Nastasha stared back, horrified. Her neck burned. Electric spasms of pain racked her throat. Her limbs throbbed, paralyzed by psychic venom. “What do you want?” she struggled to ask.
“Patience!” Raquel was still learning how to apply her power, and the strong-willed Nastasha wasn’t easy to subdue. Jaimin had been so much easier. “I’ve never been inside a girl’s mind before. There’s too much crap in here to sift through.”
Nastasha had no patience for this.
“Augh!” The red face suddenly bellowed. “Oh, look at that! I hate you!” it screamed.
Agony shook and wrenched Nastasha from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. “You disgust me!” the face yelled. Raquel’s real mouth dripped drool, which ran down Nastasha’s neck. “Augh! You’ve got lots of awful little secrets in here, don’t you?”
“Let me go!” sobbed Nastasha, her eyes starting to burn from being locked open.
“Not until I find what I’m looking for”
“What… What… What are you looking for?”
“Just a… Okay, sweetie, I found it,” gibed Raquel’s evil visage. “Oh, and you may as well forget about the prince. He’s mine now. And that peasant Elaina will be dead before the moon comes up.”
“No!” Nastasha shrieked, but Raquel clenched her hands around her victim’s neck and squeezed as firmly as she could, stifling the blood flow to her brain. Nastasha, powerless, watched a thousand fuchsia spots appear and thicken until she could see nothing at all. She passed out.
Raquel’s real eyes rolled forward to their normal position. “That’s okay, beauty-pie,” she said, pulling down Nastasha’s covers. “Take a nap and leave everything to me.” She heaved Nastasha’s limp body into the bed and tucked her in.
Raquel left the castle and headed straight for Elaina’s house. She knew it would be too risky to confront Elaina directly, so she snuck onto the farm, pulled Lairen and Tran aside one at a time, and “explained” to them their roles.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Elaina returned from the barn, wishing she could conserve her energy for her time with Jem instead of having to cook dinner for her housemates. She flung her cloak onto its peg, and missed. She never missed. She hadn’t lied to Jem when she said there was room in her life for him, but maybe there wasn’t quite room enough for all the other things she needed to do.
She hadn’t expected to live at the farm much longer, anyway. She’d get her own apartment in the city once she started at the museum. Lairen had already started looking for someone to take over her chores.
Tran sat cross-legged on the living room floor, counting the coins he’d earned during the week at the mill.
Elaina hung her cloak properly, changed clothes, scrubbed up, and got to slicing a slab of beef for the stew. “Where’s your dad?” she asked Tran.
“Him and Garman went down to the port. They’re staying overnight.”
Elaina frowned. That’s unusual, she thought. The port’s not that far—there’s no reason for them to spend the night. “Why are they staying there?”
“They’re picking up some fish and staying with an old friend of Garman’s.”
Now she was even more confused. The family had plenty of fish in cold storage, and Lairen wasn’t the type to lodge in a stranger’s home. Uncomfortable with the idea of staying alone with Tran, Elaina decided she’d sleep at Alessa’s house.
Tran got up, moseyed into the kitchen, leaned back on his elbows against the counter opposite her, and watched her work. “I think I’ll stay at Alessa’s house tonight,” she said, deftly sawing the bloody beef into strips. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in the morning to make you breakfast.”
“I was thinking,” Tran said. Elaina found it unusual that he’d even admit this. “I was thinking that you cook for me three times a day, you live in my house, and I don’t talk to you very much.”
This was true, thought Elaina, although it was probably just as well. She wondered why he’d brought it up. She couldn’t remember him ever acknowledging the work she did for the family. “It’s all right, Tran,” she said politely, trying to stay focused on her cutting so she wouldn’t lose a finger. “We’re both busy all the time.”
“Well, I think I should talk to you more.”
“O…kay,” she said, unsure of what they would discuss, but being respectful as she always was.
“Because you’re so pretty and all,” he added.
Yikes! Elaina thought. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him now, so she kept slicing and hoped he’d drop the subject. Better yet, maybe she could give him something to do! “Tran, would you please be kind and bring me some horseradish from the basement? You know where it is, right?”
“You didn’t hear me, huh?” he said. “I said you were pretty. That’s a compliment.”
“And it sure is a nice one,” she said, still looking down. “Thank you.” A chilly breeze that smelled of the outdoors touched her face. Was the window open? Pretty?
Suddenly, she felt his hands clutch her hips. He’d slid up right behind her. “I was also thinking I should make you my girlfriend,” he said, his foul breath hot against her neck.
She strengthened her grip on the weighty knife. “Whoa,” she said, her voice dropping an octave in pitch, “I’m not interested in you that way. And I’d ask you not to touch me.”
“Elaina,” he said. He never called her by her name. “Why don’t you let me change your mind?” He pressed his fingers tighter on her hips.
“I’m warning you, Tran. Get your hands off me. You’re hurting me.”
Next, Tran spoke in a voice she’d never heard before from him—a coarse, gravelly voice. “You won’t even give me a chance?”
“I’ve given you a chance. A chance to get off me,” she said. If this were a stranger on the street, she thought, the knife would be in him already. But this was Tran. He’d never shown any tendency toward physical aggression. Maybe with his friends, but never with her. What was wrong with him? Had he got into Lairen’s locked liquor cabinet? She couldn’t smell alcohol on his breath. If he fought with her, and she stabbed him and ran, what would Lairen do? Would she be arrested?
In hesitating, she lost possession of the knife. Tran grabbed her wrist, and she released the blade, sending it spinning across the cutting block. She lunged for it, but he locked her in a bear hug. The fight was on.
“You creep! Get off me!” she screamed. She stomped on his dirty bare feet, jabbed him with her elbows, and tried to bite his hands.
Tran endured her struggling for a time, but he tired of the dance, and she was getting in some good jabs. Shifting his stance, with a flick of his hip he flung her to the floor. She tried to break her fall, but the side of her head struck the unyielding tile with a grisly chonk.
Shaking off the impact, she flipped onto her back to face him. Before she could back away, he pounced on her, pinning one of her arms to the floor with one hand. In his other hand, he had the knife.
Elaina grabbed his hair to yank him off her, but when he pressed the oily blade up against her throat she let him go and froze.
“Okay, I’ll… I’ll… be your girlfriend!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” she pleaded, desperate to keep the blade, which she’d sharpened herself only that morning, from sinking into her neck. “I love you, Tran! I was just pretending I wasn’t interested. You know how silly I can be. Crazy, you know…”
For a moment, Tran seemed unsure of what to do, then he snarled under his breath: “If she fights you, kill her.”
He’s not buying it! He’s going to cut me! Seconds away from death, Elaina pulled together all her resources, which, at that time, were limited to those she wasn’t quite familiar with. She peered deep into his fiery eyes and let out a piercing scream—only no sound came from her lips.
Instead, a muffled pop came from within Tran’s head, like someone stomping on kelp. His eyes crossed. With her free hand, she frantically grabbed for the knife’s h
andle as the boy fell limp on top of her.
Bloody fluid raced out of Tran’s ears and down his face, soaking into Elaina’s white work shirt.
Tran?
What just happened?
The blood ran darker now from Tran’s ears, carrying tiny chunks of pink.
“Ew! Ew! Tran?” Is he dead?
Elaina couldn’t confirm whether he was or wasn’t, because the knife’s lethal edge was still at her neck. She’d have to be very careful how she moved.
Painstakingly, she peeled the boy’s thick fingers from the handle and slid the blade off toward her left a jiggle at a time. At one point, a pinch told her the edge had grazed her skin, and she stopped to reposition the blade. She knew she had to ease it out sideways; if she pushed it straight back it would meet resistance on Tran’s flaccid arm and rebound into her neck. When the knife was finally clear, she let it drop to the tile floor.
She searched Tran’s neck for a pulse. This just made more blood gush from his ears, so she stopped.
She’d never imagined that she would, or even could, kill anyone, but she was certain Tran was quite beyond help, and that it was her soul’s scream that had done him in. She wriggled the boy’s flabby body off of her, and it flopped over so that he was lying on his back, his vacant eyes fixed open.
Shivering, she eased herself up into a sitting position, inched toward a cupboard and sat against it on the floor, hugging her knees.
She closed her eyes, took in short, shallow gulps of air, and tried to convince herself none of it had happened.
I’m not in the kitchen, she told herself, I’m out for a walk on a lovely morning. Each time reality beckoned, she buried the emotions, quashed the scolding internal voices, and reached for peaceful thoughts.
Then she tried something new: she rocked forward and back, forward and back, humming a soothing tune Alessa had taught her long ago. When her breath gave out and she could no longer repeat the tune, she opened her eyes and sat still, staring at a table leg. She couldn’t bring herself to look in the direction of the body again. She knew she’d still find Tran as soulless as the fatty slices of beef on the block above him.
Minutes ticked by. She thought she heard a horse outside, but she shushed that thought along with all the other ones that nagged.
When Alessa burst through the door in a panic, Elaina jumped, snapping out of her stupor. “Elaina, where are you?” Alessa scanned the living areas and found the gruesome scene in the kitchen.
Elaina stood and ran into the arms of her friend. Finally, the tears flowed. She sobbed and sniffled, with spasms of fear shooting through her body. Alessa stroked her back. “It’s not your fault, honey. It’s not your fault.”
She led Elaina into her bedroom, sat her down on the edge of the bed, and helped her peel off her blood-soaked shirt. Using cold, wet towels from the bathroom, Alessa washed off most of what had oozed out of Tran onto Elaina’s skin and into her hair. A nasty welt had formed on the side of Elaina’s head, and the nick on her neck was starting to itch. “Are you dizzy? Can you see okay?” Alessa asked, handing her a clean shirt.
“I can see fine.” Elaina’s voice was weak and raspy. “But I’m freezing. And very thirsty.”
Alessa knelt down before her distraught friend. “I have to go clean up the mess. I’m sorry. I have to leave you alone for just a little bit.”
“I killed him.”
“I know.”
“What am I, Alessa?”
“You’re the same lovely girl you were yesterday, and the day before that. You just—defended yourself.”
“I can’t believe it. Tran! Will I be arrested? Are they going to lock me up?”
“No,” said Alessa. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. Now, I need you to do something. Can you do something for me?”
Elaina nodded.
“Pack your things—all of them. What you don’t have room for in bags, stack in piles. You’re going to live with me from now on.” Alessa kissed Elaina’s clammy forehead, then brought her a blanket and a cup of water from the bathroom. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” Alessa left, pulling the door shut behind her.
Elaina’s thoughts raced. She wanted to waste no time in getting away. Surely someone had gone to fetch Lairen, and she was in no condition to explain to the farmer what had happened—what she had done—to his only son.
As she sorted her things, she heard voices in the kitchen—male voices. She figured it had to be the authorities, ready to drag her off to jail, even though Alessa had promised her this wasn’t going to happen.
When Alessa returned, Elaina was sitting on her bare mattress chewing her nails. She had packed or stacked everything she owned. “Bring a few things now,” Alessa said, “and I’ll come back later for the rest.”
They made their way out through the dining room, where several men in plain clothes stood chatting. Elaina tried not to look into the kitchen, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Tran’s body hadn’t yet been moved. One of the men, a familiar fellow with a kind face, approached her. He also had a second face: far from kind, but just as familiar. Elaina gasped when she saw it.
“I knew you’d be trouble, you filthy worm,” scoffed Devon’s ghostly double. “Look at the mess you’ve made now.”
Alessa smacked Devon as hard as she could, knocking him onto his back on the dining table. Enraged, she grasped the investigator by his shirt and yanked him up into her face. “That’s crossing the line,” she said. “Finish what you came here for and don’t ever come near her again.”
Devon backed off, and the ladies left the farm.
Jaimin prepared for another thrilling date with Elaina, unaware that his girlfriend had almost had her throat slit and that Nastasha was unconscious. Now that Elaina knew he was the prince, he could don his finest clothes. He selected from his wardrobe a luxurious shirt of forest green with fine gold embroidery, and thick, woven black pants. As he still had to pass through part of the city, however, he needed to cover up with a nondescript cloak. He brought another present for his new love: a dark blue sapphire cabochon the width of a thumbnail, which he had polished to utter perfection using his mending.
After informing the guard at his door he was turning in early, the prince lit a candle, depressed the stones in his cloak closet and stepped into the dank space between the walls.
Jaimin had become familiar with his escape route. He descended the first ladder, and started down the passageway. He couldn’t see much farther than he could reach; his candle wasn’t bright, and the passageway was curved.
Had he brought a better light, he might have noticed the gloved hand before it brushed his cheek. A ghostly face, grinning triumphantly, emerged from a niche in the wall.
“You’re going the wrong way,” said the floating apparition, in a soothing, otherworldly voice. The face was Raquel’s, as was the face in the shadows behind it.
Instantly paralyzed, Jaimin dropped his candle, and the gloved hand deftly caught it. “My room is back that way,” said the luminous face, its eyes indicating the direction from which Jaimin had come. “You’ll walk with me then, and say nothing.”
The mask vanished, leaving only the human Raquel to plague Jaimin. She had on a black shawl over her red satin gown. Her scarlet gloves hugged her lanky arms all the way up to her elbows. “This is the night you become mine,” she said, slinking her arm around his waist.
He walked with her in silence, compelled by the commands she’d given. “I hope you don’t mind if we spend some time in my room. We wouldn’t want that guard in front of yours to overhear us.”
Jaimin was furious. And now his memory of her treachery at the funeral was starting to return.
“Ever since I discovered my new ability this summer,” she said, “I’ve thought to myself: ‘Raquel, the throne is well within your grasp. Why don’t you reach out and take it?’”
“Of course,” she continued, “I could have dazzled you with my captivating charm. I expect it wou
ld have been tremendous fun to seduce you.” She swung out in front of the helpless prince, gripped his cheeks, and kissed him deeply and fervently. She was an adept kisser, but her one-sided advances sickened him, and she knew it. It had never been about what he wanted, though, so she just kept on tasting him until she was satisfied.
Shivering with pleasure, she resumed her escort position, and continued her grating monologue: “It would have been fun, but risky. And why take any risk at all? If you’re given a special gift, it’s meant to be used.”
“Nastasha is deeply in love with you,” she continued, “and why you would run off and bag someone else is beyond even my comprehension. But men do the strangest things, don’t they?” She tousled his hair as if he were a cute toddler. He itched to pummel her—if only she’d loosen her grip on his mind! “But as of today, my precious prince, it’s just you and me. We no longer have to concern ourselves with those other girls. Nastasha has forgotten she was ever your friend, and Elaina is dead.”
That did it. Jaimin was so stunned by this news, the spell weakened. He stopped walking.
“Oh, yes! There you go! Resist me!” she said. “Please, go ahead. I’m curious about the limits of my power.” She tugged his arm and he again was walking. “See, back under my control.” They came upon a ladder, and she went down first. Hollow steel rungs rang under her soles; Jaimin prayed someone would hear the noise. She found the right spot in the wall, unlatched the secret door to her own bedroom and pushed her captive out through the cloaks.
Her windowless room was decorated in shades of red and brown. Candles burned on the dresser. The bed had been turned down, and the satin top sheet and a lavish assortment of pillows had been shoved off onto the floor. Beside the bed, an ugly padded chair looked as if it had been dragged in just for the occasion.
Raquel blew out the candle and threw it down. “Sit in the chair,” she ordered. “It’s easier if I can walk around you.” Jaimin had no choice but to obey. Coming up beside him, she brought her mouth close to his earlobe and nibbled on it, sending chills of the most unwelcome kind rippling down the prince’s spine. “We have plenty of time together tonight. I need to get into that head of yours and find out all your secrets. Then I’m going to use you to get all the things I want. I’m warning you, My Royal Highness, it’s going to hurt. But you’ll forgive me. I’ll make sure you do.”
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