Wonderland

by Marie O'Regan

  “What is it?” Anastasia asked softly.

  “I’m not sure.”

  A sudden gust of wind snatched at her coat and the cloth beneath. She shivered, thankful for the trousers she wore, even if they were a size too large and itched like hell. They offered far more protection than many skirts would have done.

  She lowered her arm from where she’d pressed it to her face to stave off the worst of it. That’s when the smell hit her, sharper than the constant stench of London’s streets, a putrid and pus-filled stink like decayed flesh, stale blood, and shit.

  Bodie gagged. “I think I’ve got something.”

  “Where are you?”

  She glanced around for landmarks or street signs, her eyes lighting on a plaque set in the wall above. “Dorset Street.”

  “Wait for me.”

  A scream pierced the air, and the chill that played through Bodie had nothing to do with the cold. “No time.” She pocketed the mirror and rushed into the alley.

  “Bodie,” Anastasia called. “Bodie! Baudelaire!”

  Anastasia only called her by her full name when she was angry, trying to look angry, or genuinely frightened. Though sometimes, when Anastasia meant for Bodie to be serious, she’d use it then as well.

  “Baudelaire,” Anastasia had sighed as she adjusted the bindings around the French girl’s torso. “Stop squirming.”

  “Well, it hurts.” Bodie had lifted her arms as Anastasia passed yet another layer of gauze across her chest and around her back.

  “That’s not pain, it’s discomfort.”

  “Feels like pain.” Bodie wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

  “What did I say before?”

  “That I need to blend in. And that means dressing like a man?”

  “It means being able to walk the streets without drawing attention to yourself. Things are assumed of a lady out that late, and you can’t do your job if you’re being propositioned half the night.”

  The rest of the disguise lay across a wafer-thin cot that looked as if wayward prayers and thread were all that held it together. The rest of the flat wasn’t much better off. The walls were more like paper than brick, the glass rattled in the panes of the single, tiny window every time a coach rolled by, and the smell of fetid water and rot soaked the air.

  It wasn’t at all like the lavish hotel suite they should have been occupying, but there was little chance they would be able to sneak in and out of their rooms without drawing attention. That and Anastasia wanted to be nearer the suspected site, but the woman known as the Duchess and her ward could not officially take up residence in such a place.

  Arms still in the air, Bodie stole a glance at the map on the nearby table. Stories of the Whitechapel murders had traveled far and wide by the time they reached Anastasia’s dress shop in St. Petersburg; tales of a deranged doctor who performed rituals to summon Satan, or a demon who preyed the nighttime streets tearing apart its victims. People had no idea how right they were.

  The circled X at the center of the map marked Bodie and Anastasia’s current location. The plan was to do a bit of reconnaissance to search for any indication of their target’s presence. A fully formed Nightmare left behind clear signs when one knew what to look for, and should your eyes fail you, you could always follow your nose.

  “There you are.” Anastasia patted Bodie’s back. “All done. Get dressed.”

  Lowering her arms, Bodie rotated her shoulders, and then did the same with her hips, testing her range of motion. Shockingly, the bindings didn’t hinder her in the least; not even her breathing was restricted.

  “What about you?” Bodie had asked as she climbed into a pair of too-large trousers. “Don’t you need a disguise?” She twisted the suspenders twice before she got them to sit right.

  “Of course not.” Anastasia smiled. “No one is going to notice me. It’ll almost be as if I’m invisible.” Which she quite literally would be.

  After three years, the truth of Anastasia’s origins still astounded Bodie. A magical woman from a magical world, here to fight a magical war. What astonished Bodie even more was the fact that this magical woman had needed sixteen-year-old Baudelaire to wage said war.

  “Only humans can kill these creatures I hunt,” Anastasia had explained. “And only if they’re strong enough. Special enough.”

  Well, born in Arles only to be orphaned at six, and sent to the mills for ten years until Anastasia found her, Bodie was certainly strong. But being born a négress, even one with bright skin and eyes the color of sunset—a man had paid her this compliment before trying to force himself on her, for which Anastasia cut off his balls and left them in his pocket—Bodie had never been allowed to believe she was special. But Anastasia did.

  And she continued to believe it, through months and months of laborious training with swords, daggers, and all manner of weapons. Bodie found she was a diligent student in the art of taking lives. Monstrous lives, that is.

  Helping Bodie pin her hair beneath a bowler hat to complete her masquerade, Anastasia seemed to still believe it.

  “There.” Anastasia stepped back to look over Bodie. She reached out to adjust the large, ratty coat, like a fussing mother hen. “Do not use your Figment Blade unless absolutely necessary.” She fastened the buttons and smoothed her hands over the front. “Don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Yes, mother,” Bodie said in thick, rounded English, her French accent prominent.

  Anastasia huffed in mild annoyance and Bodie smiled. She enjoyed teasing the other woman. They were close in age, at least in appearance, and she’d always wanted a sister. Anastasia was much older than Bodie’s nineteen years but simultaneously not. Time was strange where Anastasia came from.

  “And above all else.” Anastasia drew a slow breath. “Be careful.”

  Bodie was careful, as careful as she could be, racing through the alley. She vaulted a pair of barrels and barely managed to dodge around a half-closed iron gate before skidding to a stop. Panting, she cocked her head to the side and tried to listen. The stench crawling through the air thickened here. She covered her mouth and nose with a gloved hand, the fabric scratchy.

  Another shout, brief before it was choked off. Bodie bolted in that direction, or at least the direction she thought it was coming from. Sound bounced against the stone beneath her feet and the brick rising on either side of her, making it hard to track. She pounded into the center of an alley before drawing up short. The barest hint of light managed to reach in from the nearby street and a few outlines of windows above, but her eyes still strained against the looming darkness.

  Her heart thundered in her ears. Anastasia had stopped calling her name, no doubt on her way as quickly as she could manage. Bodie focused on breathing through her mouth instead of her nose, the smell damn near overwhelming now. Her eyes watered and her stomach threatened to empty itself. She swallowed a groan.

  “Little one.” A low voice slithered through the shadows, the words rumbled in English. “So lost. So alone.”

  The feeling of dread’s frosty fingers that had slid down Bodie’s back now dug in like talons. Her hand went over her shoulder and grasped the hilt hidden just beneath the collar of her coat.

  “Show yourself,” she hissed in French as she drew the sword. Even in the darkness the blade gleamed, a beam of silver and ice in the night, with a razor’s edge.

  “Hmmmm, Dreamwalker, well this does change things.” The voice adjusted to French as it floated through the air, but didn’t draw near. It skirted along dark corners and shuttered windows. “So, which of them was it that tracked me here? Addison? Like a dog with a bone, that one, aimlessly gnawing and never paying attention to who he’s chewing on. Or maybe Romi? No, I don’t think she would come this far west.”

  Bodie knew those names. Anastasia had mentioned them before, others who were like her, who came from her world to hunt monsters in this one.

  “The human world was never her favorite place,�
� the voice continued. “And with things like industry defiling the land, I’m sure she stays far away.”

  It seemed to slink along the walls like a living thing, but Bodie would not be fooled into turning her back. The stench was strongest in the direction of a nearby archway, caught on the bitter breeze pouring through, a putrid perfume. Above the opening carved into brick, a sign was posted: Miller’s Court.

  “Or, maybe, it’s Anastasia.” The voice rolled the name, tasting it, savoring it. “Yes, she’s the only one with the patience to find me out.”

  Bodie tried not to react, though she couldn’t help tensing at the name. She held steady, her breathing slow.

  “Or maybe it was Theo. Brilliant Theo, clever Theo.” The voice grew heavy, weighty, as something shifted deep in the alleyway. “Too smart for his own good.”

  Steps thudded against the stone, a shambling gate clump-sliiiide clump-sliiiiiide-ing its way toward her.

  Bodie lifted the sword and shifted her stance, ready to strike. Nightmares, the monsters Anastasia warred against, the ones she had trained Bodie to fight, could come in any shape or size. They could have one head or more. They could have arms or tentacles, pincers or any manner of limbs. And it could be relatively small or big as a horse. She’d faced many of these creatures over the years, in fights difficult and simple. While she wasn’t as experienced as Anastasia herself, she felt she’d been at this long enough that few things would surprise her.

  So when the creature finally emerged into the dim light, Bodie thought she was prepared. But then her entire body went cold. Her eyes widened and her grip on her sword faltered. She tightened her fingers, even as her insides quivered.

  Fear took hold.

  A man stood at the mouth of the archway. At least, it was shaped like a man, or maybe it had once been a man. Naked, its flesh was mottled with sores and scabs, raw, red, and runny. A tar-like substance oozed from them in the place of blood. It stood on one leg, its knee bent and its ankle twisted where claws extended to tap at the ground instead of toes. The other leg was broken at the hip, snapped out of place and wrenched backwards, black muscle the only thing tethering it to the rest of the body, dragging it along behind it.

  Its arms were not arms, but were instead like a spider’s legs, gangly and long, much longer than they should have been. It was clear they had stretched, ripped, and the same oozing tissue that held the dead leg in place now seemed to merely wear skin and muscle as a suit.

  The head was the most unchanged. The face was sallow, the eyes sunken, the hair falling from patchy, scabby spots on its scalp. It… smiled, and when it did it was as if the man it was wearing grimaced, still somehow alive and in pain.

  “So afraid.” Lips peeled and split against needle-like teeth. Blood ran watery red and yellow against its chin. It drew a slow breath and its nostrils flapped. “Delectable.”

  Bodie tightened her grip on her sword to stop the shaking in her hands and arms. There was nothing she could do about the rest of her mutinous body. She inhaled through her nose, the smell the least of her worries. Her breath shuddered, likely betraying her terror. That is if this… this thing didn’t smell it on her.

  “Bodie!” Anastasia’s voice called from the pocket. “Bodie, I’m almost there! Where are you?”

  “Oh, so it is her.” The monstrosity laughed. The muscles of its throat clapped together. Bodie could see them through the tenuous skin stretched where the neck had lengthened. It frayed at the edges.

  “M-Miller’s Court.” The shaking took Bodie’s tongue, her words stumbling over it. “It… h-hurry, Ana.”

  “I’m coming!”

  “She won’t make it in time.” The Nightmare steepled its long, spindly black fingers, stretching out from flesh it wore like gloves. The bones popped as knuckles that shouldn’t be there flexed. “But, hopefully, you will prove entertaining until her arrival.” It flicked its wrist.

  Bodie jolted when something wet and warm hit her in the face. She smelled and tasted blood, swiping it from her cheek and lips, spitting at the ground as disgust roiled through her.

  A hunk of flesh lay at her feet, red and fresh, glistening in the low light. Some sort of organ Bodie couldn’t identify. Her supper soured in her stomach and crawled toward her throat. She tasted it on the back of her tongue.

  “Oh God,” she whimpered.

  The creature gave a satisfied hiss, then made a clumsy lunge for her. Thankfully the human parts of the body it had possessed still mostly trapped it. She was able to jump out of the way of a swipe of talons, and get her sword up to deflect another as she drew back, but only just. This thing was fast; faster than anything she’d ever faced before.

  The monster twisted after her, bearing down as its face split so that rows of pointed teeth were bared. Bodie’s body reacted before she could wrap her mind around it, and she parried another swing of claws, angling the blade to drive it at the Nightmare’s head.

  “Ahhh!” It lurched out of the way just in time, but Bodie stepped into the retreat and brought the sword around a second time. The blade bit into flesh. Yellowed pus and blackened blood bubbled over it and the monster wailed, the sword caught in its side.

  A familiar rush started to take hold, adrenaline pushing at the edges of fear folding over her mind, a spindly hand latched onto the sword. But instead of pulling it out, the monster pressed it deeper.

  Shock took hold of Bodie just long enough for something long and thick to dart over the monster’s shoulder and pierce hers.

  Pain erupted white-hot against her nerves. She felt her skin split as it was punctured and she bit down on the scream that tore at the back of her throat.

  Chuckling, the monster drew back what she could now see was a tail, tipped in a barb as long and as thick as two of her fingers.

  Bodie pulled at her sword. It didn’t budge.

  The beast readied another strike.

  Letting go, Bodie dove out of the way. Her shoulder screamed as she hit the ground and rolled into a crouch. The stone was cold against her knees through the fabric of her trousers. She whirled to face her opponent, her eyes drawn to her useless weapon where it was sheathed in black flesh. If she couldn’t free her sword, maybe she could drive it deeper.

  As the monster turned to follow her she exploded forward, twisting around to drive the bottom of her foot against the partially exposed blade. The kick hammered it into the beast’s body. It howled.

  Limbs flailing, it twisted to try and dislodge the blade. Bodie drew back and ducked into a nearby alcove. She bit down on a hiss as she shoved her coat and shirt to the side. She had a hole in her shoulder, and blood ran wet and warm along her arm. The wound looked clear, though her entire arm throbbed, and a feeling like fire burned all the way to her fingertips.

  Poison, she realized. Her body would work to naturally expel it, but the wound itself would prove a problem. Throwing off her coat, she tore the sleeve free at the puncture, and then used it to bind her shoulder. The pain sent spots dancing against her vision as she gripped the fabric with her teeth and pulled.

  Blinking the world back into focus, she pushed to her feet. The cold air bit at her exposed skin. She could feel her pulse in her neck and her temples.

  Steeling herself, she peeked around the corner. The Nightmare was still trying to pull the sword free. It worked the blade back and forth with its own sounds of pain, but the sword cut at its clumsy fingers, some of them now dangling by tendons and bits of bone.

  “You cannot hide!” it snarled. “I will find you, and I will feast on you like the others!”

  All the others. Anastasia’s hunches had been right. Of course they were, she was hardly ever wrong. Those poor women…

  But there was no time to think of that. She had to bring this thing down, to end its reign of fear and death over the city. If she could get it on the ground, she’d have the advantage. With a plan forming, Bodie bent to pluck a dagger from each of her boots. Steadying herself, she breathed deeply. Then she stepped out
of the alcove and bolted across the lane. Halfway there she launched herself into the air.

  The monster tried to turn, but it was too late. She slammed into it from above, driving the daggers into its back. The beast stumbled and roared. It clawed at her, trying to pull her off, but it had severed most of its talons. The remaining ones sliced at her arms and sides. Hissing, she drew one dagger free, holding onto the other where it was still buried in the Nightmare’s back, and stabbed at its heart.

  Another yowl, this one so loud and sharp her ears rang. She stabbed again, and again, deeper and deeper, trying to reach—

  Snikt. Her body jerked as the bared tail stabbed into her back. She screamed.

  Snikt, snikt.

  Dizzy with pain, she let go. She hit the ground in a tumble, landing on her side. Pain radiated through her. Every breath was like a hammer against her chest and rattled in her ears. The coppery tang of blood coated her tongue.

  The Nightmare whirled on her, its tail lifted. Most of the human façade had peeled away, leaving behind an oozing shell of a man-shaped monstrosity of pitch and bone.

  “Ahhhh,” it sighed as it shuffled toward her. “I will eat well tonight.”

  Bodie tried to get her arms under her but they refused to obey. So did the rest of her body. She managed to shift just so, but it sent sparks of agony along her limbs.

  The thing loomed over her, its wide mouth hung open as it cackled and clacked.

  Fear stabbed at her mind, tearing into her thoughts.

  The past leapt forward, sewn in with the present. The Nightmare licked at its bloody barb. Her blood.

  Bodie’s eyelids fluttered and the image of the monster melted into the memory of her maman walking along the dirt road towards their house, her water buckets hanging from a rod over her shoulders.

  “M-Ma…” Bodie blinked. The alley rushed back in around her, the cold stone beneath her, and the monster once again above her. It fussed with the sword still stuck in its side. The blade glistened, though it was covered in gore.