The Nutcracker Bleeds

by Lani Lenore

  The war had escalated. There were no more rules separating this world from the human world. Order in the name of the Rat King would be had, and it would be had tonight.

  2

  Augustus… Augustus…

  The swell of the word in his head brought his anger to new heights. How long had it been since he’d heard that name? As long since he’d heard his own? Armand had no idea. After all these years, he knew his anger still existed–it was what drove him–but he didn’t think he’d feel it so strongly renewed until he stood directly before his enemy.

  How many ages had passed since he’d stood, looking into the eyes of the one who had taken everything from him? And did it matter? It had been more than decades of searching and finally he’d found him again. When he’d prepared himself, he would go to meet his enemy. There would be no need for words. Both of them must have known what was to happen. In the end, there would be nothing but death.

  Armand paced away from the Shaman’s territory heatedly, out of the room and back into the shafts, trailing along the way they’d come but not paying much attention to where he was going. He moved unknowingly into the area where the sleeping, nomad marionettes had been hanging earlier. It had been a serious chore to carry Anne through their midst in the darkness–as the misfit, bladed toys had peered about for what had disturbed them. He’d finally made it through without a scratch on her. He, however…

  She hadn’t even asked. Of all the things she had questioned, she hadn’t bothered to wonder how he’d saved her life. The woman was simply ungrateful. But she was his burden now.

  “Running off without me is sort of going against what you’re trying to do here, isn’t it?”

  At the sound of her voice, Armand stopped and turned to see her jogging up to him. She’d twisted her hair back up, but several strands hung loose. There was a smudge of dirt on her attractive face. The mouse blood on her dress was beginning to smell worse, and it seemed that some of the Shaman’s stench had collected on her. Even so, her eyes told him that she wasn’t ready to crawl into a corner and cry yet. That pleased him.

  “You should learn to keep up,” he said, refusing to take any blame.

  “So, we’re going to do as the Shaman wants?” she asked, ignoring his pointed remark. “To assassinate the princess he spoke of?”

  “It should be simple. Quick. And I can then get back to the matter at hand.”

  “You trust him then?”

  “Nein. Not a chance. We’ll have to be cautious.”

  She nodded shortly, and he couldn’t believe she wasn’t lecturing him about how wrong it would be to commit this deed. Was she not the one who’d told him how absolutely disgusting it was to not help protect his own kind? Then again, perhaps she understood things better now than she had before. Either way, he was helping her to stay alive and so she would keep following him and obeying his instructions.

  She looked up into his empty sockets, seeming to await his word, but after a moment she offered her own.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  This was not an inquisition over his plans. She was prying into his story. He wasn’t falling for it. Keep your secrets. Sure, right.

  “Not especially,” he replied.

  Anne became sullen at this. The twist of her mouth made him want to smile. He didn’t.

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  This caught him off guard. Actually, he’d been too caught up in his anger to think much about it. He was still new here, only having explored a small portion of the passages in comparison to the size of the house. Now, apparently there was another ‘kingdom’ of toys that he’d had no idea even existed. When would it end? This was a ridiculous mess.

  “No,” he admitted finally. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”

  “I do.”

  This sounded pleasant to his ears. She knew where they were to go? Wonderful. She was useful after all.

  But, something about the look on her face made him unsure of her intentions. He crossed his arms and looked down at her sternly.

  “And you will be taking me there?”

  “I’ll tell you, if you tell me.”

  His anger rose up like a wave of heat. He knew she was still pressing him about his past. Why did she insist on this? Could she not leave it alone? He wanted to strike her, but he controlled himself, even managing to keep his voice down when he spoke.

  “It is not wise to toy with me concerning this,” he growled. “If you had any idea–”

  “Well I guess I don’t.”

  The last shred of his tolerance fell. His hand shot to her throat, gripping the rough material of her collar and jerking her forward, pulling her off the ground. He leaned down to be face to face with her, the slits of his eyes narrowing. He felt huffs of warm breath against his face as she breathed angrily through her nose.

  “If I had any mind to tell you–which I don’t–we both know what would happen. You would ask questions. It would go on and on, back and forth until you’d heard it all. And after that, you’d realize that my business doesn’t concern you or matter to you at all. So what would be the point of wasting my breath?”

  He let her consider this, but she didn’t dwell on it for long.

  “That’s not why you don’t want to tell me,” she accused.

  “Well I guess that if it’s not adequate for your satisfaction, I’ll just have to kill you.”

  That shut her up well enough. There was uncertainty in her eyes for a moment, and then disbelief. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Without words, she was calling his bluff. He’d chosen to protect her, but why? Why this meddlesome woman and not Olivia instead? One who chided him instead of one who offered nothing but affection? Simply to keep his enemy from getting to her, of course. If Armand had killed her and chopped her into tiny pieces and devoured her, then no one would have her, would they?

  What’s wrong with you? his self asked. It’s your anger making you act this way.

  His self was right. Those were not serious thoughts of destroying her. She was irritating, but she didn’t deserve to die–as Olivia did not. They were innocent in all this; the only lives that mattered here. More than his own. They had real lives.

  Anne stared at him boldly as he held her there. She did not attempt to get away. She was afraid of him, oh yes, but she had swallowed that fear. He managed to have a small ounce of respect for her at that.

  How long had it been since he’d been so close to such a pretty Frau? A real one, not counting any child that had ever held him? Any one of the other wooden abominations could only dream of being so close. He could feel the warmth of her skin on his fingers through the cloth where he gripped her collar. Did he really have that self–control that he thought he did? If he’d desired–truly desired–a firm jerk would have ripped the dress to pieces. He would be as those other abominations that wanted her.

  But he couldn’t do that to himself. His existence was torture. He didn’t need to be reminded. Still, perhaps not all was for naught.

  He leaned in and stole a kiss off her flesh lips. Just one, starting at the bottom lip, moving upward to taste the top. And then it was over, but it lingered across his mouth as he released her and walked away. He hadn’t cared to observe the look on her face, or how it was too quick for her to resist. It had been simple and meaningless, but for now, he was satisfied.

  3

  Behind him, Anne touched her lips. There was dampness there. Not hers; he’d left it. His lips had been firm but not completely solid. She should have expected that from watching him speak so fluidly. But that was all beside the point. How much more insanity was there in this nutcracker? To threaten to kill her and then decide he wanted to kiss her instead? But perhaps the kiss was simply for spite because she’d not welcomed it. Another way of exerting power over her?

  She tried to get angry. She tried to convince herself that she’d been wronged–tried to make herself understand that she was sane enough not to have liked
it.

  4

  Within his room, Euan the toymaker awoke on his bed in the cold, quiet of the night.

  His one eye that was not glazed with blindness peered around the dark room. What had awoken him? He hadn’t been in bed for long, and everything seemed silent and still. Had it been a noise he’d heard from one of the other rooms? An anxious youngster moving to get a peek downstairs? He pressed his head deeper into the pillow…

  But immediately shot awake again. He’d failed to realize it in his grogginess, but now he did. There was something soft and cloth–like in his mouth.

  He tried to raise a hand to relieve himself of it, but his hand would not move. Neither of them would. Euan twisted a bit, but found that he couldn’t efficiently move any part of his body.

  On the workbench nearby, a lamp lit up, and from the light of it, Euan could see that he was tied with an intricate webbing of threads–puppet strings–that traced from his body and off to various places in the room. The threads were tied to his fingers and toes and cocooned around him, wrapping him so that he couldn’t manage to move at all.

  Panic settled in, but he could not yell or break free. He wrestled a few moments until all his strength wore down. He’d accomplished nothing, and from somewhere in the room, he was certain he heard the sound of giggling.

  Olivia? He would have asked if he’d not been gagged.

  Was this a joke? The girl’s handiwork? No. This could only be the work of the devil.

  In that moment, he felt something moving across his body.

  He couldn’t tilt his head to see, but something walked weightily up his leg, disturbing the hairs there with its feet. He couldn’t see whatever it was, but it moved upward, not neglecting to tread heavily across his genitals like stairs before stepping up his thin stomach and onto his chest. The thread moved and the toymaker felt his head being tilted upward, only by the allowance of the strings.

  When his chin touched his chest, Euan found himself peering into a pair of tiny, red eyes.

  A perfectly smooth porcelain face looked down at him, pretty lips, unpainted. But someone had drawn in the eyes? The hair of ebony that was attached to the head was very high–end–o the very latest and most realistic kind available. Too long… It wore a dress of deep purple that had been cut through at the middle to reveal the china stomach. The body was quite plain, but he’d been meaning to work on that.

  Euan remembered this doll. He’d stopped work on it just before he’d left for his trip to France. He hadn’t returned in quite enough to time to finish it as a present for–

  “Hello, father,” the doll said in a voice that flowed soothingly into his ears. Still, something about it was very menacing.

  The toy spoke… It moved on its own… It even had completed itself, turning a regular prototype into something wildly exotic. What sort of evil dream was this?

  “Isn’t this grand?” the doll asked gleefully, throwing its hands. “How many toys–especially the rejected ones–get to look their father in his big, enormous eye and at the very same time, know that he realizes it’s looking back at him?”

  The monstrous grin that emerged on the doll’s face was horrifying. The laugh that broke through that grin was even worse.

  Euan’s eyes widened as he watched the doll move about within the sight of his one good orb. This was much too unpleasant to be a dream.

  It’s really happened, he thought. The curse was real…

  When he’d purchased the nutcracker off the man who seemed too jittery to even hold it, the man had told him that the decorative soldier was rumored to have a curse placed upon it–that it was alive and that it made other toys come alive as well. In fact, that was the very thing that had sold the nutcracker doll. Sure, it was alluring by itself, seeming enchanted–He could feel it to simply hold the doll!–but what Euan had hoped for most was that the tale of the curse was true. His beloved Olivia would finally have reality out of her fantasy world. Of course, he’d not truly believed at the time.

  But now that he looked on at this doll that was so obviously alive–no strings attached, made by his own hands–he was shaken with fear. Still, those ideas of the curse were the man’s assumptions, not quite right with the truth.

  “I feel a bit wronged, knowing that I wasn’t good enough for you. I suppose you’d say I’m bitter.” The doll put a hand thoughtfully to its chin. “But I guess you weren’t useless. You did teach me one thing. Hatred.”

  Euan focused on something that was hanging on the doll’s back, but in all this disarray, he could not see what it was.

  “What is that old saying?” the sensual voice of the doll growled. “Oh yes. An eye for an eye?”

  The misfit toy moved closer and gripped the eyelid of Euan’s good eye, giving it a tug. The man gave a muffled groan of pain. The doll laughed as he released the flap of skin.

  “But there’s a better one than that. Do you know it, father? It’s a head for a head.”

  The doll withdrew the razorblade from its back, opening it to its full length. At the sight of it, Euan began to squirm once more, to no avail. The cold edge of the razor touched the skin of his neck.

  “Yes. A head for a head,” Edge said, his grin and eyes gleaming. “You gave me mine. Allow me to take yours!”

  Chapter Sixteen: New Eyes

  1

  There were other children inside the Ellington house other than Olivia–young ones who also liked to make fantasies with their own toys. Olivia had a habit of wanting to adopt every doll that she saw, so to keep her sibling’s toys from disappearing, they had their own room for play on the second floor.

  No matter how much Euan adored his precious Olivia, he never slacked in creating masterpieces for the other children as well. The playroom was filled with dolls and soldiers, but the centerpiece was a grand dollhouse that stood three stories high and had a clock tower set at the top, which always kept perfect time. This had been a special gift for Olivia’s younger sister Elizabeth, since she had two brothers to rival. Olivia had loved this dollhouse, and her uncle had promised her that one day she’d have one just as grand.

  Anne remembered the fort of books that the Lady Sovereign had made her palace. There had been a clock atop it. Perhaps Olivia had been trying to duplicate this house?

  Olivia was not allowed to play in her siblings’ room without Anne’s supervision, so the nurse had seen the inside of it many times. While the girl in her care had fond memories of the place, Anne’s were not so pleasant. She spent time there, sitting on a little stool, talking to–or trying to avoid talking to–Edna Callahan, nanny to the other children. To Anne, just a nosy, old biddy.

  Oh yes, we all know about you, pretty girl. You’re after Todd, aren’t you? Well, you might have a fair shot, I suppose. A young man like that likely isn’t interested in anything more than a pretty face and something shapely he can wear on his arm.

  The very thought of it made Anne fume, but now was not the time to consider matters that wouldn’t help her correct her current problem. Her business was helping Armand, no matter how much she grew to loathe him by the instant. That was, at least, what she’d insisted to herself.

  Because, whether he knew it or not, he was going to help her get out of this.

  Keeping her mouth shut sullenly, she’d led him carefully through the shafts, following the direction of the vents toward the toy room–or, more appropriately to this situation, Princess Pirlipat’s kingdom.

  They were not far from the grate when they began to meet groups of toys in the passages, traveling away from their destination. Many of them wore cloths over their heads and bodies like shrouds. Different sorts of toys were nearly indistinguishable in the multitude. They carried bundles on their backs, some even with carts made of roller–skates or wooden horses, and they hardly glanced at Anne and Armand at all.

  The nutcracker made her stay behind him as they fought against the flow of the traffic. Still, they remained mostly unnoticed even as they pushed past the others. Th
e Shaman had mentioned that many of the toys from all over the house were journeying to the Lady’s realm. It appeared that he was right.

  Anne wanted to reach out and grab one of them, to ask why they were leaving, but she dared not. It would draw too much attention to herself. She didn’t expect Armand would ask or even care to know, so she would just have to continue on ignorantly. Instead, she held tightly to the leather strap that held the screw to Armand’s hip. There would be no losing him.

  When they finally reached the destined vent, it had been removed completely to make way for those leaving through it. There were no soldiers manning the space like in the Lady’s realm.

  Armand finally managed to push his way through the toys that stubbornly refused to acknowledge their existence. Anne could breathe comfortably again. They came out into the open space of the room that was illuminated by flickering lamplight, blown by some strange wind–unseen and unfelt.

  The room was a wreck. Dolls and stuffed things were rummaging through everything, taking clothes and whatever else they could find. There was little order here, with only a few soldiers to stop what was going on. It seemed that many of the dolls and soldiers had already left, for most of what remained here were object toys–trains, marbles, rubber balls, and puzzles.

  Perhaps their task would be just as Armand had said. It would be easy to do what they had come here to do. As far as she could see, the princess’s home was unguarded.

  The two of them drifted off to the side and into the shadows beneath a table. There, they observed the area a moment before either of them spoke.

  “What are we to do?” Anne asked quietly.

  Armand looked down into her eyes, and they told her that she was a bit more wary of him than she’d been just before. She’d not forgiven him for his actions toward her earlier–not forgotten his irritated kiss–but she had to try extremely hard to present her displeasure to him. He could see that as well.