8: A gripping dark fantasy mystery

by Georgina Bartlett

  “The fox? Have we all been exposed to some kind of hallucinogenic?” Amour ranted, pinching the top of his nose.

  Standing on its hind legs, the fox quickly shifted, its limbs elongating and its hair disappearing, till Buttercup was left sitting crossed legged on the cabinet. Her long brown curls hung around her shoulders, barely covering her breasts.

  “You know, for a being with the power you have, you’re really closed minded,” Buttercup mocked Amour. She fixed her crown and swept her hair to the front of her chest.

  “I’m sorry. Until a day ago I had no idea you even existed,” Amour replied, crossing his arms.

  “I don’t have time for your pettiness,” Buttercup retorted, brushing her hands with a flick, and asking Madame Arbre with a silent glance if she was ok. Madame Arbre closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Wow. We might have found someone sassier than Amour,” Mort laughed.

  “After we had our little meeting, I knew I had to get Madame Arbre out of harm. I rushed to her house and hid her here. The body that you all thought was her, was really just a scarecrow that I glamoured,” Buttercup confirmed, and twirled around the room before she sat back on the drawers.

  “Where exactly is here?” Mort asked, walking round the room.

  The room was a cylindrical shape, and the floor revealed the trees’ many age rings. A latch was on one side of the room. Mort opened it and found the wood swung inwards to reveal a window. With a peek, she glimpsed how high they were off the ground. They were able to look over part of the forest.

  The table in the middle of the room had a bonsai shrub atop it and the stem supporting the piece of furniture had been carved from the tree, securing it to the floor. The chest of drawers Buttercup sat upon, also made out of wood, had beautiful engravings across its face, and its handles were shaped like daisies.

  The ceiling had been painted blue. Different species of birds decorated it, some flying, some perching on painted branches, with cherry blossoms dotted over the chosen roof canvas. Old flowers adorned the room, and at the other end there was another set of stairs that ran upwards, higher into the tree.

  “This used to be my home,” Buttercup reminisced as she moved around the room. All the dead flowers returning to full bloom from her touch. “I keep little places like this in all the realms.”

  “Why? You’re Mother Nature. The whole world is your home,” Amour piped up, sat at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea.

  “Very true,” Buttercup replied, and dropped a sugar cube from a height into Amour’s cup that caused the tea to splash down on the table and him. “But I wanted to know why you, beings, in each realm, need a specific place, a place that you chose to be your home. So I looked around all the forests in this world and others and picked my favourite trees. These are my chosen houses. I know the king has no knowledge of any of my dwellings, so naturally I bought Madame Arbre here.”

  “We have so many questions,” Forrest admitted to Madame Arbre, sitting opposite her on the table.

  “How yuh mean?.”

  “Did you send correspondence to the king, requesting us to come and see you?” Forrest asked.

  “No, I did not,” Madame Arbre replied, her eyes moving around the room. “I tink he made up de letter because he know the only way he can find dis place was through yah. The king is igrant, he do what he like.”

  “What do you mean? The Palette Palace soldiers do their yearly review of this place. They’ve been here several times,” Mort countered, sitting next to Forrest.

  “No, child. Dey come to de woods to do deir reviews, but dey ave never been ere, and dey won’t remember where tis,” Madame Arbre stated.

  “How?” Forrest wondered.

  “Well, yah see, Buttercup found me great grandmother many years ago, because she knew she had de gift of sight.”

  “An oracle like you?” Forrest asked.

  “Yes, but no one else in de village knew, and she hid her secret from de king, afraid of what he might do. She found it was a blessing, when all her children were born wid yellow eyes, seen as nothing to de king. But Buttercup could sense it,” Madame Arbre preached, and smiled at Buttercup.

  “So Buttercup found your great grandmother to look after the Atheneum tree?” Mort asked, her eyes full of wonder.

  “Well yes and no. De Atheneum tree is as old as Buttercup. Tis full of Tinctures history and her own discoveries, but she knew it needed de right person to guard it and tend to it, while she isn’t ere to protect it.”

  “But it’s just a tree, right?” Amour countered, chugging down his cup of tea.

  “Cheese on bread. Was dis one dropped on his head as a child?” Madame Arbre sneered in her Bajan accent.

  “Probably,” Mort answered and patted her brother on the back.

  “Yuh will see for yourself when yuh visit de tree, de magic and secrets dat it holds within,” Madame Arbre insisted.

  “Secrets?” Mort asked.

  “Dat’s right. Secrets and answers to dangerous questions dat we don’t want falling into de wrong hands. You see, de Atheneum tree is de tree of libraries, and Buttercup has been adding to it since de beginning of time.”

  “Wow, you look ok for an ancient chick,” Amour taunted Buttercup.

  “Amour!” Forrest berated him. “Show some respect.”

  “Thank you, Forrest,” Buttercup gushed, before poking her tongue out at Amour. “I would love to stay and, well, annoy you more.” She smiled curtly at Amour. “But I need to leave.” Buttercup moved to the open window and looked out, stretching her arms, and rolling her neck. Before she left, she looked back to Madame Arbre. “You know how to call me?”

  “Yes.” Madame Arbre smiled.

  Buttercup glanced around the room before turning her attention back to the window. With a click of her fingers she transformed in a burst of light to a green parrot with a yellow beak and flew from the window.

  “Yuh don’t see dat every day,” Madame Arbre chuckled as she gleamed the faces in a state of awe around the room.

  “But none of this answers how the Palette Palace soldiers won’t find this place anymore,” Forrest continued, leaning forward in his seat, sunlight hitting him and radiating his blue-black skin.

  “Spells, child. Dis place is covered in dem. Have you ever wondered why only yuh and yuh siblings ave been de only ones able to see my lamp? Tis because I structured de spell to only let yuh see it.”

  “But the king. He knows about you. You talk with him often if you are hidden how does he know about you?” Forrest asked.

  “Because he see what I want him to see. De Atheneum tree is just one specific tree, but I don’t want him to ave any inkling of where it could be. By hiding a part of the woods it adds a layer of protection. Tis also a place where families that ave children born with an eye colour dat would attract attention can hide.”

  “Grandmother!” A male voice came from below, followed by heavy stomps.

  “Up here, Felix,” she called to them, and pulled her shawl tighter around herself.

  Two men ran into the room and fell at Madame Arbre’s feet, both lanky and large in size. Their heads were full of the same type of curls as hers, and their skin a dark olive.

  “We thought yuh were dead. How could yuh do dat to us?” Felix asked, his accent like his grandmother’s, but not as thick.

  “There was no time, boy, and I’m ere so you ave no need to threat,” Madame Arbre comforted, and stroked their faces, her hands small and frail.

  “Amour and I were waiting for the right time to bring this up,” Mort stated, and captured the room, twiddling her fingers.

  “Bring up what?” Doc asked Mort, out of breath as he climbed the stairs, left in the dust of the boys.

  “The creatures, the ones who almost killed Doc. We caught one.”

  “You did what?!” Doc asked, pushing his glasses up his nose, his grey hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead.

  “I didn’t want to let it get away, it killed ten peopl
e from the village trying to get in here.” Mort explained.

  “Exactly. It’s too dangerous. Kill it,” Doc told her and Amour.

  “Wait,” Madame Arbre said. “De child is right. Dere is a lot we can learn from dis ting. Bring it to me.”

  Mort and Amour nodded to her and left the room, one as pale as snow, the other kissed with the pink of a rose.

  ***

  “How did yuh manage dis?” Madame Arbre asked, her grey curls bouncing around her brown cheeks, but her eyes fixated on the monster in front of her.

  “It was Mort that managed to subdue it. Her powers over death seem to keep it restrained,” Amour answered, dirt on his hands and face.

  “Apologies, but dat is not very reassuring,” Madame Arbre confessed as she circled the bound creature. “Any creature who is subdued by death has a yearning for it. Don’t worry, I don’t mean yuh, child.” She answered a question Mort hadn’t asked aloud.

  “How can you be sure?” Mort asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  Madame Arbre shuffled over to Mort and cupped her small pale face in her dark olive hands. “Because yuh are not run by death, tis a part of yuh, yes? But it does not drive you, tis not why yuh wake up in de morning or what you hope for. Tis what was chosen for yuh, not what you chose for yourself.”

  Mort laid her hands on Madame Arbre’s forearms and leaned into her touch. “Thank you,” she cheered, loud enough only for her to hear.

  “So, can you read it, touch it and see its thoughts?” Amour asked Madame Arbre, interrupting them.

  “I am not touching dis thing, and neither are any of yuh. We don’t know its power. It could control yuh through touch. No, dere is a better way. Clara. Bring me de fabric,” she declared, and moved away from Mort and back to the creature.

  Clara nodded and disappeared up the staircase at the back of the room, her clothes baggy on her petite frame.

  “What is up with you two?” Mort asked Doc.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Clara. Why did you both react that way? Do you know her?”

  “This isn’t a topic to talk about right now, Mort. Can we concentrate please?” Doc chided and walked away to sit back down at the table, his grey hair a mess, and his glasses wonky.

  “Here we are,” Clara said. Madame Arbre reached out her shaky coffee-coloured arm and took a white linen bag from her.

  “Dis is how we will find out what is happening in dere,” Madame Arbre announced as she pulled out some spare pieces of fabric, tearing a long thin piece from an old orange sheet. “Clara, could yuh put on some gloves and carefully wrap dis around de creature, and den wash yuh hands in moon water.”

  Clara opened the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves. She slipped them on and took the end of the fabric; a piece still in Madame Arbre’s hand, and wrapped it around the chair, binding the creature.

  “Could you help me?” Clara asked Steven, keeping her hands at a distance. Steven nodded and climbed the stairs with her.

  Madame Arbre closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The creature remained in a slump, its head hung close to its chest.

  “Oh my God,” Madame Arbre whispered, suddenly opening her eyes. The creature’s head remained slumped, but its eyes shifted in its sockets and met hers. Madame Arbre’s head began to shake as she stared into the void of the creature, her eyes watering from not blinking.

  “Is she ok?” Mort asked and tried to touch her.

  “No. Do not touch her. Yuh could damage de connection dat she has with de creature, or yuh could put her and yourself in great danger,” Felix said, his brown eyes burning into hers.

  They sat in anticipation, not able to hear the silent conversation that was happening in front of them.

  “Hey,” Mort whispered to Forrest. “Do you think that’s weird?”

  “What?”

  “You know, what happened earlier.” Mort turned her eyes towards the staircase at the back of the room, Clara had returned from washing her hands and stood on the bottom step of the stairs, her hands behind her back and her gaze on Doc.

  “Perhaps, but I’m sure Doc will tell us if there’s anything we need to know,” Forrest answered, his blue-black skin glowing in the purple light that bled through the window.

  “Yeah, like he told us that he’s not from Tincture,” she whispered back and got an annoyed look from Felix, like someone shushing in a cinema.

  “Let’s just worry about it later,” Forrest replied, his attention still on Clara as she moved through the room, her eyes still fixated on Doc.

  “Felix, what is that?” Amour asked.

  “What?”

  “The fabric. Is it turning black?” Amour pointed to the cloth wrapped around the chair. It resembled a piece of linen that had been dipped in tar, wet blobs of black fell to the floor. The half that Madame Arbre held remained orange, but the malignancy was beginning to spread.

  “Tis trying to taint de rope and get a hold of her,” Felix replied, on his feet, in front of his grandmother, her eyes still transfixed to the creature’s glare. “Here, pass me dose,” he started to Forrest, and pointed to a pair of gold scissors on the drawers next to the table. “When de black gets too close to her hands, we need to cut de cloth and break de connection,” he told the room, kneeling by his grandmother, ready.

  “Should we just cut it now?” Mort asked as she stood up, her eyes dark as coal. “It’s getting stronger, I can feel it trying to resist me.”

  “How much longer do you think you can hold it?” Amour asked.

  “Not long. It’s feeding off something. Its will is so powerful. I can hear it in my head.”

  “What tis it saying?” Felix asked.

  “Death. Over and over,” Mort said, her pale hands splayed out either side of her.

  “Clara, what are you-?” Doc started, confused as she came closer. “No, don’t,” he cried as Clara pulled a knife from behind her back and dug it into his shoulder, blood spreading across his blue coat.

  “You left her there! She’s alone because of you!” Clara screamed at him, spit spraying from her teeth.

  “Get off of him!” Amour shouted, a few feet away from them, fire in his hands and eyes.

  “Amour, no!” Doc grunted in pain. “Look at her eyes. It’s not her, it’s the creature.” Clara’s eyes resembled two black holes, nothing there but darkness. Forrest grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from Doc. She writhed and kicked in his strong arms, fighting to get back to Doc, back to the blade.

  “Don’t pull it out. He’ll bleed too much,” Felix observed. “Where is Steven?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll look for him,” Amour declared and ran up the stairs.

  “Put her hands into de moon water and splash some into her eyes,” Felix told them, pointing to a large jar of water sat by the stairs.

  Mort tipped out stones from a bowl on the table and poured the moon water in. She took a handful and threw it into Clara’s eyes, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Forrest held onto her forearms and thrust them into the bowl. The water bubbled and boiled, and black seeped out of Clara’s hands into the liquid. Clara collapsed into Forrest’s arms, the bowl now just murky water, as she fell Mort sagged too.

  “The creature, it’s easier to control. It’s not feeding from her anymore.” Mort breathed heavily, tired from all the power she was using. The tips of her pixie cut brushed against her cheeks.

  “Stevens up here!” Amour yelled. “He’s ok, but he’s got a nasty gash on his head. Looks like she knocked him out,” Amour came down the stairs. “Doc, are you ok?”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t think she caught bone, and I can’t see excessive bleeding, so she didn’t catch an artery. Is she ok?” Doc asked, his hand around his arm.

  “She’s good,” Forrest commented as he laid her down on the wooden floor. “How can we help you?”

  “He’ll be ok. We ave empaths here who can heal him,” Felix said, answering Forrest’s questio
n. Doc turned and gave him a nod.

  “Felix, the fabric!” Forrest called to him, seeing the black closing in on Madame Arbre’s hands.

  Without hesitation, Felix cut the cloth and severed the link between Madame Arbre and the creature. Once severed, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she fell to the floor, the creature’s eyes remained open.

  Thirteen

  Justine had snoozed her alarm three times, deciding to stay underneath the covers. It was seven a.m. Tuesday morning, and she could hear the rain tapping against her window. After her failed stakeout, she drove home and climbed into bed. Sleep never seemed to happen, but she felt safe underneath the covers.

  Monsters play and sleep all day. When you snooze they wear your shoes… She heard her mother’s voice in her mind, reciting a song she made when Justine was six and thought a monster was hiding under her bed.

  Her mother always taught her to face fear head on, never to be ashamed of her emotions. Reciting the song in her head usually helped when she was feeling overwhelmed. But there was no voice today. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Donovan walking towards her car, his red tie dripping with blood. A buzz on her intercom broke through Justine’s security blanket. It came once before the person on the other end kept their finger on the bell.

  Keeping her cover wrapped around her shoulders, Justine slumped into the living room and grabbed the intercom phone by her front door. “What?” she snapped.

  “Justine, it’s Rick. Can you let me up?”

  “Hey. Listen, if Ronnie is with you and she’s trying to get up here by using you, you can tell her I’ll call her back, ok?” she groaned and hoped Ronnie was there to hear it.

  “Ronnie’s not here. Can you please let me up?” Rick said, insistent.

  Justine frowned at the phone and froze for a moment. She wondered if Ronnie had sent Rick to arrest her for stealing information from her computer.

  “Justine?” Rick said after a long pause.

  “Yeah sorry. Look, Rick, I know Ronnie probably sent you to tell me off for taking the address. I’m sorry, ok. I will come down to the station and apologize to her today. How does that sound?” she ranted and forced a smile. The line was silent for the moment, and she wondered if he had taken her terms and left.