name. Tick Tock or Clockwork or something. He was a Silver.” Ishtar disappeared into the shadowed parts of the cave. She returned bearing a long parcel wrapped in tattered cloth, which she handed over the fire with a certain amount of reverence. “Guard it well, Muse. This is the weapon Hippy Ishtar used to kill the vamp king.”

  Nikifor laid the parcel across his lap and slowly unwrapped it. Firelight danced off a silver handle. The rags fell away from double axe blades gone dull from years without use or care. He curled his hand around the shaft and lifted it further into the light. The whispers and shadows hardened to fragments in his mind. The blades smashed into stone carvings, high on a wall. Rubble rained down in front of him. “I remember this,” he said. “I remember this magnificent weapon! I remember-”

  He was back in the Tormentor’s domain so fast it made his head spin, but the Tormentor was not there, just the girl with the long hair. She stormed toward him and grabbed his face with fingers so cold they bit into his bones. Anger bled through her words. “Your destiny is to kill the muse king!”

  Nikifor yelled in terror and came back to himself standing in the cave, brandishing a double-headed axe.

  Several Bloody Fairies launched themselves on him and knocked him to the ground. He heard Ishtar speak, although she sounded miles away. “Was he always this much of a loose wheel?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The case of the girl with the pink hair was more than irritating, it was worrisome. The girl’s need to write battered against the veil between Shadow and Dream like a cannonball fired again and again and again. She didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just pick up her damn pen and make words.

  She found her nose to nose with a young man with spiky blonde hair and thick glasses. Their faces were bright red. The girl’s clenched fists quivered. “I can’t believe you! You know how important this is to me, you could at least try to understand!”

  “But it’s crazy!” he struggled to control his voice. “I know they’re just stories, and I know we both grew up on them, but look at the way your mother is already! You’re only going to encourage her!”

  Stories? Flower scowled. This boy was the kind of human who didn’t need a muse. Narrow, closed off and probably obsessed with logic. No wonder her charge had such bad writer’s block.

  “Don’t you talk about my mother, Drew Smithers!” The girl jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. “There’s nothing wrong with her. Putting the stories down on paper would probably be good for her!”

  “As good as a hole in the head!” They glared at each other like children about to come to blows over a toy.

  Drew calmed down first. He took the girl’s hand. “Come on. All our lives we’ve kept each other sane when my mother and your parents-” he hesitated “-weren’t. I’m just concerned you’re going to get sucked into their fantasies and turn out like-”

  The girl’s nostrils flared. The room went positively icy.

  “Like what?”

  Drew threw up his hands. “I’m not talking to you when you’re like this. Write what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all goes wrong.” He stormed out.

  The girl kicked the door closed after him and scowled at it for a full three seconds. Then she flung herself into her chair and picked up the pen that lay on the desk.

  At last. Flower bent over her shoulder so she could whisper into her ear. “Don’t listen to him. You can
write whatever you want. Just do it. Just write, for Shadow’s sake, you’re making me look bad.”

  The girl put the pen to the paper. Instead of writing however, she scratched out six fat letters with jagged edges and elongated corners, colouring each one in as she went.

  Flower stopped whispering, hypnotised by those letters. Her heart hammered and her spine prickled.

  The girl threw the pen down, picked up her hockey stick and swung it a couple of times. The very air in the room grew charged and electric. Flower knew that feeling, but couldn’t for the life of her remember how. She grabbed at the girl to try and stop her, but her immaterial hands touched nothing.

  The air shimmered. A smoky grey that she knew all too well hardened in the room. It was barely two weeks since she’d left that very smoky grey behind in Shadow City.

  “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop it, you’re opening a doorway!”

  The girl noticed nothing. She sighed, put the stick over her shoulder and left the room. The doorway in the air closed as though nothing had ever been there.

  Flower looked back at the notebook again, still hardly able to believe the one word her charge had managed to write.

  Ishtar.

  She woke in the cave with a suddenness that left her head spinning. It was dark except for the few glowing coals in the fireplace. Nikifor slept fitfully under the guard of two fairies, themselves dozing. Bats rustled softly in the roof. Frogs chirped far away in the night.

  Only Ishtar was awake, sitting hunched over the fire, her eyes a mere gleam in the darkness.

  “Ishtar?” Flower made her way to the fire and sat across from her.

  “What, Muse?”

  The urgency of her question made Flower clench her fists in her lap. “Who is the girl with the pink hair? Do you know her?”

  Ishtar snorted. “What are you babbling about?”

  “There’s a human in Dream. At least I think she’s a human. She’s one of my charges, but she won’t write. Not a word until tonight, and then she wrote your name.”

  Ishtar picked up a short dagger and used the tip to clean dirt from under her nails. “My name?”