A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

  I know I will. How could I not?

  This devastating man-bear killed a monster for me. He took that vampire’s head as casually as I might slice a bit of bread. I’m not sure how to make sense of it all. No one has ever protected me before. Or at least in so long, I’ve quite forgotten how it feels.

  “This cannot be real,” I whisper. You cannot be real.

  “Can’t it?” His voice is a deep, amused rumble, tickling the fine hairs on the backs of my arms. “You live in Niflheim, Alice. There can’t be much under the sun you haven’t seen.”

  True. But knowing what’s real and what’s not, that is the key. For the first time, I’m beginning to think Georg is as real as it gets.

  I take a step back and trip over the body. My fingers fly to my lips as Georg steadies me with one big hand—not the bloody one, thank god. When he glances down at the headless, I get the impression he’s only resisting the urge to kick it because of my presence.

  When he catches me watching him, he drops his hand from my arm. Then lifts it again almost immediately, eyes narrowing with dark intensity. This time he touches my throat. A single, rough caress with one blunt fingertip. Instantly, heat floods my stomach. I’ve read about this sensation, but experiencing it in real life in something else altogether.

  I clear my throat, trying to clear my head, looking anywhere but at him. My eyes fall on the body at our feet and a random thought pierces the haze. “Will I become a vampire now?”

  Georg laughs softly. He tilts my face up so our eyes meet again, the warm span of his hand cupping half my head and stopping the breath in my throat. “No. It takes more than a nibble to turn you into a bloodsucker. And I’ve already healed your wound.”

  My fingers fly up to my neck. Smooth, unbroken skin, no hint of the puncture wounds I expected. That’s why Georg touched me. I let out my breath in a whoosh. “Thank you.”

  There is a shadow in his dark eyes that seems far too bitter to be amusement.

  I frown as he steps back, his hand falling away. “I guess this makes us even.”

  “Um.” My tongue is thick and unwieldy, and I’m having a hard time focusing. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Goodbye then, Alice Liddell,” he says shortly.

  What?

  Startled, I notice he’s somehow maneuvered us all the way to the front door. And now he’s turning to go.

  No, he can’t leave yet. I can’t bear it. A nervous laugh bubbles out at the inadvertent pun. I’d wonder if I was losing my mind, but I’m pretty sure that happened a long time ago.

  “Wait!”

  He halts on the stone pathway and looks over his shoulder. I have no idea what to say, except I need him to stay, even if it’s just for a few seconds longer. I want to touch him again, I want him to touch me. But most of all, I don’t want to go into the castle behind me and never see him again.

  “Um, be sure to watch out for Vorpal sand.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Yes, I’ve got that now, thanks.”

  “And the trees, too!” I call out as he starts to turn away again, unable to help myself. “They pinch your backside when they get angry.”

  Those golden-brown eyes narrow. “Seriously?”

  I nod solemnly. “Hard enough to leave bruises.”

  “I promise to watch my ass.” His smile is slow and wide and makes my knees go wobbly. “If you promise to watch yours.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I whisper.

  His eyes bore into mine as if he can sense the struggle inside of me, the desperate need. Another shadow flits through those golden-brown depths and he tilts his head, as if expecting me to say something else. But when I just stand there, tongue tied in knots, he turns away, his shoulders stiff.

  “Get inside, Alice.”

  I reach for the door but can’t help watching until the darkening mist swallows him up. My eyes start to sting. Don’t leave, I want to beg. Help me.

  But here, in the shadow of the castle, my prison, the words won’t come. It’s too dangerous.

  With a heavy sigh, I lift the latch and head inside. My footsteps echo throughout the front hall. I don’t bother to conceal the sound. It’s only myself and Itzel in the whole place. At least until tomorrow.

  I shudder and walk faster. I don’t want to think about tomorrow, only about tonight and Georg. A tiny sliver of possibility has worked into my thoughts and I need a minute alone to think then through.

  But sooner than expected, I hear Itzel’s whispering tread. I pause on the first step when she calls my name, then run up them, my fingers curling into tight fists. Itzel is his.

  She’s always been his. Part nursemaid, part jailer, part witch and my constant companion from the moment I entered these doors. I spare her a glance over the balustrade. Itzel looks like what she is, an ancient, crooked crone bent nearly in half, with wispy, white hair and a cruel, almost petulant expression.

  “Mistress is home at last.”

  “That I am,” I say, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Master doesn’t like Mistress to wander before he’s expected.”

  The rebuke in her tone is clear. Her precious Master didn’t always have to worry about such things. It shames me that I used to look forward to his visits—but, other than Itzel, he has been my only companion since I arrived in this place. It took far too many of them before I realized he wasn’t my friend, but my jailer. My only excuse is that I was very young when he brought me here.

  When a person’s reality is as warped and bent as mine has been, it’s easy to think a familiar face means a friend.

  Not that my captor has ever showed me his true face, just a mask. Always the mask. I used to tell myself I liked that, too. That it was romantic and mysterious. With a grimace for my younger, stupider self, I take the landing turn at a run.

  “Don’t go out again. Master will be here soon and the monsters are restless.” Itzel cackles at what she assumes is my fear. She’s not wrong, but she’s not right either. On the heels of fear rides something stronger. Hope. But I mustn’t give anything away.

  I’ve never liked the woman and I know better than to trust her, especially now. Itzel has always been more his than I am. I think she’s been with me from the beginning, too, though I can’t be sure. Dreams and reality merge all too often here.

  Georg was real. I’m almost positive.

  Smiling to myself, I pull the hood closer to my face so she can’t see.

  “Master is coming to take you away in the morning. At last I’ll be free.”

  The words are harsher than usual, and have me pausing on the topmost step to look back. Itzel’s familiar hunched form is wrapped in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. For the first time, I wonder, is Itzel as trapped as I am? She’s always gone out of her way to make me miserable, but maybe she’s been miserable as well. What if the Master enslaved her, too? Made her promises with weighted chains once upon a time?

  I shudder and the castle seems to spin around me for an instant.

  Someday I will set you free, Alice. All you need to do is say yes.

  I shake off the echo of his voice, and run faster yet.

  Soon enough I leave Itzel behind, whipping my way through the crumbling stone hallways, down the left wing and into my bedchamber. I slam the heavy oak door behind me and lean back, closing my eyes so tightly I see spots. Whirls and streaks of color remain when I open them and focus on the mirror across the room.

  I refuse to lift my eyes and acknowledge what hangs behind it.

  My wedding dress.

  I throw off the hooded cloak, wishing as always that I could step through that mirror and find a new life. One I could hold on to, and that didn’t melt away into mist, dreams and shadow.

  The Master visits my dreams all too often. I know his voice better than his form, a dark and raspy growl. That’s why I was startled when I first heard Georg speak—I thought he might be the Master in disguise. My captor has played such games before.

  But while b
oth men share a similar rough and masculine tone, they have a completely different effect on my psyche. Hearing the Master—even though he has never personally lifted a hand to me—always makes my body freeze up and prepare for flight. Like a small animal who catches the scent of a predator on the move.

  Not so with Georg. Even his growls made me melt a little. And that was when he was a bear. As a man . . .

  I sigh and catch a glimpse of my dazed face in the mirror.

  Get ahold of yourself. I scold the woman in the mirror, squaring my shoulders and smacking my hot cheeks. This is no time to develop a first crush. I never thought I’d be one of those women, the swooning, simpering heroines of my least favorite stories. The ones who look for a savior in every man they meet.

  I’ve always wanted to be the hero in my own story.

  A truly ridiculous notion, given my circumstances.

  But I’ve never given up dreaming, even after all these years. I just never saw a way to save myself.

  Now I think I do. Of course, it looks like that’s going to mean asking for help. From my growly bear-man. I shake my head, unable to fight

  the blush staining my cheeks before turning away from the mirror and crossing the small room.

  From my writing desk, I pull out several small flasks, each identical to the one I emptied to save Georg. These precious bottles hold the potion the Master gives me every few months. He doles it out sparingly, barely enough to protect me from the dangers of the forest. It’s not enough I’m on a world I haven’t the means to escape, monitored day and night by his jailer of choice. He also seeds the forest regularly with real creatures of all sorts. Monsters. I’ve never known which are imagined and which are not. In the end, it doesn’t matter. They’re all capable of killing me.

  With no magic of my own, if it wasn’t for his potions, I wouldn’t be able to leave this castle at all.

  He actually tried that for a while, but I became so ill the Master was forced to reconsider the boundaries of my prison.

  The potions are his compromise. Just enough magic to keep me safe, but never so much as to allow me to escape this world entirely.

  I’ve been hoarding them for the past few months, not sure why, but desperately hoping to have a chance to use them. Here it is at last.

  Shoving the bottles in a leather satchel, I throw it over one shoulder. My gaze returns to the old brass doorknob. I locked it, but you can’t trust doors to stay that way in this place.

  Georg knows how to get out of here. Niflheim, he called it. Most of the monsters lurking in the forest aren’t the type you hold conversations with, though I’ve tried over the years. But even the more obliging creatures were careful never to breathe the name of this place, or hint at a way to leave it.

  With another glance at the dress on the wall, I toss a few more things in the satchel, very fast. I don’t take much. A change of clothes. The bottles of potion. A glance at the tiny, overcrowded bookshelf above the desk has me fighting back unexpected tears.

  That paltry shelf holds the only friends I’ve ever known. I swallow hard, wavering for an instant. I can’t take them all, and I can’t make myself choose. Better to leave them behind. It’s time to write my own story.

  Pressing my lips together, I glance around the dark chamber for what I swear will be the last time. But fear grips me in earnest as I head for the window, slipping cold fingers around my spine and squeezing hard. The noises in the forest are loud and growing louder with every step I take.

  He knows.

  No, that’s not possible, I tell myself.

  The monsters always get restless before one of his visits. I cross to the window and throw back the heavy curtains.

  3

  As I pause on the ledge to listen to the howls and screams drifting in on the misty air, doubt creeps in. I’ve been a prisoner for most of my life, and as tantalizing as freedom is, I never realized how scary it is. As long as I’ve followed the Master’s rules, I’ve always been safe.

  Safe and trapped.

  Even his promise of freedom is no more than an illusion. I’m not the stupid girl he takes me for, not any longer. Marriage to the Master will only tighten my chains, not unlock them.

  So I grit my teeth and force myself to look back at that dress. I used to be a sucker for romantic stories about love and marriage, a little girl with dreams of a prince coming to take her away. He’d climb the castle walls, defeat the Master and carry me away in arms to live happily ever after.

  Now such fairy tales just make me mad.

  Tonight, I have something far more precious than a dream.

  A choice.

  Twisting the satchel so it hangs down my back, I throw a leg over the wide ledge. A stone works free and clatters down the wall, tick, tick, tick.

  The sound stops my heart, but not in fear of discovery.

  I almost forgot! How could I forget?

  Gasping, I scoot back inside and run across the floor, skidding on the too-thin hearthrug. My bed is a high and ornate affair, with four ebony posts carved in the shape of fantastical creatures—frogs in livery, a pig in a bonnet, even a rabbit in a top hat and tails. When I was a child, I used to stare at those figures and wish they would come to life. They never did, but the things in the forest were more than happy to oblige.

  The post nearest my pillow has a loose top. I unscrew it quickly to reach inside. The cold weight of the little bundle is comforting; it always has been. I bring the pocket watch to my lips and kiss it, not caring that it’s old and a bit tarnished. My hand is shaking. I can’t believe I almost left it behind. My greatest treasure, the only thing I have left of who I was before I came here.

  It’s been ages since I dared take it out. I’ve always known Itzel would take the watch away if she saw it.

  I don’t care that it’s broken, forever frozen at six on the dot. If it weren’t for this watch, I sometimes think I would have forgotten I ever had another life.

  When I hold it especially tight, I hear things—the sounds of a summer garden. I don’t know how I know it’s a garden, but I do. Ducks and geese and children laughing.

  As I squeeze it now, the sounds come louder than ever before. One of the voices is calling my name.

  Alice, where are you, love?

  The dreary stone walls drift away, replaced by a clearing drenched in sunshine. It’s so bright it hurts my eyes. I blink, staring all around. It is a garden. There’s a soft green willow above my head, a sparkling lake in the distance and a girl in a blue crinoline skirt in front of me. Her hair is dark like mine and her eyes are the same shade of grey I see in my mirror.

  Papa says enough reading. Come and play now.

  Laughter trills through the air as she runs away, the sound trailing behind her like a streak of light. Come, Alice.

  Hurry now.

  Hurry!

  Everything goes dark and the warmth of the sun vanishes. Instead of laughter, I hear the sound of Itzel’s steps on the castle stairs.

  If I’m going, I have to go now.

  But those whispery footsteps paralyze me in place when they stop outside my room. I freeze on the ledge, holding my breath. Finally, with a cackle of laughter that almost sends me tumbling out the window to my death, the footsteps continue on down the hall.

  Carefully, I climb out the window and down the crumbling rock wall. I’ve done it before, but tonight it’s especially slow going. The stone is cold and makes my fingers ache. By the time I reach the ground, I’m shivering and sweaty both. Gripping the satchel in both hands, I dart across the grounds toward the dark line of trees. But soon my steps start to slow.

  The noises in the night are ceaseless now. Screams, howls, screeches. With each step I take away from the castle, goose bumps cascade over my skin in icy bursts. It never gets pitch-black here, but the wavering greyness is worse. Shadows move constantly at the edges of my vision. When I finally gain the tree line, sweat has gathered between my shoulder blades, dripping down my spine whenever I jump, which is
often.

  I’m never going to make it.

  I have to.

  Click-clack. The clattering noise has me freezing in place, my heart racing. I place a hand over it, willing myself not to scream. That sounded like claws. Big claws. I swallow a moan when the sound comes again, louder than ever. My hand slips to the bottles in my pouch.

  Barely daring to breathe, I tiptoe away from the clacking. The sound doesn’t come again as I ease deeper into the woods, but the sudden silence is almost worse. I imagine something big and insect-like prowling between the trees, pacing me. I’ve never liked bugs. On the verge of hyperventilating, I catch the glint of a fire in the distance, like a friendly wave.

  It has to be Georg; none of the other creatures would dare light a fire so close to the Master’s castle.

  My heart lifts, suddenly light as a feather.

  Only to sink like a stone when a thick, hard arm wraps around my waist, cutting off my air.

  “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” The lips brushing my ear are warm, but the voice is cold with fury.

  Georg. Relief has me going limp. “Oh, I found you! I hoped you hadn’t left already.”

  He grunts but doesn’t release me or reply. Instead, that big arm tightens as he lifts me off my feet and starts stalking though the woods toward the fire. My weight doesn’t seem to impede his progress in the slightest. His long hair tickles my nose, smelling like fresh-cut wood and something I can’t place, something warm, sweet and fresh.

  I have the perplexing urge to sink my fingers deep in that glorious hair and rub it against my cheeks. I wonder if he’d mind.

  With another grunt, Georg dumps me in front of the fire. The flames are warm and inviting, his expression less so.

  “I thought you didn’t go out at night.” His words seem to stamp through the tiny glade, shaking a few leaves off the trees. He sounds like a bear even when he’s not, but strangely enough, I find him more intimidating in this form than the other.