by Emma Hamm
Nothing from her waist down would move. By the time they crested the third level, she could flex her fingers.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
He wandered past an ancient looking elevator and down a hallway straight out of a horror movie. She reluctantly admitted to herself that struggling was out of the question.
Had he poisoned her? She sucked in a breath, a cold wave rushing over her. There wasn’t much she could do against a drug running through her system.
Mace would work. She had it in her purse, she could use it now that her fingers were working. If she could convince him to hand her the tiny canvas bag, then she could…
“Where is my purse?” She asked as she looked down her body.
“Your what?”
“My purse!”
He met her gaze with the faintest of frowns furrowing his brow. “We must have left it at the club.”
“Why would I leave my purse at the club? That has all my money, my personal identification! I wouldn’t leave it!”
“Then I must have. You weren’t in any state of mind to remind me.”
Of course not. Because he had kidnapped her. Lydia tried to swallow with a mouth dry from fear. The Mace was out. There was nothing else on her person she could fight with, and she doubted her fists would do the job.
And he was slowing down. Which could only mean that the solid oak door before her lead to his dungeon. She corrected herself. As they were on the third floor, it was impossible for this to be a dungeon. Kill room was more likely the correct way to think of it.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady her breathing as the door opened on its own. He was obviously a powerful creature if he could do that. He could probably kill her with a thought too.
She wouldn’t know. There were too many new magical creatures for any human to get a handle on. Her friends knew about them because they had another voice in their head explaining this new world.
In contrast, Lydia was floundering. She tried very hard to be kind to everyone and not think ill of them simply because magical creatures were inside them. But right now, she was frightened just being in the same room with them. In the same way she was frightened of the man who carefully maneuvered them through the door.
“Oh god,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut.
“That is an appropriate term for me, yes.”
The reply didn’t ease her mind. When she didn’t respond, he took that as an invitation to speak.
“Do you have any family?”
“Not alive,” she replied.
“Your friends, will they try to find you?”
Lydia couldn’t handle the personal questions. “Just do it quick, okay?”
“What am I doing quick?” They were moving again. His steps were even quieter here. He was either purposefully trying to not kick the chains that were surely on the floor, or it was a thicker carpet.
Lydia tried to tell herself that it was the latter. But the kidnapping and fear made her body seize even tighter than before.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she attempted to growl at him. Although the words were far too faint to be intimidating. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it quick. That’s all I ask. I don’t want to hang around too long. I know it’s probably less fun for you to do it that way, but I’m really not equipped for this sort of thing.”
He lifted her higher in his arms, away from his chest, and she held her breath. He was going to put her on the cold ground. Or worse, some kind of serial killer contraption that would tear at her flesh and rip at her bones.
Instead, a soft bed cushioned her back. The cloudlike mattress wrapped around her body with warm folds. As her eyes snapped open, he pulled a blanket that felt like rabbit fur over her.
She blinked up at him in confusion.
Black eyes stared at her and she swore she could see amusement in them. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Kidnappers always tell their victims that.”
She had been wrong, Lydia realized, as his eyes darkened with an unnamed emotion. His eyes were not the universe. They reflected the space between stars and showed only the absence of light.
“It was necessary,” he growled.
“You shouldn't say that. Kidnapping isn't a joke.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
He turned away. Lydia hadn’t realized how captivated she was by his angry gaze until it flicked away from her.
Breathing hard, she flexed her fingers against the furs. “I fail to see how this is different. You asked me if anyone will come after me. You drugged me so I cannot move-”
“I did not drug you,” he interrupted her. With his back turned to her, she could see his posture stiffen, his hands clench into fists. “You have a magical creature inside you.”
Lydia scoffed. “Right. Like that’s possible.”
“It is possible, and it is the truth. The effects upon your body are from the immense power that is trying to settle. Humans weren’t made to hold that much magic, especially tiny things like you.”
A soft part of her wanted to believe him. Truth hummed in his voice, dancing upon her nerve endings and tingling along her spine. A more practical part of herself rebelled. He couldn’t be telling the truth. Otherwise, she would be with her friends and he would just be talking to her.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“You don’t have to believe me. But you have to accept that this is happening and not fight her.”
“Her?”
“The creature inside you is important to me. You will not give her any reason to find difficulty as she settles in your body.”
There was something in the tone of his voice that made her ache. He believed every word he was saying, and that in itself made her sad.
Everyone told her that if there was a creature inside of her, it would make itself known. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and listened with every part of her being. Maybe if she was quiet long enough, there would be a soft sound inside her head. She'd settle for a gasp, a shuffle, a squeak, anything that proved someone else resided in her head.
Even in the silence, there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the steady thump of her heart.
She opened her eyes and stared at his porcelain face. Midnight eyes bore into her soul. Or perhaps it wasn’t her soul at all, but another he was looking for.
“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped,” she whispered through tears. One of her hands flopped against the covers as she tried to move. “I want to go home. Please, just let me go home.”
He growled at her, making her blood turn cold. “You aren’t going home. Paint me as the villain all you want, but you are staying right here.”
“Please!” Her tears had a visible effect on him. She could see how much he was struggling with her begging. Maybe there was a good man underneath that tough exterior. “I’m terrified of you. Whatever gets you off, you must have gotten that by now. Please. Please!”
He ran a hand through his dark locks. “Stop begging me for something I will not give you.”
Lydia’s eyes squeezed shut as she prayed, “I am begging you, don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Stop it!”
She flinched at his shout. More tears dripped down her cheeks until they were rivers running from her muddy eyes.
“You are going nowhere!” His shout echoed.
Her breath caught. She should have known something like this would trigger an episode. Lydia had always struggled with her health. From forgetting to eat, to asthma, she was a delicate creature known by name at the hospital.
She thought she had more control. Her lungs seize. Pressure grew in her chest as her throat closed so tight she couldn't swallow. Anxiety made it worse as heat rushed from her toes and darkened her cheeks.
Gasping noises rocked her body, but no air eased her torment. Her eyes widened and her hands flopped against the bed.
“In... hal…. er…” sh
e tried very hard to explain to him what she needed.
Something akin to panic blazed in his eyes before he rushed forward. “What’s happening? Sil, Sil go easy on her.”
“Why are… you always… calling me Sil?” She pointed at her chest. “Asthma.”
He blinked at her.
Did he not understand what she was saying? She was going to die, she realized with horror. He was going to let her die because he was an idiot who didn’t know what an asthma attack was.
What a way to go. Kidnapped from a club she didn’t want to be at and didn’t even get the heroic "death by murderer". No. Instead, her own body was her demise.
Dark spots blinked at the edge of her vision, threatening unconsciousness very soon. Only then did she see a lightbulb go off in his head.
He snapped his fingers. “This is a human affliction!”
The last thing she saw, before oblivion claimed her, was his hands reaching toward her and tapping her on the forehead. Cool relief rippled down her body. Her lungs eased, her muscles relaxed, and her body slipped into a deep dreamless sleep.
He was livid. How dare she pick a human with such weaknesses? Flaws were not to be tolerated, they were to be exploited.
This tiny human would be the bane of his existence. Sil had yet to make herself known, although he understood the cryptic message to mean she never would, and he remained here with the drabbest woman he had ever seen. His enemies would have a field day when they realized all they had to do was startle her into an asthma attack.
Rage bubbled just below his skin as he swept from the bedroom. Although he closed the door quietly to ensure she remained asleep, he wanted to slam it shut so the walls would quake. He wanted to break things. He wanted to destroy everything he could get his hands on.
But he didn’t.
Pitch learned a long time ago destruction led only to more destruction. The shadows who always accompanied him rolled in great billows as they trailed behind him. They were his constant companions, and the only ones who understood his true nature.
Hands clenched, he rushed down the stairs. He didn’t want to admit he was running, but he was. Running from the mouse tucked into his bed. Running from the realization that the love of his life was gone forever. Running from himself.
His home was on the very edge of existence. It was a place between dimensions, hidden in the shadows of the human world and the next. It offered him salvation when he found himself in spells like this.
He controlled himself until he made it outside. Only then did he allow the primal scream to rip from his throat. The house would muffle the sounds. It always did. For the house had a mind of its own.
Falling to his knees next to the thorns of dead rose bushes, he punched his fists into the soil frosted with ice. His physical form was already losing substance. He had to pull himself together.
Maybe if he had been a normal magical creature, he would have had another voice inside him sympathizing with his pain. But Pitch was no normal creature.
He was utterly alone.
Slowly, his breathing regulated. His heart hardened to halt the ache causing him pain. If he lost what was left of himself, he could not finish what Sil had wanted him to do.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “I promised you. And I will do everything you wanted before I seek the fading light.”
Tilting his head back, he stared at the full moon. Silver light danced upon falling snowflakes that tickled his cheeks but did not melt.
“You said you had to go,” he whispered to her soul, hoping she could hear him somewhere. “We started in the middle, don’t you remember? If you are dead, then this is the end. So where is my beginning? When do I get to see your beautiful face again? When do I get to feel the pulse of excitement when I meet you for the first time?”
His eyes closed against the pain that bloomed. There was no way to hold himself together. Not when she wasn’t there to help him.
He wanted to be there for the woman who was hidden in his house. He wanted to be there for the small bit of Sil left inside her. But the pain became overwhelming, and he realized this was a futile battle.
Bits and pieces of his body fell away into shadow. They twisted and turned until they joined their brethren hidden behind the rose bushes. They trickled across the crunchy cold grass and into the hollows of trees.
His head tilted back as his hair was swallowed into streamers of darkness. Eyes drifting shut, he allowed himself to become one with the dusk.
Here he was able to be his true self. He was nothing and everything at once. He felt the pain, the anger, the sadness. But it was all jumbled into areas that did not care for feelings.
A part of his consciousness trailed after a mouse hopping from leaf to leaf. Tiny whiskers twitched before it was swooped into an owl’s talons and carried far away from him. Pitch took that as an omen and tucked it away for later.
He trailed along the shadows. Lasting throughout the days hidden in tiny crevices until the rest of his body could coalesce in the night. Then he reigned terror upon any creature he could find.
Darkness was fearsome, and Pitch was made of it. Together, they swallowed living things whole and saw as madness tore them asunder. He was brutal, ruthless, heartless in his attempt to ease his own torment by plaguing others.
Pitch was not successful.
Throughout every moment of anger and rage, he saw her. Not his beautiful Sil who blessed his dreams for thousands of years. But the tiny woman he left alone in his house.
The woman who should never have captured his attention, haunted his every waking memory. He saw nothing but the trust in her eyes when she upset him in the club. He felt the delicate curve of her waist under his fingers though he had no fingers in his shadowed form.
She was an infection sinking into his body and tainting the memory he had held onto for so many years. Sil. Sil should have been the one he clung to for humanity. But she was not. It was her. The human girl whom he had left alone.
Days passed, so many he was unable to count them. As shadows, so many pieces of his personality were fractured. Some bits of him marked the sun rising and falling, but others did not. As such, when he finally stitched himself back into physical form, there were too many instances of memory for him to count.
Thousands of days had passed for him as thousands of shadows had seen the sun. It could have been a few days. It could have been months.
He pulled hard at the black velvet jacket he manifested. He would find out, eventually, how long he had been gone. The Cat assassins always counted the days for him, and continued to keep his business going.
Harsh clacks echoed around him as his boots struck the wooden stairs leading to his house. It was foreboding even in the light. The pink sunset appeared bloody as the silhouette of jagged spires and broken windows swallowed its light.
His house, like him, was made of darkness. He imbued it with his magic the day he bought it, and in turn, the house had come alive.
The front door opened without him touching it as it always did. The tails of his coat trailed behind him as he swept through the door.
And immediately caught himself upon a clear wire nailed down by his ankles. Hopping to keep from falling, his eyebrows slashed down in a frown.
“What?” he rumbled as he stooped.
A wire. So thin it was nearly invisible, it had been carefully wrapped around twin nails hammered into the frame of the door.
“So she’s trying to trap me. How quaint.”
Reaching his hand forward, he hovered over the nails until his magic could wiggle them free from the old wood. The house seemed to sigh, and he felt it’s relief deep in his bones. New nails were difficult for the structure. Especially when they were placed where they should not be.
Pitch lifted the wire into the light. “This came from my office.”
So she was awake then. Not only awake, but the magic had released its hold enough for her to start poking around his things. How long had he been gone?
/> Suddenly nervous, he straightened. His magic strained to be set free, to find the traps she had laid out for him in his own home. But there was another part of him, a much more curious part, which was excited to see just how intelligent his little mouse was.
There were no echoing sounds for him to guess where she had hidden herself. Nor did he look for her. Pitch could find her immediately if he wanted to.
She deserved a little privacy. This space was new to her, and she had been frightened when he left her. Leaving her for such a long amount of time was unlikely to have endeared him to her.
So rather than bellow or show his anger, he simply allowed the door to close behind him and stepped carefully. The kitchen was his desired destination.
He rarely found himself hungry, but after such a long time his physical body could use a little sustenance. The knee high boots he wore were now impractical. He wouldn’t be able to feel the wires until they tripped him up.
The thoughts were proven correct as he discovered another in front of the door to the kitchen.
“Did she put them on every door?” he muttered as he carefully stepped over it and waved a hand to free the house from its confinement.
“Wine,” he asked the house as he strode to the fridge. “And something light.”
His requested food and drink sat upon the first shelf of the fridge. Sometimes, an enchanted house was useful.
Usually he had it place the food in the dining room. But today, he felt it important that he wander. The girl was here somewhere, and she needed to see he wasn’t going to harm her.
Other than steal her from the only place she called home and force her to live with him in a decrepit house. But he wasn’t going to think about that.
He could feel eyes on him as he stepped over her hidden trap. A deep breath stilled his mind, and he told himself not to search for her. She would find him when she wanted to.
The plates he carried clacked hard against the dining room table. He eased onto the cushioned seats and began to eat. Alone. She did not appear, which only managed to make him even more angry at her. She lived here. She set traps. And then nothing?
