Kiss Me Deadly

by Trisha Telep

  They bound her head and foot and stuffed a rag in her mouth to muffle her screams as they dragged her deep into the forest.

  “He said to keep her until after the ceremony,” one said.

  “Did he say what we could do then?” said another.

  Gitta closed her eyes and reached out to Enyo in her mind. There was no response from the old zhi —she was either too far to hear, or she heard another call. Elise’s perhaps. Had the hunt begun? Was Gitta too late?

  “Is this one as good with a sword as they say?” a man said above her.

  “Dunno. But good enough for Dufosset to want her out of his way.”

  She begged for the unicorn to save her. She prayed to God to protect His devoted daughter. She called upon every scrap of miracle or magic she’d ever known.

  The reply came from the very heart of the woods.

  ***

  Elise de Commarque, the last daughter of her line, led a procession to the tree where Gitta had told her to wait. The aristocrats behind her carried old weapons and sang snatches of even older songs about unicorn hunts. The mood was merry and light. This was the start of a party. A wedding party.

  When they arrived at the tree, Elise sat down at the base, and the hunters dispersed among the brush at the edge of the clearing, lying in wait as the maiden called the unicorn like all the stories said. Many minutes passed until the woods settled around them again, and Elise felt as if it was time.

  She wore her finest gown, which was getting stained by wet leaves. Her softest slippers were already a mess of mud. Her neatly powdered hair was keeping her from smelling the woods. And the stares of the men arrayed around her, bearing spears and bows and knives trained upon the spot where she sat, was breaking her concentration.

  She peered up through the leaves, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gitta. The hunter had said if Elise could not call Enyo, she’d step in and do it herself. But Gitta was truly hidden among the leaves, no doubt trying to make the experience as authentic as possible for the aristocrats who’d come to partake in a traditional unicorn hunt.

  Elise took as deep a breath as she could beneath her stays. She could do this. She must.

  Enyo! Her mind cried. Come to me now!

  But there was nothing. No hint of magic flooding through her system, no flash of wilderness, of rain and rot and stone and fire. Everything was perfume and dye, stitches and stays, poetry and prattle, lyrics and lies.

  Elise’s hands slipped to the earth, and she stabbed her fingers into loamy moss.

  And then, it was as if every man in the clearing inhaled at once. Elise opened her eyes, and Enyo was there by her side. Her clouded orbs peered deep into Elise’s, and she nudged her head softly beneath the crook of Elise’s arm.

  “Enyo,” Elise whispered. “You’re here.” She stroked the unicorn’s mane, for once not caring about the dirt or the tangles. Enyo was warm, and real, and alive. The unicorn’s heart beat softly against Elise’s side. Breath from her nostrils warmed Elise’s arm. Elise traced each bump and twist of the creature’s long horn, then scratched at the base. Enyo sighed in pleasure.

  “Are you ready?” she whispered. She drew from her pocket a wooden blade. “Play Dead.”

  The unicorn let out a cry and slumped against her. An instant later, an arrow flew from the woods and slammed Elise into the tree. She gasped, but could not find breath to scream. The arrow was embedded in her shoulder. Pain shot through her arm and chest, pain such as Elise had never known. The unicorn started in her arms.

  “Gitta,” she whispered weakly. Who had shot that arrow? Why wasn’t Gitta jumping down from the tree to help her?

  Adolphe leaped out from behind a bush and came running. The unicorn had ceased its feigned death throes and was licking her face. Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled to breathe. Adolphe drew near, and she hugged the unicorn to herself, surprised she even had the strength.

  “Stop, Adolphe,” she said, as if she had a voice in the matter. He mustn’t kill the unicorn. Elise had promised Gitta.

  But Adolphe did not stop. In fact, he drew out a long, silver knife. And then she almost laughed.

  Of course. He wasn’t here to kill the unicorn. And he’d been the one to shoot the arrow. He did want her dead. This hunt had been his best chance.

  Where was Gitta? Where were the de Veyracs? Was she to die alone, surrounded by men and beasts sworn to protect her?

  “Now, my dear cousin,” said Adolphe, leaning in so no one could see what he said. “We shall have no more disagreements between us.”

  “You’re right,” Elise replied. “We shall not.” And she set the unicorn free.

  Enyo knocked Adolphe onto his back and then, with a growl, plunged her horn into his chest. Adolphe’s expression went from triumph to despair. His skin turned purple, and he never breathed again.

  She heard a rustle from the other men, and lifted her good hand. “Stay.” The Vicomte rose from his hiding place and seconded her command with a gesture to the other men. She appreciated his help, but she no longer needed it.

  Elise struggled against the tree and felt the arrow break loose from the bark. She stood, bleeding, the shaft still embedded in her arm, and addressed the aristocrats in the bushes. “My friends,” she said. “Adolphe Dufosset tried to murder me here where I stood, and you men—all of you men, and armed—weren’t able to stop it. Since the death of my father, I’ve counted on you for protection. Today you have failed.” She cast her eyes about the clearing, but the only face she could see was the Vicomte’s. Not even Bernard had come forward. “I think I shall have no further need of you.”

  “My dear,” the Vicomte said. “You’re injured. It’s a wonder you’re not overcome. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I do, my lord,” said Elise. She swayed on her feet, and Enyo came to her side, standing against her until her legs stopped shaking. “I will not be getting married to your son today. Nor any day.”

  Now Bernard stood. “Elise! Think of what you are doing!”

  Elise ignored him.

  “It isn’t your choice,” said the Vicomte. “I have a contract.”

  “I have a unicorn,” said Elise.

  “You have more than that.” Gitta stepped out of the woods. At her back were a half dozen creatures out of legend. These were not small, goat-like unicorns as Enyo was, but tall, majestic horned monsters, their bearing as elegant as stags, their coats shining whiter than chalk. Their eyes were black as they looked upon the men in the clearing, and Elise felt murder in each of their hearts.

  Gitta smiled and shrugged. “You were right, Elise. There are many unicorns in this wood. But they are very hard to call.”

  The men cowered now as the unicorns fanned out to surround Gitta and Elise.

  “I seem to have missed something quite grand,” Gitta whispered to the younger girl.

  Only Gitta would see a man’s corpse and think that. Elise forced a smile through the pain. She raised her voice again. “I have made a decision. I am the lady of these lands. My house, my woods—you may remain at my pleasure, or leave on my command.”

  The Vicomte stepped forward. “Elise,” he said gently. “Your father—”

  “My father did not know what power I wield.” Gitta was now supporting her weight, but still Elise stood on her feet and spoke to the men. “My father did not know that I could protect myself.”

  The unicorns, as one, turned their heads toward the Vicomte. Their horns stood out like swords.

  “I think you should get used to seeing these animals on my lands, my lord,” said Elise. “For they shall be here, watching, if you or any other try to collect me. I will protect my property by any means I must.”

  Somehow she remained conscious until the last man left.

  ***

  “I don’t know if I can leave you,” said Gitta, who sat sharpening her sword by firelight. Enyo relaxed on the hearth, her belly full of pork, a half-gnawed bone near her snout.

  Elise
checked her bandages. “I am healing well. And even the scar won’t be so bad.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Gitta came over and sat by Elise’s side. “How do you know your own power will be enough to keep the unicorns around once I am gone? How do I know that the Vicomte won’t bring an army to your door as soon as I cross the border?”

  Elise shrugged. “If he does, then I will meet him. I can hire men as well as he can. And even the threat of unicorns is a deterrent. I will watch over myself from now on.”

  “I would have been there, if I could—,” Gitta began, for the fourteenth time.

  And for the fourteenth time, Elise shut her down. “It is not your fault. I didn’t realize how desperate Adolphe had become. And besides, when you did come, you brought me something even better than your protection. The means by which I can create my own.”

  Elise glanced out the window, where she could still see the unicorns in her garden. There were more and more every day now. They came, as if awakened from some deep hibernation in the wilderness, and clustered on her lands. Let the Vicomte bring an army. She was ready.

  Beside her, Gitta was silent, staring down at her roughened hands. At last she spoke. “I don’t know if I can leave you,” she said again. “I don’t know if I want to.”

  “You don’t have to.” Elise smiled in relief. “You can leave the Order. Stay here with me, where Enyo will be able to live out her days in peace. Stay here with me, where there are real, wild unicorns. Stay here and teach me all the magic I never got the chance to learn.”

  Gitta looked away at the fire and said nothing. Elise peeked into Enyo’s mind, and her heart sank. She saw mountain trails and endless vistas. She saw deserts and islands and dusty plains. The unicorn dreamed of travel, just like its mistress. For a moment, Elise pictured the three of them, together in those exotic places, but it would never be. Gitta would move on, and Elise would stay here, where she’d made a promise to her people.

  Elise felt her friend’s rough skin against her soft palm. “I don’t think you need my magic,” said Gitta. “You don’t need anyone. Your own magic is stronger than you think.”

  The Spirit Jar

  BY KAREN MAHONEY

  What do you get when you put a vampire in an airplane thousands of miles above the Atlantic?

  I swallow hard and try not to think about the punch line to that particular joke. It’s bad enough that Theo is sending me overseas in the first place, but now I’m feeling sick— airsick? How would I know, I’ve not flown since I was a small child—and my brain is sadistically torturing me with every scenario that could possibly go wrong.

  There are a lot of things that could go wrong.

  At least, that’s what my new roommate cheerfully told me while dropping me at the airport for my Boston to London trip.

  I push aside comforting fantasies of Holly crashing her stupid motorcycle on the way back to our apartment, and decide that I may as well settle in for the flight and watch a movie. Yeah, because a movie will take my mind off the fact that we’re flying over water and I’m a freaking vampire.

  Crossing running water should be impossible for vampires. This is just one of the many so-called “facts” that proved to be pure myth after I was turned a decade ago. I push up the white plastic blind and look out the window, but the ocean is hidden by puffy purple clouds. Surely you can’t really count the sea as running water. Where is it supposed to “run” to, anyway? I’d crossed plenty of rivers in the last ten years, and nothing bad had ever happened. Whoever makes this crap up really needs to get a life.

  Sighing heavily, I lean my forehead against the reinforced glass. I should be reviewing the details of my destination, or maybe ensuring I know exactly what the rare book I need to “retrieve”—an ancient Arabic text—actually looks like. Instead, all I can think about is the fact that I’m flying through the air in a metal coffin.

  I slam the cover down over the tiny window and push my sunglasses up onto the top of my head, balancing them among my annoyingly springy black curls. My blue contacts are firmly in place to hide the natural silver of my eyes. The contact lenses hurt like hell and make me feel grouchy.

  Well, grouchier than normal.

  I begin clicking noisily through channels on the screen attached to the back of the seat in front of me. I ignore the irritated tutting of the fat lady sitting by the aisle. Just let her open her mouth and say one word, then she’ll be sorry she switched seats to come sit over here in the first place.

  What did I do to deserve this? But I already know the answer to that. My Maker likes to needle me when he can, especially ever since I’d gotten home from my year-long sabbatical. It’s like he is punishing me for daring to leave him. I remember the particularly wicked smile on Theo’s face while he gave me the details of this crappy assignment.

  Flicking past the sequel to a teen werewolf movie that did particularly well last summer, I decide on a romcom starring an actress I don’t recognize. The girl is as cute as a newborn kitten and doesn’t look old enough to drive the expensive car she’s using to get to school. I feel old and out of touch.

  This is going to be a very long flight.

  ***

  I stand in a shadowed doorway around the corner from St. Martin’s Lane—not far from Trafalgar Square with its fierce lions—and watch a young couple stroll past. They are holding hands and, under the gentle illumination of the old-fashioned iron lamps in the narrow, cobbled court where I’m lurking, I can see the loving expressions on their faces. Something cold twists inside of me—somewhere in my chest—and I have to swallow to get rid of the suddenly bitter taste in my mouth.

  My mind wanders to the crazy time I’ve had since touching down at Heathrow; getting through airport security was a nightmare of epic proportions. My bad feeling about this entire trip appears to be coming true, and a growing part of me is beginning to wish I could charter some kind of boat to take me over to Ireland. Maybe I could lose myself among my dad’s relatives. Perhaps they wouldn’t even care that I hadn’t aged a day since turning eighteen. They haven’t seen me since I was a kid, anyway. How would they know the difference?

  Riiight. Like Theo wouldn’t send ... people to bring me back. He hadn’t wanted to send his “little Moth” on this particular assignment to begin with—where I’d be so far away from him—but I was fast becoming his best Retriever and this was a job that had to be dealt with quickly. It also needed to be carried out by a vampire young enough to walk in daylight, especially during the summer months, and who could travel overseas and pass for human.

  Lucky me. I can’t stop the sneer that curls my lip, remembering just in time to hide my fangs for the benefit of any passersby. Dammit, there are too many people around. This tiny street is supposed to be deserted after nine p.m. Sure, “Theatre Land” is just around the corner, but there’s nothing open down here.

  I shake my head as though I can shake off the lingering frustration, and focus my attention on the bookstore across the pedestrianized court. The steel gate is only secured with a padlock and would be easy to break, if that’s the entrance I choose. But I’ve done my homework, running reconnaissance earlier today, and discovered an even easier way in.

  At floor level there is a delivery hatch where books and other merchandise are brought into the shop. I’d spent the morning staking out the area and watching until a white van pulled up on Charing Cross Road. Its occupant, a stocky delivery guy in blue overalls, wheeled a trolley of boxes to the hatch and dropped them through one by one.

  I couldn’t resist smiling to myself and wondering why people made it so easy. Of course the entrance was small, but then so am I—that’s why Theo sends me on these jobs. I hadn’t been able to see all the way inside the little doorway, but from what I could make out it had looked like the deliveries were thrown down a crude wooden chute and into the basement.