Disenchanted

by A. R. Miller

  The Holden and Unholden courts, as well as the Seelie and Unseelie, might take it as a sign of invasion. It might even start an all-out war. Like the floods of ’93, or the tornadoes of ’05, there would be devastation everywhere. If I’m right, this dipshit has no idea what he’s done and probably doesn’t care. Gods, please let me be wrong.

  An amulet slips from his shirt, dangles over me. “I saw Jenny wearing that.”

  His fingers slide over it lovingly, a twisted smile growing as he clutches it.

  “That wasn’t Jenny you chatted with that night.”

  “You?” I ask, barely able to voice that single word as my thoughts drift to the shape–shifting actor. This bastard had used those Talents to become Jenny for the night.

  He taps the bright red stone and nods.

  “Is that how you hold the Talents you’ve taken?”

  He nods again, sitting down beside me like an eager puppy awaiting praise. Praise he doesn’t deserve, but I get the feeling he’s starved for attention. And all criminal masterminds want the world to see their accomplishments, right? I’ll play along, anything to prolong my pitiful existence.

  “The knot work is a spell?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the stones?”

  “They are true power.”

  “So somehow you manipulated the stolen Talents into the stones and the knot holds them together.”

  He claps. “Very good. You aren’t as stupid as I thought.”

  “How did you get the stones to contain the power? I mean, it’s not as if I’ll be telling anyone your secret.”

  “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. As you pointed out, you’ll be taking it to the grave.” His words and laughter reminiscent of the villain in any cheesy movie.

  Rule number one; make the client feel like the most important person in the world. Easiest way to do that is to get them talking about their favorite subject. Themselves.

  Having nothing to lose I struggle to sit up, exaggerating how the binding of my arms hampers me. He’s so excited about telling someone about his accomplishments I might as well push my luck.

  “Considering you’ve repeatedly pointed out I’m not leaving here alive, could you possibly undo my arms, or at least tie them in front of me? I promise to stay put while you tell me everything.”

  He shrugs, flipping open a pocketknife and cuts me free. Who looks stupid now? Every muscle protests as I prop myself against the wall. His agitation pronounced as he jostles my body up and back. The last thing I want to do is screw it up, now that I’ve come this far. Pretending to be interested—I know I should, it might lead to something important—is more difficult than imaginable.

  My broken body settled, he sits a little too close for comfort, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. Leaning forward, his face is animated with something other than anger. I can feel the internal struggle between his desire to tell me everything and caution. It’s so childlike, the need for acceptance and praise. For a brief moment, I feel sorry for him, but it’s wiped away when I think of the ruin his actions have left my life.

  Hold on to your anger, keep him distracted. If he’s busy talking, he isn’t killing me, and maybe, just maybe my luck will change. I might find a way out of here, or help could show up. Not going to hold my breath over that last thought, but it’s possible if we have crossed the veil. Maybe Einen can find me. No matter how slight the chance, I have to have something to hold.

  “So, how did you trap the power in the stones?” I ask, not wanting to let the window I opened close.

  He literally giggles. Like a teenager, proud of how he’s deceived the adults. “Believe it, or not the answer was on the Web.”

  “The web?”

  He gives an overly exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes.

  “The Web—the Internet—you have heard of it, right?”

  I nod, not trusting my response to come out without the sarcasm, I taste on the tip of my tongue.

  “There was this site—I came across it by accident—talking about preserving your loved ones as gemstones. With the correct pressure and heat, cremated remains can be changed into jewels.”

  I suppress my revulsion—twisting something meant to be a tribute into something so disgusting.

  “How were you able to find the equipment, to pull this off?

  He laughs.

  “Weren’t you listening? I found a company on the web that specializes in doing it, all I had to do was collect what I needed and cremate them.”

  “So you used the hair from my salon to trap your victims, cut out their Talents, burned them and sent them to this company?” I’d always wondered about that saying, ‘I just threw up a little in my mouth’ now I know.

  He nods gleefully. The only thing that could top this would be if he clapped his hands.

  “It was perfect.” His face clouds over. “And would have continued to be, if you hadn’t brought Royd into it.”

  “Hey, whoa, you can’t blame me for that. You’re the one who threw me into his crosshairs. I didn’t even know the guy until the police put two and two together and got victims equals clients. If you hadn’t used my salon as your personal shopping ground, he wouldn’t have even bothered to enter the equation.”

  “If you believe that you’re a bigger fool than I thought. You’re the reason he took such an interest in the case, why do you think he sent The Sword and Shield to watch you?”

  “Huh?” Damn. His Shield will protect and his Sword will cut. I was right—The Sisters’ warning—Alric and Teiran are this Sword and Shield.

  “I take that back about you not being as stupid as you look. You don’t even know your own history. My parents may have denied me my natural Talent, but they at least taught me history.”

  His growing anger and disdain feeds my own.

  “Kind of hard to have parents who abandoned me at birth teach me anything.”

  He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue.

  “Poor Keely. That doesn’t excuse you. You could have taken the time to find out on your own.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Look at everything I found out on my own.”

  “Your parents must be so proud.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they are.” A chilling smile snakes its way across his face as he touches two of the stones in the amulet.

  Oh gods, he killed his own parents, really shouldn’t be any big surprise. If he’s willing to do that, what chance do I have? Zilch, zero, nada would be my guess, but a girl has to try.

  “Why my salon? There are plenty of salons that cater to Ens.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what I asked.” I drop the asshole before it slips out. Insults are not helpful when you’re trying to stay alive a few minutes more.

  “Why not? You had everything I needed. A large and important clientele, a small staff, and face it, Keely, you’re a sucker. You may be a respected business woman,” he laughs, “or used to be, but you’re a soft touch. Look at the misfits you take in as staff.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? They’re all good at what they do.”

  His grin widens. “Yes, yes they are.”

  “Speaking of my staff, I don’t suppose you had anything to do with Jenny’s disappearance.”

  His jaw hinges guppy–like then slams shut. The cold gleam in his eyes tells me everything I need to, but don’t want to know. A chill flows over me and the oxygen is sucked from my lungs. I doubt there’s a gemstone immortalizing her in that thing around his neck. She wouldn’t have anything he wanted besides what she’d already given him.

  “It was her own fault.”

  His muffled voice continues on, but I’ve had all I can take. I try to shut him out, it’s no use. My hands are pulled away from my ears and the strange combination of his laughter and my chanting enough, assaults me.

  “Now, now, you wanted to hear everything, remember?”

  Nothing like being forced to eat your own words. Next thin
g you know, he’ll expect me to keep my promise to stay put. That ain’t going to happen, not after everything he’s done and what he’s about to do. Bringing my feet up I plant them in his chest, thrusting with what little strength I have. Surprisingly, more than I expected as he lands with a satisfying thud. Scrambling to my feet, I run, not caring where to as long as it’s away from him.

  He shouts something, followed by that maniacal laughter, but I’m beyond caring. I just run, stumbling along until I hit my first roadblock. Wouldn’t you know it, there’s a fork in the road, another choice. Damn The Sisters and their prophecies.

  There’s no time to weigh out the options so I head right, my lousy sense of direction amplified by the lack of visual difference in my surroundings. I discover the glow I thought came from something he was doing emanates from the rock itself. It gives me enough light to navigate the unfamiliar paths. Problem is, he also has light.

  The once–distant footfalls are closing as I lose steam. Nearly drowning, tossed in a trunk and being beaten takes a toll on a body. My muscles scream in protest, but nowhere close to as loud as my instinct to live.

  Using the wall as a crutch, I continue my faltering gait searching for a place to hole up until he passes. Hoping and praying to whatever god might be listening that tracking isn’t one of the Talents he’s acquired. Had I been thinking clearly I’d have snagged that horrid piece of bling he’s so proud of. To think I’d thought it pretty when Jenny, excuse me, fake Jenny was wearing it.

  Stubbing my toe against a jutting piece of stone, I silently curse not only my own stupidity, but also my guardians for not teaching me how to border hop. Even if all the blame can’t be laid at their feet, the pain in mine wants to. My snail’s pace slows even more as a sharp edge slices across my palm. Here come the tears again. Doesn’t matter if it’s fear, pain, or just plain exhaustion. I don’t have time for them. A trail of blood streaks the wall behind me. Can I make this any easier for him? I pull my hand away, but not fast enough. My arm is sucked into the stone, but the sound of his footsteps closing in, making yet another choice for me. Lesser of two evils again? I guess we’ll find out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The last time I had to make a choice like this my lungs filled with water, this time it’s dust. Would what waits for me on the other side be as helpful as Einen, or something far worse than The Collector?

  Millions of voices reverberate and I cover my ears against the constant ooommm, but it doesn’t even muffle the noise. Motion slows to a crawl, like pushing through a wall of molasses, only cool and dry instead of sticky. Reaching the other side leaves me gasping, trying to focus in virtually total darkness. Having claustrophobia could become an issue when jumping between worlds. I’m glad being in close spaces doesn’t bother me and if it did, the alternative would cure me.

  Blinking away the grit, my eyes slowly adjust to the difference in lighting. Still a soft glow, but the rocky walls are an iridescent silvery blue instead of warm gold. The drop in temperature prickles across my skin and foggy puffs of breath obscure my sight. One of the more colorful old timer’s sayings comes to mind, colder than a witch's tit, not that I’ve ever tested that theory. Not high on my list of things to do.

  I’d give anything to ditch the swimsuit for a parka, my teeth chattering so hard what’s left of my brains rattle. The wall behind me begins to hum, the glow brightening, a body slowly emerging. Okay, not anything.

  Limping my sorry ass away from the arm and now leg sticking out of the wall, I bite my lower lip to keep from whimpering. Those of you who think heels kill are in for a rude awakening when you try barefoot on stone. Icy, cold stone to boot. The only saving grace, it’s not slick.

  Pain slows my movements and the fear of more pushes me forward. Sharp edges bite into tender soles, leaving a bloody trail of prints. Every muscle throbs including my heart, beating in my ears so loud it almost drowns out the tapping crunch of his shoes.

  Tears flow freely as my big toe connects with an unseen protrusion. Flailing limbs take the brunt of the impact hitting the ground with a snap. That can’t be good, I hear the inner voice of reason mutter, followed by a flash of pain so intense my stomach heaves.

  Laying there on my face, sobbing, I see my left hand at an odd angle, something protruding from the wrist. The light—what little there is—nearly goes out as I realize it’s not a foreign object. That pale thing sticking out is bone, the streaks of dark running down my hand onto the ground, blood. Stomach muscles twist and squeeze, but there’s nothing left to give.

  I want to curl into the fetal position and cry. I want to pass out. I need to hide, because I don’t want to die. Half crawling, half dragging myself behind an outcropping of stone, I sit, willing myself to fade into the rock. Cradling my broken wrist, silent sobs wrack my body, a never–ending cycle of quaking pain.

  “Hiding won’t do you any good, especially when you’ve left me such convenient clues.”

  His garbled words find their way through the maddening static in my ears. Who knew pain had sound? Salty–sweet copper dribbles over my tongue as teeth gnaw their way through my lower lip. At this rate, maybe I’ll bleed out before he has a chance to slice and dice me.

  If the smell of rotting meat was the first clue he’d found me, my head connecting with rock is the last. He grabs what little hair I have left and drags me into the open. My body screams in protest as knife–like objects rake across abraded skin and so do I when my hand smacks the ground. Flesh feeling like hamburger, a Kaleidoscope of color flashing, my empty stomach convulses. Had there been anything left inside I would have choked.

  “Look what you’ve done to yourself, Keely. Had I let your little game of hide and seek continue there’s no telling what other damage you would have inflicted. As I was telling you before you so rudely kicked me, I need your Talents to fix my mistake.”

  Fix his mistake? The words cut through the pain long enough for me to put two and two together.

  “Sometimes we punish the ones we love. When I bring her back, I can explain everything,”

  “You really think she’ll believe you love her after you killed her?” My voice sounds like my throat feels, dry and damaged. Like acid was poured down it, or in my case up, as in stomach acid.

  “I’ll make her,” he says then shrugs. “If she doesn’t, I can always just kill her again.”

  What does he think this is? A video game? You can’t just reboot a person after you kill them. Take that back, vamps, zombies and other undead types count, but the thought of Jenny forcibly reanimated. A shiver races through me and I groan. Someone has to stop this insanity and considering I’m all alone, I guess that would be me. The idea of me stopping him brings my own sanity into question. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, a little crazy might go a long way.

  Reaching up with my good hand, I tangle my fingers in the chain dangling over my face and give it a tug. He loses his balance, ending up on his hands and knees.

  “Listen, asshole,” I manage to croak. “It isn’t going to happen. You’re not using me to bring Jenny back.”

  He lets out a slow, long breath, closing his eyes. “Keely, Keely, Keely, you really are dense, aren’t you?”

  I twist my fingers tighter in the chain. “Maybe, but then again, maybe not,” I say, giving it a swift yank. Damn. I try again, using the weight of my body and roll. In a perfect world, that chain would have snapped, just like in the movies. If you want to get technical, in a perfect world, there wouldn’t be any need for that chain to snap. In this world, I succeed in screaming in pain as he lands on top of me.

  Righting himself, he clicks his tongue and untangles my fingers from the chain. A little tremor of fear tickles the base of my spine as his thumb gently wipes my tears.

  “It’s a pity I can’t keep you as a pet. You really do amuse me, but that’s just not in the cards.”

  Twice tonight I thought, this is the end, I’m a goner, but I’d been wrong. Guess three times is a charm because I’m pre
tty sure this is it and it makes me sad. It’s so unfair. I don’t get the whole life flashing before your eyes experience. Instead, my last sight will be his raw, oozing face.

  Sadness flitters away, leaving fear and with fear comes what? Laughter, starting out as muffled giggles and building as pain screams through my body. For some sick reason nature has given me the most useless of defense mechanisms. The more pain, or fear I feel, the more I laugh.

  The creases between his brows tighten and his jaw flops like a fish. My head swings to one side as his hand connects with my cheek. I laugh all the harder, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop it,” I repeat.

  “I said stop it.”

  “I said stop it,” I say, continuing the childish game.

  He grasps my shoulders, giving me a bone–jarring shake, my head bobbing.

  “Stop it right this minute.”

  “Stop it right this minute,” I reply between hiccuping laughter. I know I’m pushing my luck, but caring has flown the coop.

  He shakes me again, this time hard enough for my head to bounce against the floor. The laughter stops as bursts of light flare, but the tears continue to flow. It’s bad enough he’s going to kill me, but does he have to give me the mother of all headaches? Apparently, that’s the plan, or he intends on shoving me through the earth. Funny in a warped sort of way, considering that’s what I was trying to do earlier.

  Bright light flashes when my damaged hand slams against the ground. All my pain condensed into one small place. The howl of an injured animal shatters the silence. Brightness fades to red as all that concentrated pain reaches my brain, the receptors all too receptive. My surroundings disappear, there’s nothing, but color, white noise and pain. The noise intensifies and blackness squeezes around the color, every nerve screaming as my body shifts against the serrated earth.

  Why not give into the darkness, let it swallow me? There’s no use fighting, he’s going to kill me anyway. No one’s body is meant to take this much pain. Nor is the mind capable of processing it. It shuts down, but not before I feel the ground give away below me.