Something poked the backs of her knee.
She didn’t quite scream, but she did make a wild, muffled squeaking sound as she whirled around. A sudden metallic taste in her mouth told her she’d bitten her tongue. Beside her, Rob inhaled sharply and grabbed her arm again.
A small and greenish thing stood there, somewhere at knee level. It had three rubbery, boneless-looking legs ending in clawed toes, one of which clutched a short stick which it flourished at her and had evidently just used to get her attention. It had no discernible head but a wide grinning mouth full of neatly pointed teeth, and little else. As she stared at it, it swept her a deep, courtly bow, then ruined the effect by sniggering unpleasantly.
“What is it?” Rob whispered.
“I don’t know.” She blinked, hoping it would disappear. It didn’t. Nor did it attack them. It just stood there, as if waiting. A faint, unpleasant odor like a mixture of burned sugar and rotting fish wafted up from it. Anything that smelled like that was, unfortunately, probably not a figment of her imagination.
There was a small popping noise, and another one appeared next to it. Then another. And another. She cringed, waiting to see what they would do. She and Rob could maybe take on one or two of them, but four…no, five…no…
As she watched, an entire line of the strange three-legged creatures appeared, varying from one another in height or shading—some were nearly black, and a few tended to purple. They jostled and grunted to one another but stood in place, and suddenly she realized they formed a line leading around the side of the palace.
“What is this—Mahtahdou’s version of a red carpet?” she muttered to Rob.
“I don’t know,” he answered hoarsely. “Should we follow them?”
The first thing sniggered again and scratched itself with a clawed foot, then made a wet, explosive sort of noise, not from its mouth.
Garland grimaced and took a step back. “I’ll guess that was a yes. Though I must say if that is the best Mahtahdou can do, I’m not very impressed.”
A ripple of motion ran through the line, and a second later she wished she hadn’t spoken. The three-legged things were now at least eight feet tall.
“Jesus!” Rob gaped up at them.
Garland bit back a cry of alarm. From now on, she’d keep her mouth shut. “Let’s go,” she said, and reached for Rob’s cold, sweaty hand.
They walked down the line. She felt ludicrously like a colonel on a parade ground reviewing her troops and tried not to flinch when they shifted and twitched. After a few yards, they began falling in after them so that she and Rob marched at the head of a snorting, cavorting line. It made her feel uneasy and also faintly ridiculous, which was probably exactly what Mahtahdou wanted. Fine. If he wanted to play games, they’d play along. Squaring her shoulders, she held tight to Rob’s hand.
A line of seventy-four things had formed behind them by the time they came to the door—she’d found herself counting them with a sort of horrified fascination as she and Rob passed. But as they walked she wondered what would be on guard at the entrance. Hopefully not something that made these things look cute and friendly.
But no clawed, fanged, toothed, horned, or other creatures were waiting for them. In fact, the double doors—made of more of that amazing shell material, inset with what looked like polished quartz pebbles—stood open. Some sort of translucent curtain hung before it, obscuring the view in.
Garland reached out a hand to push it aside, but something—some instinct—made her hesitate. It was an odd reddish-gray color, shiny and wet-looking, like a very ugly vinyl shower curtain. But shower curtains didn’t pulsate or generate long strings of slime, like a salivating dog. “I don’t like the look of that,” she said. Rob leaned forward, but didn’t answer.
As they stared at the faintly throbbing thing a split suddenly appeared at its bottom and worked its slow way up, like a curtain opening on a stage. Oh God, did they really have to walk past this disgusting thing?
Beside her, Rob stirred. “Do you want me to go in first?”
“No.” This was her business—hers and Mahtahdou’s. She took a deep breath, as if to make herself as thin as possible, and stepped across the threshold of the palace.
* * *
Garland found herself in a long, high hall, dimly lit with a cool silvery light that seemed to come from the pearly shell walls. Slender arching beams of driftwood lined the walls, their branching ends forming a ceiling that looked almost like it belonged in a fan-vaulted medieval church. Like the outside of the palace, this too once must have been exquisitely beautiful.
It wasn’t anymore. Whatever filth daubed the exterior walls positively encrusted the interior. It took all of her willpower not to gag and cover her mouth and nose: the faint nasty smell of the first creature they’d met was concentrated and augmented with other, even nastier odors inside here. Not even the many jagged holes ripped in the walls allowed enough of the rising wind in to dissipate the stench. She shuddered and tried to breathe lightly. It wouldn’t do to let Mahtahdou see how close to being overcome she was. Though it might be a nice gesture to throw up on his feet.
Except that Mahtahdou didn’t seem to be here.
She took another step into the room. At its far end was a raised dais, and on it was a chair—a throne of what looked like crystal—massive and beautiful, carved with delicate ripples and wavelets as though it had been hewn from a block of water. The chair was empty. The room was empty, too—none of the three-legged abominations danced and cavorted here, as she’d expected they would. The only sound was the wind, whistling in the walls—
No, not quite empty. There was something lying at the foot of the throne—a small, dark-haired something wearing navy blue sweatpants and an incongruously cheery yellow “Mattaquason, MA” t-shirt.
“Conn,” she whispered, and then she was there beside him, turning him over. He was filthy, wet, and unconscious but seemed otherwise unharmed. She unzipped her lifejacket and pulled out the purple shirt and bundled him into it. Now he would have some protection—at least, she hoped so. She lifted him—not an easy thing to do when wearing a lifejacket—and tried to balance him on her hip as she looked around the shadowy hall.
“Rob,” she called quietly. “It’s okay—no one’s here. Come help me.” If their luck held, they could find Conn’s and Alasdair’s sealskins as easily as she’d found Conn and get out of here before Mahtahdou returned.
A pair of hands grasped her shoulders, and someone kissed the back of her neck.
“Rob!” she gasped. “Oh my God, you scared the heck out of me.” The last thing she needed right now was him getting romantic again.
She squirmed away from his hands and turned to face him. But the gleam that shone in his eyes was not amorous—if anything, it was amused. And cold—so inhumanly cold—
“Welcome to my hall, Garland. I’ve been looking forward to this moment,” he said, and smiled.
Chapter 19
Garland took a step back as understanding washed over her in a sickening flood. “No,” she whispered, and held Conn more tightly. Not Rob…not sweet, kind Rob—
“Why not?”
Mahtahdou grinned at her with Rob’s mouth, but it wasn’t Rob’s boyish, forever-seventeen grin. She’d seen sharks in TV documentaries that smiled like that. How could his mouth twist into such an expression?
“Surprised to see me?” he continued conversationally. “I don’t know why. It is my home, at least for now. You did well not to touch my doorkeeper, by the way. Isn’t it charming? But coming into contact with it can be an absorbing experience, if you know what I mean.”
He leaned toward her, swaying, and blinked as if he couldn’t focus Rob’s eyes properly. “Damned human bodies. They’re like your tissues that you humans blow your noses on. Useful for a few seconds and that’s it. Into the trash.” He waved his hand.
Was it shock or the cold that now seemed to flow off him in waves that was making it so hard to breathe? Oh, Rob. When had
Mahtahdou taken him?
A strangled howl sounded outside, followed by another and then by dozens more. Mahtahdou glanced behind him toward the door. “My friends want to come in and play with you. Shall I let them?”
He made a similar call, and all at once the three-legged, rubbery things came swarming in, most of them shrunk back down to knee-height. But other creatures had joined them—some with more or fewer legs, or with long snouts or blunt, lamprey-like mouths, or with trailing tentacles ending in squinting, malevolent eyes. They capered and leapt with a motion somewhere between a dance and a stagger. Some clustered around Mahtahdou’s feet like obscene pets. They glared up at her and bared long, needle-like teeth. She remembered the clammer who’d vanished. No wonder Officer Moniz had said they’d needed bags to bring him home in.
“There we go,” Mahtahdou almost crooned. “No, behave yourselves. Mrs. Durrell is our guest—our very special guest.”
Garland swallowed the lump of fear that arose in her throat. “Why use Rob Mowbray? Why not face me yourself?”
“Because the good doctor came in very handy. I knew he might someday, but I never guessed just how useful he would be. He got you here, which is where I wanted you.” He smiled again but only half of Rob’s face moved this time, as if it would no longer work properly. Garland remembered Kathy’s explanation of what happened when Mahtahdou used someone as he had poor Mrs. Shirley. It burns people up in just hours sometimes, Kathy had said. They either go crazy or die.
“How long have you been using Rob?” she demanded.
“Why? Want him for something yourself?” Mahtahdou leered. “Though last I’d heard, you didn’t. You were sating yourself with someone else’s body.” He turned and staggered toward the throne then sank down onto it.
“The little selkie lord,” he continued, leaning against the throne’s carved back. “Did you like my handiwork this morning? I must say, I enjoyed myself. Very much.” He gestured at one of his creatures. It scuttled behind the throne and came back dragging a limp length of something sleek and brown and finely furred. Another three-leg followed, gripping a black-hilted dagger in its teeth.
Mahtahdou took both objects and held them up in front of him as if inspecting them. Garland stared at the soft brown thing and her mouth went dry.
“Do you like my pretty toys?” Mahtahdou flapped the brown length of fur at her then delicately, like a carver finishing a statue, inflicted a series of long, precisely-spaced slashes across it with the dagger. She winced with every stroke. “This knife is far too sharp,” he confided. “A duller blade is much more amusing.”
The creatures crouched around him howled with laughter.
She couldn’t help it—she had to turn away. What was Alasdair feeling right now as he lay on her bed? And she was here, having to watch and think about it—
“Oh, does this bother you?” He licked the blade lasciviously. “But he tastes so goooood. You know that. You’ve tasted him yourself, haven’t you?”
“Stop that.” The sight of him running his—Rob’s—tongue along the blade was nauseating.
“Why should I? Or are you going to try to stop me?” He went back to cutting slits in Alasdair’s skin but his movements were less coordinated, less controlled. “If so, I should like to know how. You weren’t very forthcoming on our trip over here.” The knife slipped and gashed Rob’s arm. He frowned down at it, then resumed his mutilation.
Dear God. Mahtahdou hadn’t told her how long he’d been using Rob, but if he kept up at this rate Rob’s body would be destroyed soon. She had to save not only herself and Conn and Alasdair’s sealskin but also figure out how to get Mahtahdou out of him. Conn was temporarily safe in her purple shirt but she herself was unguarded. Could she snatch the skin from Mahtahdou and run? But that would leave poor Rob to melt under the strain of hosting Mahtahdou.
“Give me that skin,” she said, lifting her chin. “And Conn’s. And then get the hell out of my friend. You had no right to do this to him.”
“I had the best right in the world—the fact that I could.” Mahtahdou leaned forward and tried to look at her but Rob’s eyes veered crazily in different directions.
A distant peal of thunder rumbled in the silence. The weather was worsening. If she was going to get away from here on her little boat she’d have to do it soon. “What has taking him gained you? Rob’s falling apart around you. Let him go.”
“We-e-ell…” Mahtahdou drawled out the word. “Maybe I’ll consider it. But you’ll have to give me something in return.”
She only just managed not to let her jaw drop in surprise. What did she have that he could possibly want? For a second, a vision of her quilts danced in her mind. Kathy had said he hated them…did he want her to hand them over to him? “What?”
He smiled. “Yourself.”
A gust of wind whistled loudly in the ruined wall but she only half heard it. The chill that gripped her had nothing to do with the weather. “What are you talking about?”
Mahtahdou let the dagger clatter from his fingers. “This body got me here with you but it won’t last me long. Yours, on the other hand…” His face creased into an almost dreamy smile. “I had a body once, many years ago. It belonged to a shaman of the humans who lived here. He was powerful for a human…until the family of your selkie lover destroyed it and caught me in a trap.”
He gazed contemptuously down at Rob’s once-supple hands, now trembling badly. “You can see that I can inhabit the bodies of normal humans for only a few hours before they fall apart. But the bodies of magic-users like that shaman…and like yourself…those bodies can endure me quite well. Indefinitely, in fact.”
Garland hoped her voice would not shake. “I can’t help you. I don’t know how to use magic.”
“No?” Mahtahdou heaved himself up from the throne and staggered toward her. “Then what is this?” He flicked a finger at, but did not quite touch, Conn’s purple shirt with her quilt square on it.
“I didn’t do anything to it. I just…made it,” she said in a small voice. Had Alasdair been right after all? Did she somehow sew magic into her quilts?
“Even better. It will be that much easier to take your power if you haven’t already turned it to your own use.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Bodies…lovely bodies. With a body, my scope of activities can be much broader. With a body, I can go into the human world and influence it directly. I can wrap my hands around some poor human’s throat and savor the aroma of life oozing out of him, or I can set whole groups at war and enjoy watching them tear each other apart. I can maim and kill and destroy with my own hands, and make others do so for me. But it’s even better now. Back when I had that shaman’s body, humans were few. Now there are thousands of you. Millions, if what I’ve heard is true. So much blood to spill. So much destruction and pain…” He shivered ecstatically.
Her horror was giving way to anger. “And I’m supposed to want to voluntarily hand myself over to you?” She held Conn closer to her as Mahtahdou whirled and stumbled toward her. But instead of attacking her he smiled again.
“That all depends on whether or not you would like to watch while I use this body to kill the selkie whelp you’re clutching,” he almost purred. “It’s already served me well enough to give the selkie lord a dose of that lovely slime you saw oozing from my doorkeeper…not easy to inject through a needle, but the results were most gratifying. He’ll be dead inside of an hour if he isn’t alrea—”
“You lie!” she shouted, backing away from him. Dear God, he had to be! But she remembered with sickening clarity the gray cast to Alasdair’s face and his uneven, almost panting breathing when she’d left him.
“You know I don’t,” Mahtahdou said. “Admit it, human. You are trapped.”
She averted her eyes from his gloating face and tried to think. Only two choices were left to her: she could attempt to flee for home (in a thunderstorm? asked a small, rational voice in her head as another peal of thunder, closer now, echoed through the hall) in ord
er to keep Conn safe and to try to help Alasdair (how?) But that would doom innocent Rob to death, consumed by Mahtahdou.
Or she could stay here and try to defeat him somehow, guaranteeing that Alasdair would die alone…and that Conn might follow if she failed.
The only circumstance she could see in her favor was that Mahtahdou would not, if he could possibly help it, harm her—she was too important to him. He might try to trick her or frighten her, yes. But physically, at least, she was safe. For now.
Why wasn’t that thought more comforting?
“I see wheels turning in those eyes,” Mahtahdou whispered in Rob’s voice. “Do you think that you can outwit me, little human?”
He began to circle her, leaning toward her at an awkward angle. “A female. My last body was male. I enjoyed it very much. The sensations were quite entertaining.” He rubbed lasciviously at Rob’s groin. “It will be even more intriguing to use a female’s body and see which I prefer.”
How was she supposed to think when he said things like that? “Will you be quiet?”
“Why should I? You have no choice, you know.” He stopped circling and stood before her. “Surely you’ve worked that out by now. Even if this body dies in a minute, I’ve still half-won already. The selkie lord will be dead. And even without a body I can still force you to my will in other ways. Mattaquason will still be there for me to play with. Hmm.” He tried to fold Rob’s arms on his chest and look thoughtful but only one arm obeyed. “Whom next could I inhabit? Perhaps your friend Kathy Hayes would like to see what it is like to drive her car off a cliff into the water. Do you think she would enjoy that? I liked playing with cars that other time.”
He grinned, and the creatures crouching around the room chortled too. Even the growing wind seemed to join in, blowing in abrupt gusts through the holes in the walls.
“Come, human. I grow tired of this conversation. Give yourself to me.” He licked Rob’s lips.
Skin Deep Page 23
