The Nutcracker Bleeds

by Lani Lenore

The question shocked the woman to silence, but she lay as stiff as a corpse. Why? Because her parents had possessed nothing and she’d always wanted something. Because she’d gone to live with an aunt who’d pinned her to the church like being nailed to a cross. Because the man who’d proposed to her was a bigot and she’d wanted none of that. Because she’d chosen to do the wrong thing with her life. Because William Ellington had seen her and thought she was just what he needed in his house. Because she wanted more than all those simple things.

  Well, now you have a lot more, don’t you?

  A smile touched the corner of her lips. Irony.

  ‘Having always been something, I understand it must be difficult to imagine what it’s like to be nothing.’ Armand’s words to her. But that was not entirely true, was it. No; she had always been nothing.

  “I just…want this life,” she said simply, and left it at that.

  Anne didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to sleep, or be bothered by memories. She wanted to think about how to get out of here. But she leaned her cheek against the feathered pillow, and within a few moments, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Twelve: Bloody Pawn

  1

  The mouse squirmed as it was pinned against the wall, supported only at its throat and muzzle by two wooden hands. The attacker leaned in close, staring into the rodent’s eyes with the only thing he had to stare with: hollow, oval slits.

  “Now,” the voice said with an accent that was quite like the Master’s. The sound of it made the creature quiver in fear. “I want you to tell me everything about what’s going on in this house.”

  2

  A stir of dust and a sudden need to cough awoke Anne from her slumber. She rolled against the attic pillow, wondering how long she’d been asleep. It couldn’t have been very long. It was still dark outside and her muscles remained sore.

  Clara was no longer lying with her.

  Did I make the girl up? she considered in her grogginess. But no; it was impossible. She could still feel the doll’s cold lingering on her skin.

  Despite her body’s objection, she pulled herself from the pillow. The needle and marble were still where she’d left them, untouched by the doll. Anne peered around, feeling as though the darkness was tightening around her. The child doll was nowhere to be seen.

  This time, the woman did not call out for her. The child was like a stray dog. If it stood by, looking up at you with its big, helpless eyes, it was harder to abandon it. But if you woke up the next morning and it was gone, would you go look for it? Especially if you knew you couldn’t take care of it anyway?

  Yes, it’s very much like that, Anne decided. Out of sight, out of mind.

  She collected her things and moved forward, but something felt wrong. She wasn’t alone in this attic at all.

  The darkness was closing in. Claustrophobic…

  A bump. A scratch. Anne jumped in her skin. From somewhere, she heard a little scream. Something fell off a pile and crashed to the floor. Where was the exit? Where? She turned around so many times that it seemed the room was moving. Frightened gasps took over her throat.

  Should she hide? Run? Move back to the pillow and sleep her troubles away? She pulled the marble in tighter.

  I’ve got to get out of here…

  “S–S–Sllevk has finally found you. Mas–s–ster will be pleased.”

  The voice was a hiss of air, a burden to her ears. Anne looked to her left and right, searching for the source of the sound until, behind her, she found it. Black beads of eyes stared at her, casting red in the light. Grey–brown fur, a dirty muzzle, one ear… The mouse was wearing a torn and dirty piece of cloth that had once been white. It had addressed her while standing on its hind legs, and she was almost as frightened to see it as she was to hear it speak.

  “Looking for me?” she questioned, wondering about the strength of her legs. “Then forgive me for prolonging your search!”

  Her sentence wasn’t even finished before she was running away, but the mouse was fast. Much too fast. She hadn’t gotten far before it was standing directly in front of her once again. The woman backed away, losing hope by the moment when she’d only had a handful to start.

  The mouse said nothing else to her, lifting its head to release a loud, whistling chatter through its teeth. That was the sound a mouse should have made. They were not supposed to have voices.

  Anne stood still, uncertain, but the shortest twist of her foot sent the rodent into motion. She hadn’t remembered the needle in her hand. It was only on instinct that she brought it forward.

  Quickly, she jerked the needle up, swinging out with it. The mouse dodged her desperate attempts easily with his agile body.

  No, no, Anne. What are you thinking? Jab! Don’t slice!

  Her hand thrust forward with the gleaming rod, and in one of the luckiest instances that had happened to her all night, the point of the weapon found flesh. It dug into the rodent’s shoulder. A squirt of blood leapt out at her as the mouse hissed in pain. Without enough thought to pull the needle out, she simply turned and ran, leaving it embedded in her enemy.

  Anne had no idea if she was headed for the exit or not. Likely, she was heading farther into the depth of the mess. Soon it would be impossible to navigate. A few turns in the dark, and…

  Blocked in…

  A barrel, a large trunk, and a long mirror covered with a dirty sheet were conveniently arranged to hinder her. It was as if all this had been planned–though she couldn’t tell that anything had been moved. The dust on the floor was still thick. One thing was certain, and that was there was no way out of this except the way she’d come.

  She turned, her breathing labored with panic. The mouse called Sllevk was upon her again, dripping a trail of blood onto the wood. Anne was having a hard time steadying her breath. She was cornered and without a weapon. The marble was in her grasp, but she didn’t think she could do much except throw it. That wouldn’t have done much good; she knew her aim was terrible.

  Something on the floor caught her eye. Letting her vision wander, she focused on the object. A chess piece–a red pawn. According to her size, she wasn’t certain if the object would be light or heavy, but it was small enough to swing. It could make a nice club.

  The mouse hissed, drool dropping from its fangs. It had seen her spy the game piece. There wasn’t much time.

  Anne dropped the marble and ran toward it. The mouse ran toward her.

  3

  There were great sounds of disturbance when the nutcracker reached the attic. He’d gone there just as a mouse had instructed him–just before he’d crushed the creature’s muzzle and left it to die, but he’d found out a few important things, so his efforts hadn’t been for naught.

  Now, Armand made his way out of the clutter, seeing a large cockroach skitter out of his path as he moved forward. He smelled a familiar stench. Mice.

  He took hold of a needle and the long screw at his side. Any rodent he could manage to kill was well worth his effort.

  Shadows moved through the dark, scurrying elsewhere. He wouldn’t let them reach their destination. The nutcracker moved in quietly and swiftly, skewering the first mouse upon the screw before it knew he was there. Three other rodents spotted him and turned, withdrawing bottles of a strange clear liquid from beneath their torn shrouds. They uncapped them, and he smelled a familiar smell.

  Turpentine. It was like acid to toys, but that didn’t worry him much. he would not be stopped by the ruining of his paint.

  He threw a needle straight through the throat of one. Immediately following, he pulled the glass sword from his back and chopped off the arm of the next mouse who’d nearly splashed the liquid all over him. That limb gone, he chopped off the rodent’s head.

  He’d never had much trouble with mice. Only an entire battalion of them could stand a chance against him. The next mouse rushed in, and Armand promptly chopped it in half down the middle, spreading open its insides like the pages of a book.

 
The nutcracker was splashed in blood, but it didn’t bother him. He would clean up later if he had the time.

  Back to business, he decided, starting off again to steer through the dark.

  He moved on slowly, following scratching sounds in the distance until he passed beneath an old handkerchief that was hanging loose from a box. When he emerged again, he saw her.

  She was simply standing there, dressed exactly the way he’d seen her last. That little dress with the fur cuffs. A fur hat on her head in the middle of her mass of curls. Light blond hair that had never been snared or pulled a day of her life. She was a vision, and yet, a horrible sight.

  The tiny doll looked up at him. Her blue eyes were empty. A firm scowl was on her pretty face. Armand raised a finger toward her, and in a scolding manner, flicked it at her face twice.

  “Naughty,” he said without any emotion.

  The child did not respond with words. She hissed at him through her teeth, and then turned abruptly and trotted away as quickly as a little girl could. Armand could have caught her if he’d chosen to, but he let her go. He could have cut her down, but he let her be. He watched Clara hurry away until she was gone, thinking to himself that he was surely making a mistake. But what was that pain inside his heart? Guilt? No. Things of that nature did not exist to him anymore.

  He turned his foot to step, feeling his heel slide a bit on the floor. Looking down, he saw the red liquid. Blood. It hadn’t dripped off him. Further examination revealed that the blood was leading a trail across the room that finally disappeared into the junk. Hastily, he followed it.

  He trekked around, closing the area and beginning to hear grunts of exertion from around a corner. It was female. It was Anne. The nutcracker picked up his step, remembering what he’d come here for to begin with and forcing himself to stay true to that.

  Passing into a blocked area, he found what he was seeking.

  The woman was on the floor, ferociously beating away at something with a bloody chess piece. The fluid was splattering with every swing, and he wondered if she was aware that it was all over her dress. He would stop it eventually, but for a moment, he watched her.

  The mouse that she pounded with her club was dead–and had been dead for a short time already. Still, she continued to exact her fury on it. For a moment, he saw himself there–several years before. So much rage built up inside for confusion and loss.

  It’s still there.

  He understood her need, but she would have to control herself now. There were other things to be done. Armand sheathed his weapons.

  He walked up behind her. She didn’t notice, too busy with her work. The next time she raised the chess piece in the air, he caught it firmly in his hand.

  “That’s enough.”

  Before her mind could even register who he was, the woman threw herself off the mouse and away from him, gasping through her calming rage. She was visibly shaken, but she did not scream. Armand was impressed.

  4

  Anne was only aware when her weapon was snatched out of her hand. She jerked her head back to see the nutcracker standing over her, holding the bloody pawn.

  “You’re very thorough,” he said, watching her as recognition dawned in her eyes, and then she peered down toward the rodent she’d slain.

  Anne looked at the bloody mess with a snarl of disgust. Had she done that? She noticed the nutcracker standing over her. He tossed the game piece away and it rolled onto the dark. What had happened? She felt something wet soaking her dress, and she looked down to see that it was mouse blood.

  “Gross,” she muttered.

  The nutcracker offered a hand down to her, but when he saw that it was coated with blood, he withdrew and offered her the other.

  The woman was sure she wasn’t thinking properly, but she accepted it.

  “What are you doing here?” Anne asked, feeling herself calming down–thinking that she was actually getting used to all this.

  “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  The notion shocked her. At the same time, it made her cautious and fearful.

  “For me?” she questioned. “Whatever for? I thought I was just a burden to you.”

  “I found out some things,” he said, ignoring the rest of what she’d said. “Though still very vague. They concern you.”

  Her heart leapt. Something concerning her? Her state? How to get her out of this? Anything would do.

  “Concerning me?” she asked, her mouth going so dry that she hardly got the words out.

  “I still don’t know the reasoning,” he said, standing still and expressionless. “The rodents are loyal, even through torture. Unless, of course, they simply do not know the answers themselves.”

  She listened intently as he continued.

  “You are somehow important to them. They’re seeking you–you and the child Sovereign both. She’s well protected. You, however, are not. And since it is my only business to foil my enemy, I think that whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

  Anne was surprised. He was going to stay by her side? To act as her protector so that the mice couldn’t get to her and no deranged toys would harm her?

  The woman looked down toward the dead mouse once again, smelling the stench that had begun to rise from it. She acknowledged that it was only luck that had allowed her to get to the chess piece first. Luck had guided her swing that happened to connect with the rodent’s head. She was no good alone; she knew that. This was no choice for her, but out of all the non–choices she’d had, this one suited her.

  “Actually,” she said, looking up at him and even managing a short smile. “I believe that sounds quite good.”

  5

  From sheltering shadows, Clara watched Anne leave the attic with the nutcracker, vanishing into the tunnels beyond. The child was angry. This was not right. Not right at all!

  The Master had sent her out to find the woman named Anne, and she had done a lovely job with pretending to be lost and all that. She’d told all her lies perfectly and answered Anne’s questions without fault. For a moment, it had almost seemed Anne could get her into the Lady’s kingdom to spy! But alas, that had not worked out. Even so, Clara had worked without error–but what she’d not anticipated was that the woman would be so pleasant in every sense. She was so nice to look at. She smelled like skin despite the dirt that had settled on her. She was so very pleasant to sleep upon.

  Clara had been supposed to bring her here. The mouse Sllevk had returned to the Master and was instructed to bring a few others with him to apprehend the woman in this place, but Clara had not wanted them to take her. She headed them off and tried to convince them that Anne was not there, but they had shoved her down. The doll had felt helpless, because as much as she wanted to be loyal to her master–as she had been for years and years–she wanted Anne for herself so much! But not only had Anne gotten away from the mice, but she was no longer with Clara either!

  Now Clara would also have to tell the Master that the meddlesome nutcracker was here. He did not deserve to have Anne! And the Master would not be pleased with that at all.

  The child doll–who was actually very much older than she looked–stomped her foot in desperation. Quickly, she looked around for something to destroy. An abandoned bug nest was caked to the side of an old chest, and she gripped it tightly, pulling it loose after several tugs.

  Clara slammed the nest against the floor, breaking it to bits as she grunted stressfully. The insects were long gone, but she wouldn’t have cared if they’d swarmed around her. She intended to destroy it fully.

  After she’d worn herself out, she slammed the nest down, giving the largest remaining lump of it a good kick. Then, the girl doll began to cry.

  She sobbed, and welling pressure behind her eyes gave her a headache, but there were no tears rolling out from behind her inset glass eyes. Still, she rubbed at them.

  “What’s wrong, little girl? Whyever are you crying?”

  The very dry voice was unlike
anything Clara had ever heard before. The deep, sensual voice of a woman, or perhaps the higher–pitched growl of a man. She turned to see a doll dressed in purple sitting atop the dusty chest, legs crossed and swinging casually. I was an attractive thing, but Clara thought it had a sly grin. That smirk told Clara that the toy didn’t care why she was crying. It was only taunting her.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, none too warmly.

  “You may call me Edge,” the pretty male doll said, his grin widening in a way Clara didn’t like.

  She appraised him a moment, a scowl of disgust never leaving her face.

  “You’re scary,” she noted.

  “How nice of you to notice,” Edge mocked. “Seems I’m dealing with a child prodigy. Master of the obvious.”

  Clara stomped her foot and clenched her fists.

  “I don’t like you!” she declared.

  She looked around her feet to search for something she could throw at the talking oddity with the evil eyes. A remnant of the bug nest rested nearby and she promptly scooped it up and heaved it. Her aim was surprisingly accurate, even with its spontaneity. The clump headed straight for the toy’s featureless chest.

  Clara was shocked when the doll named Edge reached out and caught the piece in his fist.

  “It’s fine that you don’t like me,” he said, eyeing the dirt before crumbling it into tiny grains. “But you like her don’t you? So pretty and soft? That’s what your little tantrum was about?”

  Anne. Of course he was talking about Anne. He could tell? He’d been watching her? The girl crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

  “That’s none of your business!”

  She heard a light chuckle. “It’s just that we seem to have a lot in common, you and I. Both wanting something we can’t have…”

  His disturbing voice trailed off, letting the thought sink into her mind. Finally, it did.

  “You too?” she asked, turning around to face him.

  As if this was an invitation, Edge jumped agilely down from the top of the chest to the floor. Clara noticed the large blade the toy carried on his back, but by this time, she was much too mystified to run away. He stepped up to her, kneeling down to look her in the eye, peering through his long black hair. Clara noticed that he was very close to Anne’s size.