by HD Smith
“Is she ever going to call me by my name?” the young man groused.
“No, Jessie,” Mary said. “You should be glad she hasn’t written you off, and still feeds you.”
I glanced back as Jessie closed his mouth, as if resigned to his fate.
He wasn’t plain by normal human standards, but considering he was a pagan he looked down right homely. If his hair, a hot mess of dirty-blond curls, were a bit shorter he might be cute, but his short stature certainly wasn’t helping his cause. He wasn’t much taller than me, definitely under six feet. I looked away when his dark blue eyes found mine.
“She’ll feed me as long as the countess wants me fed,” he said sullenly.
Mary led me into a small bedroom that was clearly part of the servants’ quarters. I waited while she ran a bath, and watched as she rummaged through a wardrobe for a clean set of clothes. The room was neat and tidy, but had a fine layer of dust covering most surfaces. It was stuffy and stale as if no one had used it lately. The skirt and top Mary pulled from the wardrobe looked similar in style and color to hers.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, glancing around the room as if remembering something unpleasant. “I expect you to be washed and in these clothes by then,” she said, tossing them on the bed and hurrying from the room.
I saw Jessie standing sentry as the door closed.
I took the fastest bath of my life, leaving my hair for another day. I needed sleep. I needed more energy, and rest was the best way to recharge my power.
~#~
My eyes popped open when cold metal handcuffs clinked around each wrist.
“What are you doing?” I asked, shaking my arms to indicate the cuffs.
“Mother thinks it’s best. Come along.” Mary attached a chain and pulled me to my feet. I was stiff from sleeping on the hard mattress and my head pounded, but I felt stronger. Some of my energy had returned, but I’d kill for a Berry Blast. The protein drink I’d discovered last spring was like a double shot of coffee chased by a six-pack of Red Bull, and a healing magical boost to boot. Although it tasted horrible, it was ambrosia for sure.
Jessie was still at his post when we exited the room. He followed us down the corridor as Mary pulled me toward a set of stairs. My sense of dread at what lay ahead grew as I climbed each step back to the main floor.
Now that I wasn’t quite as dead-on-my-feet tired, I extended my senses to see who else might be in the castle. It was big and surprisingly empty, as if no one really lived here. Aside from the three servants and me, I only sensed one other person—a very powerful pagan who I assumed was the countess. The staff size was small for a castle this large, but with only one resident, maybe that was enough. Did that mean these servants were part of the “them” Ronin warned me about?
As we drew closer to a door at the end of the main corridor, I sensed others. The powerful pagan wasn’t alone. I stopped dead in my tracks, yanking Mary back a step.
“Move,” Mary commanded, pulling at the chain.
I shook my head, not moving forward.
There were three other pagans in the room, four total behind those doors.
“Who is the countess?” I asked, looking into Mary’s eyes. With a quiet voice I added, “and who else is with her?”
Mary tried to pull me forward again, but I didn’t budge. She or Jessie would have to carry me in—possibly kicking and screaming—if they weren’t going to answer my questions.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Before she returned to claim her throne, she was known as Cinnamon of Man Hatton. She is in the parlor with her brothers.”
I seriously thought I might pass out, or puke, or both. My ears started ringing. I tried to take a step back, but stopped when I backed into Jessie. A spark of energy started forming at my wrist, my fear bringing it to the surface. In my weakened state it did little more than fizzle out. I considered trying to compel Jessie or Mary to get me out of here, but I wasn’t sure I had the power right now to affect one of them, much less both.
“When did she return?” I whispered, as if Cinnamon might hear me.
“A few months ago.” Mary pulled the chain. “Come now, you mustn’t keep her waiting. You are the gift, you must be presented.”
The gift. She said it with contempt, as if it were my fault. It was clear from the exchange with her mother that someone named Gwenny—who was apparently now dead—had spoken of a gift. I didn’t want to be the damned gift. I wanted to go home. The thought of being handed over to those four was second only to my fear of being handed over to Mab. Did Mary think I wanted to be Cinnamon’s property—her pet? Had Ronin known it was them? He warned me—he had to know. He was bound by his word. He had no choice, but he’d known. Was that why he’d offered the water from his flask? It was obvious I wanted free of Mace’s bond—would Ronin have bound me to him if Mace wasn’t here? I didn’t know Ronin that well, but he had to know Mab would be pissed once she found out, yet he risked her wrath to save me from Mace.
I took a deep breath to calm myself as Mary pulled me forward. I couldn’t walk into the lion’s den with my guard down. Maybe Cinnamon would just kill me on the spot. There was no reason for her to torture me. Maybe she’d remember I tried to save her. Maybe she’d save me this time—yeah, I wasn’t going to start counting those chickens just yet.
My heart was beating like a drum when Mary knocked on the door. Why were the quads here in this pathetic town? I would have expected them to be living it up in the Metropolis of Purgatory, not the backwater sticks of nowhere. Was this some punishment from Mab? She’d wanted them, put things in motion that led The Boss to giving her control of them—so why just leave them here to rot? Ronin had said no one wanted the title of countess—so why did they stay?
My heart skipped a beat when I heard Cinnamon say, “Enter.”
Mary pulled me forward into the room and unceremoniously pushed me out in front of her.
The soft leather shoes I’d been given slapped across the floor as I stumbled forward.
Cinnamon, perched atop her gilded throne, was dwarfed by the opulent ballroom, which could have easily held five hundred people. Brocade tapestries hung on the walls and the entire floor was inlaid Venetian marble depicting what looked like the battle of Troy.
I’d never seen the quads speechless—until now. Cinnamon looked stunning in her little black dress. The boys were of course breathtaking in their tailored dark suits—each of them impeccably attired as always. The boys stood behind her, off to the side. All eyes were fixed on me.
Mary cleared her throat. “A traveler came, madam, and brought you this gift.”
Cinnamon’s eyes narrowed. Sage’s lips were pressed into a hard line, but relaxed at the mention of the gift. Sorrel’s mouth was hanging open, but snapped shut at Mary announcement. Mace’s eyes flared a cool blue. I inwardly cringed when he mouthed, “You’re mine.”
Cinnamon steepled her fingers, studying me. My eyes darted between them, and I was starting to feel claustrophobic. After a moment Cinnamon gave me a tight smile, which didn’t reach her eyes, then nodded to one of the servants behind me.
I heard Jessie shuffle off to the back of the room. A small click and the whir of a motor overhead drew my eyes up.
Hold it together, I told myself as I watched a hook descend from the ceiling. A hint of power crackled at my wrists, not enough for anyone to notice, but like before it petered out before building to anything substantial. I really, really wished I’d spent time learning how to hone my abilities. If I were stronger—or more practiced—maybe I could compel or persuade from a distance.
Mary removed the leash from my handcuffs. She grabbed hold of the hook and looped it under the cuffs’ chain. With another click the wench reversed, pulling my arms up until my feet were dangling inches above the floor.
There was no sound in the room except the clinking of my chain as I swayed from side to side. My arms immediately began to ache from the strain and my tired legs, now relieved of my
weight, throbbed with each heartbeat.
“You may go,” Cinnamon said to the servants, waving her hand in a shooing motion.
“Thank you, madam,” Mary said quickly as she scampered from the room.
The quads silently stared as the door clicked shut behind me.
Chapter 11
I stared at the quads, choosing to stay quiet. This wasn’t the first time I’d been in this dance with these four, and considering I was the one hanging from my wrists I decided it was best to let them lead.
“Maybe she’s a gift from Aunt Mab?” Mace suggested.
Cinnamon chuffed, casting a disgusted look at Mace before returning her eyes to me. “Don’t be ridiculous, brother. That bitch locked us away and stole our powers. She’s not going to send us her most prized possession. Not alive, anyway.”
I didn’t consider myself Mab’s anything. She’d lost her claim last spring. I wasn’t hers, but I decided not to argue the point with Cinnamon. One mystery was solved. The quads weren’t here by choice—and Mab had somehow stolen their powers? I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. Cinnamon had to have some power, or I wouldn’t have sensed her so clearly. Of course, I hadn’t registered her brothers until I was within a few feet of the door to the ballroom. Perhaps Mab had only taken part of their strength, and Cinnamon was somehow left with more than the boys? If so, how the hell did Mab do that?
“You’re still blinded by devotion, Mace dear,” Cinnamon continued, interrupting my thoughts. “You need to wake up.”
“Aunt—” Mace started to argue, but she cut him off.
“Silence, or I will remind you why I’m the countess.”
Mace closed his mouth, folding his arms across his chest. He narrowed his eyes at me, but he was clearly backing down from Cinnamon. It wasn’t the same as when they’d fought in the bungalow last spring. He wasn’t even willing to challenge her. Of course, maybe he couldn’t. If Cinnamon’s power was several times his, he’d have no choice but to acquiesce, which must have royally pissed him off. He didn’t like being weak.
“Dare I suggest this is what the message was about?” Sage offered. “Maybe she’s the thing that will set us free, sister?”
That was new information, but how could I use it? Especially when I didn’t have a clue what it was. Could it be the message had implied I’d get them out from under Mab’s control? Or was it more literal, and the message meant I could help them leave the castle? Cinnamon said Mab had locked them away.
“Don’t be stupid, brother,” Cinnamon said, as if speaking to a child. “That message was a lie. That girl—Gwen—said so herself.”
Gwen—the Gwenny Mary spoke of? The one the mother implied was dead?
Sorrel shifted his weight and looked away.
Sage continued, pressing his point, “Perhaps your interrogation—”
“Silence,” Cinnamon barked. “You will not question my methods. Mace was there, he saw her lies.”
Mace looked smug, as if his word was law—unfortunately with his uncanny ability to sense the truth, it probably was. Sage pressed his lips shut, and Sorrel continued to look down at his feet. I could see the anger flare in Sage’s eyes as he narrowed them on Mace. I wouldn’t put it past Mace to lie if it suited his agenda, but I wish I knew exactly what the message had said. Sage implied something about setting them free. Was the “gift” supposed to set them free? Had the message indicated the gift was a person? With my luck the message was probably just as vague as a prophecy. How the hell I’d set them free was anyone’s guess, but I wasn’t above bluffing.
“Might I inquire?” I attempted to mimic the light British lilt of the servants and sound meek at the same time. “Perhaps you could explain why I’m here?”
Cinnamon narrowed her eyes.
“A man,” I continued, “stole me from my farm yesterday and made me look like this.”
Mace’s lip curled. “She’s lying. It’s Claire.” He winked at me.
I tried not to look too disappointed. It had been worth a shot, but clearly Mace hadn’t lost all his power; his freakishly good ability to sense the truth was working just fine.
“Who brought you here?” Cinnamon asked. When I hesitated, she added, “Don’t lie again.”
I raised one of my eyebrows. In my normal voice, I said, “The Bounty Hunter.”
Cinnamon pointed toward Mace, as if he was her personal human lie detector.
“Truth,” he said.
“Who hired him?” Cinnamon asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Does Mab know you’re here? That’s a stupid question,” Cinnamon interrupted herself. “Of course not, she’d already have you if she did. Will Mab find out you’re here?”
“Probably,” I said, concerned Ronin would be forced to tell her. “This is her realm. Of course, I’d prefer she not find out.”
Mace stepped out from behind Cinnamon’s throne.
“I haven’t given you permission to touch her yet, brother,” Cinnamon warned.
Mace stopped his advance. “I merely wish to confirm, without a doubt, that it’s Claire, Sister.”
“He’s lying,” Sage barked. “He wants to take his blood from her and get his powers back.”
Blood? That’s what they need to regain their powers?
Cinnamon laughed. “If she still had his blood, he would have already ripped her apart to take it. She doesn’t have it. He just wants to make sure.”
Mace waited impatiently, his face darkening, jaw clenched.
“You may check, Brother,” Cinnamon said, “but do not damage my property.”
I wanted to cringe as he pushed my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck. Pulling down my shirt collar, he growled as he confirmed his blood mark had been removed.
Mace’s mark, not as sophisticated as what The Boss and Mab had done when they marked me with their blood, had appeared to be no more than a red tattoo. He’d put the emblem of jagged vines circling a serpent at the center of my back, between my shoulder blades. It was one of the things I had fixed after leaving last spring. I’d already neutralized its power, but I hated seeing it on my body. Death had removed it for me.
Mace twisted the collar of my shirt, squeezing it tight against my neck.
“Stop,” Cinnamon commanded. “She belongs to me, remember.”
I coughed as Mace let go of my shirt and stepped away.
“What happened to it?” he snarled.
“I had it removed,” I said, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing it had hurt like hell to have his blood pulled from my body.
He turned away, but I’d already seen the disappointment in his eyes.
“What about Father’s blood?” Sorrel asked. “She still has his mark. I can feel it. Would that work?”
I was surprised to know they could feel the invisible mark, but unlike Mace’s mark The Boss and Mab had magically infused me with their blood, which appeared as liquid fire under my skin when active—not simply a blood red tattoo.
“No,” Cinnamon said. “We need our own blood to leave this place.”
Their blood—that’s what they needed to leave and what they needed to regain their powers? How the hell would I provide that?
“What if the message was true?” Sage asked.
Cinnamon rolled her eyes and looked over at him, but this time he wasn’t backing down.
“Why do you discount it? You said yourself Mab can’t know Claire is here—not yet. She was presented as a gift—from a stranger. Is there any clearer writing on the wall? You can’t ignore that, sister. We all want out of here, and Claire is nothing if not resourceful.”
I raised my eyebrows. I had no idea Sage thought so highly of me. Of course, it was more likely he was just desperate and saw me as a way out. I was happy to oblige if it would get me the hell out of here, but it was becoming clear Sage was the only one that believed in the message.
Cinnamon pursed her lips together, as if finally considering his words.
&nbs
p; “Gwen lied,” Mace demanded. “She lied about where the message came from, then when pressed she recanted and confessed it was all made up. It’s folly to think that Claire will save us.”
Cinnamon was starting to take an interest in the idea. I wouldn’t let Mace derail that progress. “I’m resourceful,” I said, copying Sage’s words. “Wouldn’t hurt to let me try.”
“Be quiet,” Mace commanded.
“Fuck you,” I said, letting him know he had no control over me.
His eyes flared a cold blue. I gasped in pain when he lashed out and struck my side.
“Mace!” Cinnamon screamed, leaping from her chair.
In the blink of an eye, her head transformed into the scariest looking half woman, half rabbit hybrid I’d ever seen.
“What the fuck,” I wheezed, as she tackled Mace to the ground.
Fine white hairs covered her face. Her ears, elongated, stood high above her head, and her sharp fangs glistened with...poison?
“I make the rules now,” she said, in a very un-Cinnamon-like voice. “You will do as I say, or die.”
Mace’s voice warbled with fear. “Yes, Countess, of course.”
Cinnamon actually hissed at him. I wanted to throw up. Half woman, half rabbit creatures weren’t supposed to exist.
“Please forgive me, sister,” Mace begged. “You make the rules.”
I looked up at the middle brothers. Twins Sage and Sorrel were poised, frozen in mid step, as if they were afraid to move forward.
After another tense moment, Cinnamon stood and straightened her dress as though nothing had happened. Mace scurried away, returning to his place behind her chair. His face was pale, as if he might pass out.
Cinnamon, her head still the shape of a giant hare, stopped inches in front of me.
Every breath made my side hurt, and the swinging motion wasn’t helping. She reached out, stopping my body from swaying. Her fingers lingered along the place where Mace had struck me.
The were-bunny version of Cinnamon was scary—disgustingly frightening up close. I could see now why the boys were so reluctant to challenge her.
