Rumpel's Prize

by Marie Hall

  An immediate transformation overcame him then. No more was he dripping that sexual magnetism—now he was deadly serious. His features were stern, cold even.

  With a snap of his fingers, the food disappeared as it had last night. “Come with me.”

  Turning on his heel, he didn’t glance back to see if she followed. He led her through a winding maze of corridor after corridor and each step only increased her anxiety. Her heart was racing, her palms so sweaty she had to continually rub them down the front of her dress. Again, just as every other time, there was no one lingering about the castle. It was vast and eerily empty. Rows of tall glass cases—easily as tall as Rumpel himself—lined the walls, each one holding some item. In one was a knight’s suit of armor, in another a marble stand with a jade vase resting atop it, in a third was a stand with a crystal skull. On and on and on it went, treasures beyond imagining filling each case.

  Everywhere she turned, she was surrounded by wealth, by jewels and gold and the smell of lemony wax and the rich scent of myrrh. Flickering lanterns swinging from hooks was the only light they had.

  The carpet beneath their feet was so thick it completely muted their footsteps and it seemed almost like a soundless dream. Shayera went from looking at wonders to staring at his back, at the broad width of his shoulders, the long length of his hair. He was a study in opposites—snarling in one breath, laughing in another. He rode a magicked steed and dressed in leather and jeans, and now he looked as princely as Dalia had claimed he was.

  Huffing, she turned her eyes. The last thing she needed was to wonder too much about him; wondering led to curiosity, curiosity led to emotion, emotion led to bad, bad things.

  She’d been curious once before and had very nearly died because of it. Hamish had been crazed. She’d thought him her friend, had never expected he’d turn on her as he had. If her father hadn’t heard her screams, she dreaded to think where she’d be now.

  Shivering, she hugged her arms to her chest and that’s when she noticed another case. It wasn’t so much the case that caught her eye but the contents of it.

  Mostly because everything else had been so grand: dragons prepared by a taxidermist with jewels embedded in their scales; swirling metallic ash that she had no doubt was some form of destructive agent; genie lamps; golden apples; ancient-looking tomes that, even encased within glass as they were, almost seemed to pulse with some sort of dark power; and then an ecru-colored, moth-bitten shawl that in no way appeared special.

  Frowning, she stopped in front of it. “What is this, Rumpel?” she asked, curious enough to finally break the thick silence.

  At first she thought that maybe he wouldn’t stop or might pretend he hadn’t heard her.

  But he turned, and not looking at her, shook his head. “It is nothing.” His deep voice echoed down the vastness of the stone walls.

  But she hadn’t missed the clenching of his fingers and the tensing of a muscle in his cheek.

  “Are you dragging your heels, Carrot?” he growled, finally turning his gimlet eye on her. “Wasn’t it you who said let us hurry?”

  Twisting her lips and realizing she’d struck a nerve—and likely a very deep one based on the condescension he now threw at her—she gestured for him to continue leading her. “Yes.”

  “Good, because we’re here.”

  And suddenly the massive dimensions of the castle shifted, and where before there’d been endless miles of hall, now they stood within an absolutely empty chamber. There was nothing on the walls, floor, or ceiling. It was stone and nothing more.

  She had to wonder if his leading her down the hall had been little more than a ruse meant to increase her anxiety. If so, the man was a master manipulator, not surprising considering who he was.

  “Clever, troll.” She laughed.

  And his eyes widened before quickly thinning. Again he was clenching his fists. “Thus begins your first test. Whatever you do, make sure to pass, or the consequences will be dire.”

  With those parting words, he vanished.

  Rumpel stood on the other side of a wall that worked in many ways like a two-way mirror. To Shayera it would seem as though she was in a room of stone, but he could see everything she did.

  Sitting on his throne of gold-plated horned skulls, he glowered. She was walking about the room, tracing long-boned, delicate fingers along the wall, curiosity burning bright in her clear gaze.

  Looking high and low, she bent over to study the floor, revealing a long expanse of impossibly fine-honed and supple thighs so ivory white that they appeared to gleam with a natural luminescence.

  Something about the woman unnerved him: his reactions to her every slightest gesture, her imperial manner, and how she seemed determined to ignore his baiting. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d seen beauty aplenty, had helped create some of the most beautiful objects in the whole of the galaxies. There was an intellect that burned brightly behind the striking façade and that intrigued him. His desire to touch her, to trace the delicate flesh of her body, increased with each meeting.

  Then she’d asked about Caratina’s shawl and he’d snapped. He never snapped, not because someone was curious.

  “She is a fine one to look upon, massster.” Giles’s smoky form materialized beside him.

  “Yes.”

  Ruby-red eyes shone brightly as they stared at Shayera through the demarcation.

  “You do not touch her,” Rumpel said with a definite growl in his voice.

  Giles was handsome, as were all demone. He had an angularity about his features, which were both sharp and birdlike, but that gave him an exotic appeal to the fairer sex, and normally Rumpel did not care what his demone did with his wards. So long as the acts were consensual, it was no matter to him.

  For reasons beyond him, this time it did matter.

  Quirking a thick brow, his valet quickly assessed the warning and nodded. “As you wish. Would you rather I fetch another, sir?”

  Clenching his jaw when Shayera exposed even more of her shapely form, he shook his head. “You know the rules of the game better than the rest—it is you or no one.”

  A delicate frown tipped Shayera’s brows as she turned around in a slow circle, looking completely perplexed by the mystery of the empty room.

  “Judge her hard,” Rumpel said. Then, with a flick of his fingers, the game well and truly began.

  ~*~

  Suddenly the world was alive with chaos and noise. Shayera gasped, twirling on her heel as she stared at a world completely foreign and alien to her own. She was in a city center, but there were sights and sounds she’d never actually seen in her real life.

  Giant monolithic structures that moved on wheels roared past her. She knew them to be buses because mother had often told her stories of Earth, had read her books from her previous world.

  Yellow, smaller vehicles that she assumed to be cabs sped past on the befouled streets. Pedestrians moved in random, shifting patterns around her. Some even barreled into her shoulders, glaring at her when she gasped in surprise at their rudeness.

  Latching on to her throbbing shoulder, she stared at the man in the brown suit and thick glasses who was glaring at her.

  “Watch it!” he said in a loud, strange accent before disappearing into the thick crowd.

  “Move!” a girl called and then hands shoved into her back.

  And then there were more hands and more yelling and Shayera had never been more terrified than she was of the horrific sounds which were accompanied by a putrid smell, the mixture of excrement and urine and the rot of fish. Buildings towered as high as the eye could see and her bare feet were bloody from stepping on sharp stones and glass. She had no shoes on. Where had they gone?

  Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, and the only safe place she could see was a tiny knoll of grass a few paces back. Wiping her eyes, she ran for the grass, for the peace and quiet that she desperately needed in order to understand what’d just happened to her.

  Wrapping her
arms around the massive trunk of an oak tree, she inhaled deeply as the bark scratched into her cheek, not caring that it was scraping her open. Where was she?

  The garden was less chaotic, but it was still full of people. Some lounged on grass, tilting their faces skyward toward the sun. Others were huddled in groups and playing instruments or singing loudly and off-key, but they didn’t seem to care how terrible they sounded.

  Children ran around, some of them holding kites and flying them above a vast expanse of water that stretched out on the left side of the gardens. The sea of life was crushing and she hadn’t a clue why she was here or what she should do.

  “Hey lady,” a small voice piped up, and at first she hadn’t expected that voice to be actually trying to talk to her, so she ignored it. Until it spoke again. “Hey!” This time a tug at the hem of her dress was accompanied by a little girl’s shrill voice.

  Terrified of allowing anyone to touch her—her arms were decently covered but not her legs—she jumped back and grabbed hold of her chest, stuttering, “What?”

  Heart racing, hands trembling, she stared at the little thing. She couldn’t be more than nine or ten, and her hair was long and dirty, obviously in need of a good washing. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt and her nails black. She wore a pink dress that was a size too big and had on flat shoes with holes at the toes.

  She looked like a street urchin and Shayera’s heart instantly melted. “Girl, where is your mother?”

  The child laughed. “Mom? Yeah, her. She’s got a needle shoved in her vein right now and is probably passed out on the floor somewheres.”

  “What?” Shayera blinked at the blunt manner of the little one; she appeared to not be upset or even much disturbed by the fact that her mother could even now be dangerously ill. “Shouldn’t you—”

  Sneering, she held up a small hand. “Save it. I don’t got time. When she wakes up she’ll expect me to have dinner ready. You got any cash on you?”

  “What?” She frowned, patting her dress. She had no pockets and had no idea what this cash was. “I don’t under—”

  “Bread. Money. Greenbacks. Cash.” She rubbed her fingers together, her bright green eyes glinting with steel and determination. “Look, Paco’s right over there,” she said and pointed at another equally pitiful-looking urchin, except this one was much older, late teens, and had a greedy, terrible look about him that Shayera instantly distrusted. “He says we should just beat ya for it, but I told him that you looked nice and maybe if we just asked you’d give it to me.”

  Mouth dry, pulse still thundering in her eardrums, Shayera grimaced. “I’ve got nothing. I don’t even know where I am. I don’t… I’m sorry…” She shook her head, feeling more discombobulated than ever and strangely on the verge of tears. Leaving her parents and the only home she’d ever known hadn’t been as terrifying as suddenly finding herself dropped in a strange and foreign land full of people she didn’t know.

  This had to be Earth. It had to be, which begged the question what had Rumpel done to her? Why had he sent her here? Was this part of the game?

  The girl sighed. “You’re nuts, ain’t ya, lady? Escape from the loony bin or what?” Her hard eyes glared at Shayera.

  “What? No,” she snapped. “Where am I?”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide and then she planted her hands on her hips. “You running from somethin’? How could you not know where you’re at? Look around, isn’t it obvious?” A dirty finger pointed at a spot over Shayera’s shoulder.

  Twisting, she followed the girl’s gesture and spotted a giant green figure—statue more likely—perched on a massive island in the middle of the murky, bluish-gray water. Racking her brain for the niggling worm of a memory, she knew she’d seen that statue somewhere before. In one of Mother’s picture books, but where? From what?

  “New York, lady! Damn, you really is nuts. Look, sorry I ever bothered you.”

  The girl turned to go and Shayera couldn’t just let her walk away, this was the first human contact she’d had that was somewhat helpful. “No, wait!” She held out a hand. “Please, I’ve got nowhere to go. I don’t know how to get back to where I’m from. I need…” Feeling a sense of disgust at her current predicament, she thinned her lips. Was she really going to beg a child for help? One who’d just admitted that her mother was off somewhere, doing Goddess knew what, and here she was begging for money so that she could feed them?

  She couldn’t throw herself on the girl, but she did not help.

  “Police!” She smiled, so thankful her mother had taken the time to teach her of this land’s strange customs. “Take me to the police and then I promise I will leave you alone.”

  The little girl narrowed her eyes. “Why you wanna go to the police? They’ll just throw you back in the loony bin.”

  “I swear, I’m not escaped from an asylum.” At least that’s what Shayera thought the girl meant by loony bin. “But I’m lost and have no cash,” she said, hoping she was using the correct wording.

  The little girl seemed to consider it for a bit before finally nodding. “Yeah, okay. Just to the po-po, after that you’re on your own.”

  A sense of relief like she’d not felt since arriving here washed through her and Shayera beamed. “Thank you.”

  “Whatever. C’mon.” The girl turned and walked toward the smarmy-looking Paco.

  Shayera nibbled on the corner of her lip because she had the terrible sense that she should not for any reason trust this Paco character, but knowing she was literally at their mercy, she followed.

  Up close Paco was even more off-putting than he’d been from her earlier vantage point. Covered in pockmarks, his burnished bronze skin gleamed with sweat. His stench was carried to her on the stiff, briny breeze and it was all Shayera could do not to gag at the odor of his unwashed body.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a thick Spanish accent.

  Opening her mouth, Shayera meant to answer, but the girl interjected. “She’s mine, that’s what she is. We ain’t filching off her—she ain’t got nuthin’ no ways. We’re taking her to the pigs. You got a problem with that?” She shoved her finger into the boy’s bird chest.

  Rubbing at the sore spot, he glowered but shook his head.

  In that one exchange Shayera realized she’d been lied to. Paco was most definitely not the one in charge.

  “What is your name anyway, lady?” The girl turned.

  “Shayera,” she said, wiping her palm across her dress once more.

  “I’m Brenna,” the girl said, and then before Shayera could move away, she grabbed hold of her hand. Bracing for the transference of power, Shayera’s entire body stiffened up. Brenna clearly noticed because her gaze widened. “Don’t like to be touched, yeah? That’s fine, I get it.” She dropped Shayera’s hand but didn’t act in any way like the touch had affected her.

  Curling her fingers to her furiously beating heart, it dawned on Shayera that mother had mentioned Earth was not full of magic. Obviously her powers were void here and as much as that was a relief, it was also a worry, because if her siren call didn’t call it also meant her only form of protection was nullified.

  “Yo, Frankie,” Brenna called toward a redheaded, skinny mass of gangly knees and bony elbows sitting beside a Dumpster.

  The teenage boy looked up, and he too had a hard glint in his eyes. “What, boss?”

  Brenna snorted, obviously realizing that Shayera knew the truth. “You stay there. I’ll be back, keep doing what you supposed to, got it?” She all but growled that last bit, and ten or not, Shayera had to admit to being slightly intimidated by this hard-as-nails girl.

  The boy gave a thumbs-up and then went back to gazing around the park.

  “C’mon then.” Brenna jerked her head. “Cops this way.”

  They turned and Shayera pointed. “Just us? No Paco?”

  The girl laughed, finally appearing as young as she actually was. “Nah, the sentries stay. They can do without me for a bit. So tell me bout you
rself, Red, ’cause I know you ain’t from round here.”

  Running her fingers through errant strands of curls, she sighed. “That obvious?”

  Once again they were back on the sidewalk, but now that the girl was by her side, Shayera noticed people were giving them both a wide berth. No more were people just rushing into her as if she were invisible. Another thing she noticed was the way women hugged their purses to their chests and how men kept a hand glued to the pocket where they kept their wallets when the girl walked past.

  It was obvious to Shayera that this girl, though acting a savior at the moment, was likely not someone she wanted to hang around for long. There was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that as helpful as Brenna was being right now, she wouldn’t always be.

  “Couldn’t be more obvious even if you was wearing a sign around your neck.” Brenna laughed and picked at her thumbnail.

  Just then a woman with a stroller walked slowly by. The woman was thin and had streaks of salt-and-pepper hair and wore a plain black dress, and her skin looked aged and very brown. She kept her head down and was chattering away under her breath at the baby inside the carriage.

  Likely a grandmother out for an afternoon stroll. Shayera smiled, at least until Brenna kicked her foot out, tripping the poor woman who hadn’t been on the lookout. With a cry she lost her balance and as she fell, the stroller toppled with her.

  Terrified for the child’s safety, Shayera rushed forward, nearly breaking her neck as she leapt, stretching her arms out desperately to right the vehicle before the babe fell out.

  But she was too far and it crashed right on top of the old lady. The bundle inside smacked hard against the concrete. There was a quick cry of breath and then nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Shocked, stunned, Shayera could only stare on because this couldn’t have actually happened. This young girl couldn’t have deliberately and violently caused the death of a little one. The baby was fine, it had to be. The thought of an infant finally spurred Shayera into motion.

  Brenna’s constant guffaws was a grating, awful noise in the back of her head. The bundle on the ground still did not move.