Lucy moved his eyes away from William, if only to stop looking at the suspicious twitch of his whiskers. Around them, the forest grew darker. The deeper they went, the more overgrown became the branches above, the more moss grew underfoot. The sound of fairy bells and water receded, replaced with the deep-throated croaking of frogs and hidden birds. A rustling of leaves slowly filled the air, despite the fact that there was no wind here.
He had no clue about forests. Born and raised in a city, the closest thing he’d seen to a forest was the small park in the centre of town, next to the shopping centre everyone went to. Those trees were small, spindly things. They looked like distant cousins compared to the towering, broad-trunked specimens studding their path.
A good Samaritan? Lucy snorted.
“I’m not,” he said. “Trust me.”
“Says he was a beta tester for The Game,” Kitty said, bounding up beside them. She threw Lucy a furious glance, nearly walking into a tree for her efforts. Lucy suppressed a smile.
“But that’s probably just a lie,” Kitty went on. “He does that, you know. Lie. Like all the time. So don’t bother asking him stuff, Will. ‘Cos he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. ”
William gave a low whistle through his teeth, a surprising feat for a wolf. He shook his head, giving Lucy a sympathetic lift of his gray eyebrows.
“What you gone and done to my Kitty? I haven’t seen her this peed off since—” William stopped speaking, his eyes flicking away to study the moss-covered floor.
Silence pressed down around them, momentarily blocking out The Game’s ambiance. Lucy glanced between them, Kitty to his left, William to his right. They both studiously ignored each other now; Kitty’s face had finally lost its vicious spite.
Jeezy creezy, what was it with these two? Lucy forced his eyes back to the path ahead. And it had indeed turned into a path, the route they were following. It wound through the trees, the moss trampled to gray powder over hard-packed earth. Ahead, something sparkled, the iridescence flirting through gaps in the thinning trunks.
“We’re here,” Lucy said.
A whisper of sound came to him. If there had still been a breeze, then it could easily have been the sound of the wind moving through the trees above, perhaps slicing through a knot of branch and twig that brought a barely audible keen to the air.
But there wasn’t a breeze.
And Lucy knew exactly what the sound was. He glanced at Kitty, but she seemed fixated on the glimmer ahead as if trying to puzzle out what it was.
What would have happened if he’d arrived here alone? As it was, there was a one in three chance of survival. Lucy straightened his shoulders and pushed out his chest, his tail stiffening.
“Get ready,” he said, and walked forward.
Seconds later, he couldn’t have stopped walking if he’d tried. The song had grown louder. The other two heard it now as well, exchanging glances with each other that Lucy tried to ignore.
Instead, Lucy kept his eyes fixed on the witch’s cottage that had appeared ahead. A few beams of light struck the pearl roof shingles, cast from sunlight that had found its way through the thinning canopy of trees overhead. Brambles and ivy shrouded most of its walls, but where the ruby bricks were still visible, light gathered and sparkled like the bloody, petrified tears of a giant.
Which, coincidentally, they were.
Lucy padded up the golden paving stones, his steps becoming more urgent. Moss had almost reclaimed the dazzling pathway, but at least the impractical, heart-shaped doorway wasn’t overgrown yet.
It swung open on their approach, creaking softly. From deep inside the cottage, nearly overwhelmed by the incessant, hypnotic song, came a gentle tinkle of bells. Here, glitter hung in the air, dancing and twirling on secret drafts, shrouding the inside of the cottage from scrutiny.
Lucy stepped inside — was drawn inside — all the while tensing as much as his entranced mind would allow. And a moment later, as expected, darkness pounced him.
. . .
William blinked, trying to see through a rain of glitter. Eventually, shapes emerged from the sparkling gloom; solid shapes. Shapes that depicted something real and substantial… Okay, as real and substantial as The Game was capable of producing.
One of the shapes was Lucy. The tiger prowled in a tight circle, snarling. He was apparently angry because he was trapped in a cage. An exact replica to the one William was trapped in.
“Won’t work,” Lucy said, growling.
William flung himself at the bars again, wincing as a wave of pins and needles prickled his genuine body kilometres away. He stopped, panting. Was it kilometres away? Or was it a dimension away? Where was he, when compared to his body, the real world? Above? Below? In the exact same place, only… deeper?
He shivered and sank down, crouching in the shadow of the cage. A sound made his ears twitch. Singing. Soft, growing louder. Beautiful, haunting singing. He lifted his head, his ears pricking forward. It was wordless, lilting endlessly like the flirt of a summer breeze.
“It’s just her, mate,” Lucy said, sounding irritated.
William glanced at him. The tiger had stopped pacing, and stood close enough to the bars for his fur to stick through. He pressed an orange cheek to the metal, a single tooth catching the light as he spoke.
“The witch? Remember? That’s how she caught you. Us. You get caught up in her song, listen for a bit, then bam!”
William jerked, eyes moving to the paw Lucy was drawing back through the bars. The tiger dragged his tongue over the paw.
“She knocks you over the head and puts you in a cage.” Lucy ran the dampened paw over his face. “I just wish she’d hurry up. This cut scene is obscenely long.”
William blinked.
His vision fogged.
When the mists cleared, the gloom retreated with it. Furniture emerged from the shadows like massive ships clearing a bank of fog. The cottage was enormous inside and stuffed with piles of junk. Their cages were in the middle, surrounded by heaping stacks of books, discarded cages, piles of rags and suspicious cloth bags.
In the closest corner, a kitchen dominated.
From the floor, a cellar door had been pushed open. The singing grew abruptly louder, filling the inside of the cottage with the lustrous aria. William’s head bobbed, his neck growing weak. He realised he’d slumped against the side of the cage, but couldn’t straighten. His avatar had become too heavy, too unwieldy for him to move.
A silvery head emerged.
A human head.
The steps were facing away from them, the cellar door blocking the witch as she climbed out. She was slim, petite even, and wore humdrum brown clothing, the textures rough and crudely stitched. But her skirts were long and voluminous, and when she twisted, stepping free of the cellar’s throat, a slim leg kicked open the dress.
“Hey…” William murmured. “Not… right…”
There was no reply from Lucy.
The inside of the witch’s dress was lined with fur. The single flash William had seen had shown several strips, all bound together in a patchwork of colour and texture. Rabbit, lion, wolf, bear, tiger: a rainbow of animals.
The song stopped.
William’s eyes climbed up the sides of the drab dress, fixing on the witch’s face. She smiled at him, her radiance warming his entire body. He felt he was sweating, back in the genuine world, his mouth going dry from the heat.
“My lovely babies look so tired,” the witch crooned. “Why don’t you rest a little? Supper’s on its way.”
The witch lifted her arm. William’s eyelids drooped. He tried forcing them open, tried forcing them to see what it was she was proffering. But he had only a suggestion of pale gold before the darkness engulfed him.
There was no sleeping — not here. The darkness came and went, the interlude instantaneous. William awoke to the witch humming, humming while she worked. Humming while she chopped and chopped and chopped. A knife scraped, a peeler sliced, and some
thing went plop, plop, plop into a steaming pot.
Firelight danced on the walls of the cottage.
Outside, night had fallen, painting the windows black. A haze of newly-burnt wood hung in the air, smudging the witch into a blur. Her silver hair shifted as she worked, catching the firelight, entrancing William as he watched her.
She took a step to the side, her feet moving lightly as if she was dancing, her hum dipping. Plop, plop, plop. Back to the counter she moved. Chop, chop, chop. William’s eyelids drooped again. No, he had to stay awake! He had to…
A clang ended the cut scene.
Vivid bright light spread William’s eyes as a hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the cage. Something closed around his neck, throttling him, and he kicked and yapped and bit, teeth closing on a thick rope.
“Why hello…” a voice crooned to the side. “I remember you, don’t I? I never forget my darlings.” There was a hiss, a yowl. William’s eyes found Lucy, the witch binding a rope around his neck.
“Hope you two are hungry. Mommy’s got a big pot of stew for you. And you have to eat it allllll up.” The witch rose, finger waggling in the air. “Else no dessert!”
She swung around, moving into the kitchen again.
“William, it’s okay,” Lucy said, sounding out of breath. “Just relax.”
William froze, jaws still closed over the thick rope.
“You can’t chew through it anyway.” Lucy sank to the floor, tail flicking in front of his nose as he drew his paws under him. “It’s magical.”
Opening his jaw, William released the rope. The witch was singing again, and his eyes were beginning to flutter. He forced them open, staring wide-eyed at Lucy. There was a muffled clang from somewhere below them.
“It’s okay, you won’t sleep again. We eat then it’s over.”
The witch came toward them holding out two flat, silver bowls. Each had been carved with delicate symbols, the designs so intricate that William couldn’t make out a single unique shape in the pattern.
She set the bowls on the floor within reach of both him and Lucy. Inside, a thick brown stew steamed. Lumps of pale flesh humped out from the gravy, a few chunks of carrots bringing a stab of colour to the otherwise drab meal.
“I know you don’t like veggies, Lucy,” the witch said, scratching the tiger behind an ear. “But the fibre’s good for you.”
Lucy growled, snapping at her hand. The witch giggled and took a step back, clapping her hands together at her breasts. She watched them with wide eyes, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Well? Go on then. You must be ravenous.” The witch’s eyes flashed to the cellar door as another distant thump reverberated through the boards.
William stared at the food. His body, wherever it was, obviously knew something he didn’t: it writhed, his stomach twisting in on itself in an effort to vacate his body.
“It’s inevitable,” Lucy whispered. “If we don’t do it then she sings to us and it gets really creepy in here. Let’s just get it over with.”
The tiger sat up, tail curling up as he bent forward and began licking at the gravy. He bit into a lump of meat, throwing it into his mouth and chewing with his eyes squeezed shut.
William sniffed at the food. There was no smell: The Game hadn’t mastered that yet, either. He lapped gingerly at the gravy. He couldn’t sense any heat on his tongue, but his skin grew warm. A chunk of meat disappeared from the bowl, and soon he was licking out the sides of the metal container.
A pale hand appeared. William scampered back, crashing into the cage, and the witch giggled at him as she took away his bowl. Beside him, Lucy began washing his snout with a paw.
“Sorry, Will. You’re not going to like this.”
“What?” William’s voice was little short of a yowl. “Like what? What’s happening?”
Motion caught his eye. William’s eyes moved of their own, fixing intently on the witch. She held up a knife. Her lips moved into a faint smile, and she blinked at him again, cocking her head.
“Tummies full, my babies? Why don’t you go to sleep while mommy’s working? I have so much to do. So much to do!”
She wiped the knife absently on her skirts and twirled around, her figure hiding whatever it was she was working on. William tried forming words, tried asking Lucy what the heck he’d been going on about, but this was obviously another cut scene: William was immobile, forced to watch the witch work while she went about her mysterious deeds.
Something slid from the table and dangled over the edge.
William focused on it with effort. A paw. A golden paw.
The witch was humming again, her arm moving rhythmically as she chopped, chopped, chopped. The paw slid a little further over the side of the table. It swung from a strip of matted, bloodied fur. A last chop, and the paw dropped to the floor.
It took the witch a few seconds to realise what had happened. Inside William, his stomach coiled uneasily with the first icy tendrils of realisation. The witch bent over, fumbling on the floor for the severed paw, the hand holding the knife clutching the table above her for balance.
A lioness’s head lolled toward them, bumped by the witch’s hand as she quested on the floor.
“Kitty!” William yelled. “Kitt—” he surged forward, his cry cutting short as the rope around his neck snapped tight.
“I’m sorry, mate,” Lucy was saying beside him. “It could have been any of us.”
William spasmed, his genuine body enduring a flash of electricity as he struggled with the rope around his neck. His vision grew dim, and he relented, sagging to the ground.
The witch glanced over at him with a frown, as if wondering what had upset him. Then she peered up at the lioness’s head and tittered, pressing the back of her hand against her lips to stop the sound escaping.
“I’m such a silly billy,” the witch said. “I’m so sorry, my baby. I didn’t mean for you to see. But mommy doesn’t have anywhere else to work.”
A streak of blood brightened the witch’s pale lips. She pushed herself to her feet, wiping a strand of silver from her eyes and painting blood over her hair in the process. Brandishing Kitty’s severed paw, she gave another laugh and put it beside the dismembered corpse littered over her workbench.
She spun around, her knife arm working furiously for a few seconds, before she turned back to them, flourishing a golden pelt.
“Isn’t she just beautiful?” The witch pressed the fur against her stomach, wrapping the bloodied mess around herself. “And so warm!” The witch shivered, jogging on the spot for a few seconds.
“I just can’t get warm enough. This place—” she gave her head a furious shake “—it’s too cold here.”
“What the fluff’s wrong with you?” William yowled. “You killed her!”
Beside him, Lucy tried speaking again. “William, calm—”
“You fluffing killed her you mother-fluffing piece of peanut-brittle!” Rage had him by the throat — or perhaps it was just the rope tightening. It felt the same: constricting him, making it impossible to breathe. “You killed her and she was on her last life and now she’s gone forever because of this stupid fluffing game!”
He fought the rope.
His paws bashed against the cage behind him, rattling it. He pulled and tugged and bit and scratched until a song flowed over him and he couldn’t fight anymore. William sank down, breath leaving him in a jagged pant, his tongue lolling to the emerald tiles of the cottage floor.
Bare feet — human — came into view. He swivelled his eyes up, watching as the witch crouched down. She still clutched Kitty’s fur to her, the wet hide dripping scarlet.
A hand touched William’s head, stroking him, gently twisting an ear.
“Don’t be sad, my baby.” The witch twisted his other ear, sliding her thumb down the bridge of his snout. “You’ll always have her with you. She’s a part of you now.”
The witch’s hand moved over William’s shoulder, running down
his spine. Her fingers slid over his ribs and slipped between the stones and his stomach, rubbing his distended belly.
She bent down, whispering into William’s twitching ear.
“And wasn’t she just delicious?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eight Lions, One Cage
“I wanna go home,” a voice close to Kitty’s ear said. “I’m tired.”
“Me too,” another agreed. “I’m sick of this place.”
Kitty had curled up into a tight ball, her thin tail draped over her nose. It was cold in the cellar, despite the huddle of bodies pressed against her. And there were so many players sharing her cage. And so many cages.
The witch’s cellar was stacked to the ceiling with them. In most of them, creatures moved. In some, there was no movement at all — and hadn’t been for quite some time. Kitty avoided looking at those. There was some kind of order down here, it seemed. Some of the players had been sorted by species, some by the colour of their fur. A few of the cages held only a single player: a white and black panda cub, a stumpy zebra, a baby snow leopard.
Kitty was pressed into a cage with seven lions, all moving about, bumping into her, stepping on her. Kitty had given up trying to soothe them after several failed attempts and a few paw-bashes to the head from the more stubborn players. So she huddled in the cage, eyes lifting at every sound from above.
Her chat console had been disabled. Whether it was another glitch or an intentional phase of gameplay, she had no idea. But it meant she didn’t know where Lucy and William were. They weren’t in the cellar; she’d yowled her paws off trying to get them to answer her, strained her eyes staring into the cages were other wolves and tigers were being held. But they hadn’t replied. And she was pretty darn sure they would have. Wouldn’t they?
The cellar door creaked open, throwing a large square of light into the middle of the cellar floor. Motes sparkled, flaunting their freedom as a draft of warm air teased them around the beam of light. Kitty watched dispassionately.
The witch descended the cellar stairs. She wasn’t ugly; in fact, the woman was nondescript. But Kitty had seen what hid under her skirts. She knew what was coming. Her shoulders stiffened as the witch turned to their cage. The fur on her spine stood up in a ridge as the witch stopped, hand rattling the lock binding their cage.
The Seventh Glitch Page 20