There was no answer. He turned to find his guest asleep. Quietly he drew a chair to the center of the carpet and sat in it, watching Holly sleep.
Chapter Twenty-two
NEVER IN THE HISTORY of the Land of the Immortals had there been such a hush on the day before Christmas. For as long as anyone could remember—and some of them had memories that stretched many centuries—the day that led to Christmas Eve was a time of bustle and rush. Last-minute bows were tied, music swelled from every home, and kitchens began to hum and bubble with activity. This year, all was quiet. In the workshops, gylfyns and goblins efficiently packed toys for delivery, and Donner discussed flight patterns with Comet, but these were the only signs of the coming Christmas journey. The streets were deserted. No bells sounded from the towers. Delicious aromas did not curl from chimneys. Even the fairies sat soberly in their delicate, cobwebby palaces, waiting. They were all waiting.
Up in the castle, Nicholas, Viviana, and Sofya had spent nearly every moment of the last three days in Holly’s room, taking turns peering through the enchanted telescope. Intently they had watched as Holly arrived in the Empire City and brought the compassion of her heart to the mortal world. At first there had been a few smiles, a little laughter, but now they simply watched, waiting for Herrikhan to finish the task he had begun so many years before. Sofya had known almost immediately that the genial Mr. Hartman was Herrikhan in disguise. There was something about the way he looked at Holly that wasn’t quite human. She focused closely on his mouth, then his hair, where the little band of silver twinkled furtively; then she handed Nicholas the telescope, shaking her head.
Nicholas gazed into the glass for a long time. “It’s him,” he agreed. He walked to the window and stared without seeing at the snow outside. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do until Christmas Eve.
Finally that day had dawned. Nicholas and Viviana sat stiffly on a sofa, their hands clasped, their eyes wide and dry. Sofya stood at the window, squinting into the white sky, trying to remember what was supposed to happen next. After a while, she gave up; there were simply too many different endings. They waited. The clock struck seven.
The clock struck seven, and Holly awoke with a gasp of terror. Frantically she brushed away the phantom fingers that coiled, dry and sinewy, around her neck and wound up through her hair. She sat up, tearing, clawing—at nothing. The only sound was that of her own panting breath. Weak sunlight streamed in through an open window, catching on a clutter of shining toys that lay on the floor. Holly stared at them fixedly, disentangling the threads of nightmare and reality that held her until memory returned in a flood. “Ohhh,” she breathed, sitting up.
It was early yet, and all the world was quiet. Her eyes fell upon Christopher, fast asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair in the center of the rug, and she smiled tenderly. He was wearing a heavy coat with a fur collar against the cold; she reflected that he must have put it on rather than close the window she had asked him to open, and this little mark of consideration brought a tightness to her throat. Everything will be decided today, she reflected. Then the unfathomable thought: This may be the last time I see him. Quietly she gathered up her rustling gown and tiptoed to his chair. She knelt beside him, learning his face. He looked much younger with his eyes closed, she decided. Less haunted, more like a boy. More like the boy who had written the letter to Santa Claus. She shook her head in wonderment. He stirred restlessly, and she caught her breath. Let him sleep.
She rose and walked from the room. Through the clock face she went again, feeling as though she was returning from a hundred-year voyage. On she walked, through the dark hall, the velvet curtains, and down into the toy shop, astonished to find that the walls and rugs and toys had remained the same while her universe had been changed entirely.
They would have been an odd sight, if there had been anyone but the pigeons to see them. Holly in her golden gown walked through the snowy streets talking absorbedly to the wolf at her side. Actually she was talking to all four of her friends, telling them of the wondrous inventions of the world behind the great door, of the malevolent black box that showed a dark future, and of the great discovery that Mr. Carroll was none other than the Christopher they had heard of so many, many times before. On and on she talked, but there was one thing she could not find a way to describe, and that was the new feeling that sang inside her. The little animals, listening from within the satchel, guessed that something was afoot, but Tundra, who could see her face, knew for certain that Holly was in love.
Finally Lexy from inside the satchel, interrupted Holly to inquire sharply, “Why are we walking around in the freezing cold, Holly? Do you have any idea where you’re going?”
Holly burst out laughing. “You’re right, Lexy! I had forgotten! We’re going to Mrs. Kleiner’s so I can change my clothes and get back to the toy shop when it opens.” And see him again, again, again, she added to herself
And see him again, added Tundra to himself. Though he said nothing, Holly’s happiness filled him with dread. It was one more obstacle between her and safety, one more reason she would be reluctant to leave this world. Over and over, like a charm against fear, he pictured her stepping into the sleigh next to Nicholas. That was all—one foot on the runner, the other lifting up out of the snow, her hands reaching out to clasp her father’s. Just let that happen, he said to himself. Just let that come true.
The door of the boardinghouse creaked warningly as they entered, and Holly could smell the delicious scent of warm muffins and coffee wafting from the kitchen, but a sudden doubt about the propriety of appearing in her evening gown at seven-thirty in the morning assailed her. After an exchange of nods, Holly and Tundra and the satchel made their way up the carpeted stairs without a sound. Silently they proceeded down the hallway to Holly’s room and slipped in the door.
“We did it!” whispered Holly exultantly to Tundra. “No one’s the wiser!”
“I wouldn’t be too certain, my dear,” said a soft, whistling voice in the corner of the room. “I, for one, am distinctly wiser than I was last night.”
Holly froze. Tundra, at her side, felt his heart begin to hammer against his chest. A dark figure rose from a chair and walked gracefully to the window. The curtain was pulled aside with a swift motion, and they stood, facing a smiling Hunter Hartman.
“Your rejected swain, in the flesh,” sang the strange, whistling voice that seemed ill-matched to the bulk and height of the man. “Do I surprise you, my dear? Do forgive me”—he giggled a little—“but I wished to repay the surprise I endured last night with one of my own. I must have my little joke.”
There was something silky and servile in the speech that filled Holly with contempt. “Get out,” she said. “Get out or I’ll call for help.”
His laughter was more frightening than threats. “Get out? I don’t think so. And,” he added, his face suddenly growing cold, “I’ll kill anyone who walks through that door, so be careful whom you call.” He saw that she shivered. “Good. I’m glad you are so sensible. Now, dearest, let us discuss the events of last night before we proceed. I admit that I was wrong about you, I admit it handsomely. I was under the impression—which I now recognize as mistaken—that you were attracted to the glamour of mortal life. The telescope—my gift to you, for which I was never thanked, by the way—was designed to dwell on that very aspect of human exchange, and when I saw you peering through it night and day for all those years, I grew quite certain that you were bedazzled by the lives of the great and grand.”
Hartman smiled, showing brilliant white teeth inside his dark mouth. “I thought that growing up in that musty old castle surrounded by those insipid, sugary little goblins and fairies, not to mention your insufferable father”—Holly put one hand warningly on Tundra’s head—“that you would welcome a little light and life. But apparently, I was wrong.” He glared at her with disgust. “You’re even worse than they are. All that mucking about in the park with filthy urchins and d
istributing dollies to the mob should have told me. But perhaps I was infatuated.” He snickered. “So I thought to tempt you with earthly delights—a brush with high society, a nod from Mrs. Astor and, as the final blow, a bauble that would serve the dual purpose of winning your heart and allowing me to remove that infernal locket.” His narrow eyes rested on the necklace at Holly’s throat. “My goals did not appear unreasonable, but I reckoned without your lamentable purity of spirit, and—well, you know the rest.”
“And so now—?” Holly said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“Now, sweet, I will prove my generosity by offering you one more chance. Come with me, Holly, and I will give you anything in all the world that you desire.”
Holly shifted nervously. She and Tundra exchanged glances. This was too easy. “No. I will not,” she said.
He ran one finger around the inside of his collar. “These clothes drive me mad,” he remarked conversationally. “You say no. Very well. I will ask you once more. Just once more. Holly, will you come with me and be my bride? Think carefully before you answer.”
Holly shook her head silently.
He smiled. “Your answer does not surprise me. Nor does it displease me. This way will be much more thrilling for me, though, of course, less enjoyable for you. But that’s not my fault. Always remember, I offered you a way out. Now, the first thing is to remove this disgusting flesh.” Before Holly’s terrified eyes, he raised his hands to his forehead and dug his nails into his skin. Then he pulled, grunting with effort, until the warm, pink skin hove up in rows. A little silver began to show through. He dug and tore at his face until it hung with ribbons of flesh. Trembling, Holly backed up until she was pressed against the door. Tundra placed himself in front of her, never taking his eyes off the being before him. Herrikhan was done with his face, though skin flapped around his neck, and had begun to work on his hands. The crabbed and shriveled fingers appeared, but the work apparently went too slowly for Herrikhan’s satisfaction. With a hiss, he stopped his peeling and inserted his hands into his mouth. His jaw distended, and his mottled black and gray tongue jutted out, but he continued to pull and pull, until, with a light snapping like twigs breaking, he turned his mouth inside out. Holly and Tundra caught one glimpse of slippery gray tissue, and then it was done.
Herrikhan stood before them in his silver skin, lank gray hair against his scabbed scalp where the iron bit into the flesh, and yellowing robes. He scratched a remaining strand of pink with a long, dirty finger. “Not so comfortable, but faster,” he said, “and time is of the essence.” His eyes, thin and flat, like pewter discs, regarded Holly “You see the trouble I went to for you. You should have taken Hartman while you had the chance. Well, no matter. Let us proceed. You did me a great favor last night, my dear. I shall be in your debt for eternity.” He wheezed with laughter. “I’m not speaking of your treatment of me, of course, but of your interview with young Mr. Carroll.”
Holly uttered an involuntary cry of dismay.
Herrikhan looked at her sharply “Did you think I wouldn’t see you? Did you think you could keep a secret from me? You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Tell me,” said Holly. “Tell me what you’re capable of.”
“I was once a king, a king to rival your father,” Herrikhan replied, almost dreamily. “They bowed to me, to me. Their foreheads in the mud, for me. They loved me. And then”—his voice went cold—“I was cast into a rotting pit for centuries. I was left alone in the sweat and steam for hundreds and hundreds of years. The elders thought they had buried me forever, but I outwitted them, didn’t I? I grew stronger and stronger down there, for I had all the time I needed to plan my escape. I must have the stink of pure fear to venture outside my abode, and I made it happen, even in Forever. I found you, and I preserved your baby heart in snow, and I made you come here—where fear is more plentiful than air—and in the end, I will own you. And at that moment, this damnable, accursed ring that binds my head will shatter, and I will be able to breathe and prosper wherever I choose for as long as I see fit, instead of being forced to return to that sewer each day like a miserable worm in order to regain my strength.” He glowered at the thought. “In answer to your question, my dear, there is nothing I will not do to free myself. Nothing.”
“What will you do then? When you are free?” asked Holly, watching him closely.
“What will I do? I will begin on Earth, with the mortal trash, and I will build an empire bigger than the one I had before. It’s a simple task, but essential. After I’ve accomplished this, I shall begin my assault on your own land. Just think”—he smiled—“you will depose your own mother. For, of course, you will be my queen. Such an honor. Perhaps you will even preside over their departure. I’m picturing something of a ceremony: Nicholas will take up residence in my cell, and you and I will enter the Castle of Forever as its rulers.” Tundra was making a sound in his throat that Holly had never heard before. Herrikhan flicked a look at him, and she held him with a shaking hand. “And then I will take all those adorable little fairies and sprites and goblins and heroes, and I—will—break—them!” His gray face shivered with rage.
“Why?” asked Holly simply.
The pewter eyes suddenly looked confused, but the moment passed swiftly. “Shut up! And shut up your wolf, too!” Holly felt Tundra tense to spring and prayed that he would not. “I’ve had my eye on you all along, dog. I thought I was going to be forced to use you as bait, though to my mind your value seemed rather limited. Thinking that two would be more compelling than one, I even regretted that I killed your mate in such a hasty manner—what was her name?—Terra the Terrible?” He smirked.
Tundra leaped for his neck but never reached his target. Smiling, Herrikhan extended his hand, and the wolf dropped limply on the floor. “No!” moaned Holly, hurling herself toward him. “Tundra! No! Please!” She gathered the body in her arms and rocked him gently. “Tundra, come back!” she pleaded. “Tundra, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me,” she whispered into his ear. He lay still in the circle of her arms.
“Don’t bother. He’s dead,” said Herrikhan.
Tundra leaped for his neck but never reached his target.
Holly looked up, tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“You ask too many questions. You shall have to learn to please me better. However, making an exception just this once, I’ll tell you why. He was of no use to me. I’ve found something better, thanks to you—Mr. Christopher Carroll. And rest assured, young lady, that what I’ll do to him will make your Tundra’s death look like paradise.”
“Please, not Christopher. He’s done nothing,” whispered Holly, her hands clasping Tundra s fur convulsively.
“Of course he’s done nothing!” hissed Herrikhan in exasperation. “That’s why you’ll want to save him. That and the fact that you’re in love with him. Why else would I have chosen him? Christopher Carroll means nothing to me—I even rather like him—or I did until yesterday, when he showed up at the opera house to keep you from the filthy clutches of Mr. Hunter Hartman. Then he began to annoy me. But now I am fond of him again, for he is my best weapon. For his sake, you will remove that tiresome locket, and for his sake, you will give your heart to me.”
“You were in the toy shop last night?” asked Holly, stunned.
“Of course. I arrived before you did.”
“Where were you?”
He smiled mockingly. “Are you embarrassed to discover that your little romance had a spectator? Never fear, I only stayed long enough to learn what I needed. Your secrets, tedious as they are, are safe with me.”
Holly didn’t say anything. Instead she stroked Tundra’s rough fur. What would he have advised her to do? Would he have wanted her to take the chance? Should she try it? Oh, Tundra, I need you now, she thought desperately. In answer, she seemed to hear his low voice saying ‘You have nothing to lose.’ That’s right, she thought. She kept her eyes on the wolf. Then, after a mo
ment, she said, “So, then you came here and waited all night?”
“Does my devotion charm you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, bending to kiss Tundra one last time. Slowly she rose to her feet, and Herrikhan’s silvery skin began to quiver with excitement.
“You are altogether more tractable than I expected, Holly,” he said, holding out his hand for the locket.
“I think,” she began, backing toward the door again. Her shoes met the satchel and she pushed it furtively behind her. “I think that you have miscalculated again. I’ve been calculating myself, as you talked. You’ve been here for twelve hours, probably more. You yourself said that you must return to your—your—place each day, and so I’m guessing that your magic is on the verge of failing; in fact, I’m guessing that you would find it nearly impossible to kill everyone out in the street right now if I were to—” Her hand on the brass knob turned quickly and, snatching the satchel up, she whisked around the edge of the open door and ran down the hallway. A long, furious hiss followed her.
Expecting any second to see Herrikhan before her, and desperately hoping that Mr. and Mrs. Kleiner would not appear to become his victims, Holly stumbled down the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her.
“Is that you, Miss Claus?” called Mrs. Kleiner from the kitchen. “I was just going to come up and wake you!”
Without the breath to reply, Holly ran out the front door. Frantically she looked both ways and dove toward the most crowded streets. He had been on Earth for a long time; he must be weakening. He had said that he had to go back to Odyl every twenty-four hours, but what he hadn’t told her was how long he had to stay. A glint of silver caught her eye, and she gasped in terror—but no, it was just a man pulling his watch out of his pocket. Holly fought to still the thundering of her heart and slow her steps. People were looking at her in amazement: still clad in her golden gown, with her hair tumbling down her back in a tangle of curls, she flew like a hunted bird through the slushy streets.
The Legend of Holly Claus Page 27
