Dark King Rising

by Alledria Hurt

  Naomie shook her head. She couldn't just leave her here if she pled for freedom, could she? Her breath smoked against the mirror.

  "How do I find you?"

  "You must traverse the maze. Its end will bring you to me. Then we can escape together."

  If she had been on the fence about seeing the Princess before, the thought of escape put it to rest. If only she could escape. She would return to her sunny dream. This dream felt too cold. The Princess watched her as she moved away and toward the only space which did not have a reflection in it. Naomie stepped into the hallway and felt her way along. Everywhere around her, she stared at herself. She was perhaps a hundred feet along when she came to the first wall which directed her to change course. She turned, then turned again, hands out in front to feel her way through the funhouse.

  Behind her, the Princess watched and offered no counsel.

  Once she realized the walls curved in on themselves, turning in a spiral, Naomie began to move faster. Around the curves she went, bringing herself to almost run. Finally she reached a door. It was a prison door with a slot for food and a window for speaking. Both were closed. Naomie sidled up to it and opened the window. A frantic face pressed against the bars.

  "Help me," the Princess cried.

  "Help you how?"

  "There's a key somewhere out there. It can unlock the door."

  Naomie looked around but nothing came immediately to sight. Then she looked at the door once again. The key would be special. The lock certainly was. It looked as if something round fit in it, not your normal key. Naomie backtracked a few feet looking for anything which might be of use. It was then she noticed a strange thing. The reflection of the door when she wasn't standing in front of it was different from the door itself. In the mirror, the key already sat in the lock. It was a small mirror compact. Naomie reached out to touch it and her fingers fell in. Her hand gripped the key and it came out when she pulled away.

  "Amazing."

  The compact key sat heavy in her hand.

  "You have it. Please, you can let me out." Behind her, the Princess seemed to be crying with joy. Naomie turned to her and her grip tightened on the key. In the back of her mind, doubt nibbled. Marie created the Mad Princess and she was one of the minions of the Dark King, wasn't she? Shouldn't that mean she was bad? Would letting her out be a horrible thing?

  "Come quickly," the Princess said, pressing her face closer to the bars. "We can be free in moments."

  "How do we get out of here once I open the door?"

  The change in the Princess's demeanor was quick, but Naomie caught it as her face slid from pleading to vicious then back again. With a sad look in her eye, the Princess admitted,

  "We have to go back the way you came. Otherwise, we'll never leave here alive."

  Sidling closer to the door, Naomie tried to see past the face to what might lie beyond but the Princess blocked any view.

  "Please, you tarry too long. We must go. Unlock the door."

  "What will you do if I unlock the door?"

  Without hesitation, the Princess replied,

  "Come out."

  Placing one hand on the door, Naomie fitted the key into the lock and felt it click. On its own, it turned until it had gone a full circle where it stopped. The door sprang open nearly knocking Naomie down as it went. Behind her in the mirror, the door stood open as well, but Naomie was no longer in the reflection. Standing before her, the Princess stood at a regal height, her head thrown back to expose the jewel at her throat. It was a black diamond in the shape of wings.

  "Hurry," Naomie said. "We should leave."

  The Princess stalked out of the room and grabbed Naomie by the arm, biting into her skin with her fingers. Immediately, Naomie fought back bringing her free hand to strike. The Princess blocked her and tossed her backward into the mirrored door. Naomie's back connected and she began to sink. Floundering, she grabbed the edges of the mirror and held on. Her head was half-submerged and behind her something was even colder than before.

  "No, please."

  "Don't worry," the Princess said. "It will be as hospitable to you as it has been to me." Then she slapped Naomie across the face and Naomie lost her grip falling into the mirror. Both doors slammed shut and the key fell out.

  With freezing hands, Naomie banged on the door to no avail. She tried screaming through it, but who would hear her? Looking around the room, she tried to make sense of what was happening. It seemed so familiar because it was the world out of her sketch. Hard to believe she had shown it to Marie only days before. She huffed into her hands and rubbed her arms. Somehow, she had to get out, but with the cold invading her limbs it was hard to think of anything besides getting warm.

  However, one thought did break through. What was the Princess going to do now that she was out?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Realizing he must have dozed off again after his dream, Ray sat up in bed. The morning sun streamed in the windows throwing long shafts across the room. Beside him, Naomie lay still asleep. He rubbed blurry eyes and stretched. His side twinged, phantom damage from the night before. Crawling out from under the sheets, he made for the bathroom to take a piss. Only a slight limp with the movement. Then, hands still wringing wet, he went into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. Naomie was always a much nicer person after her first cup of coffee and he liked that. Breakfast could wait until she actually got up. The coffee pot burbled and Ray stood there with his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. The dream had been vivid. More than that, it had to have been real. Otherwise, how could he explain feeling as if he really had been partially eviscerated? The whole thing was impossible. Yet he stood there in the light of day and couldn't say it hadn't happened.

  The desire to rip the pot out and pour his first cup before it even finished brewing was strong, but he resisted. A few more minutes wouldn't mean anything. Besides, he needed to think. What did it mean? He remembered asking Marie that question a day ago. She didn't have an answer. Of course, he didn't either. A lot of speculation with no concrete anything. And he was a construction guy, he liked concrete. Maybe he had been told about the differing ending and his dream had been informed by that, but how did that explain last night? Last night, he fought a figment of Marie's imagination that might have been his counterpart in another world. That was a lot to think. Probably an even bigger mouthful to say.

  He checked the time. 8:30. Almost no chance Marie was up and moving around on a Sunday. She kept strange hours on the weekend as Naomie could attest to.

  The coffee pot finished with a sucking sound and Ray got out his mug and the sugar. Despite the fact he normally wouldn't eat sugar, he wanted it today. Black as night and sweet as sin as the saying went about coffee. He mixed six teaspoons of sugar into his coffee and took it with him into the living room.

  Naomie's files sat in neat piles on the coffee table where she had been doing some last minute boning up on a case. He put his coffee cup down on the corner without disturbing them and moved to find the television remote. A law book on the red couch hid it from view. He flicked the television on.

  They were talking about a body found at a counselor's office. He recognized the name because Naomie's friend, Rebecca, worked there. They described the disposition of the corpse and Ray shut the television back off. No need for bad news on a beautiful morning. Maybe he would go work in the garden after he finished his coffee, do something productive with his Sunday.

  Something clattered and he shot out of his seat. The sound came from the bedroom.

  "Naomie?"

  She had flailed her way onto the floor dragging with her the bedside phone which only carried bad news. The sheets were a tangle around her legs and her lingerie was riding up across her hips.

  "Help me."

  With a shake of his head, he leaned down to untangle her legs. As he did so, he kissed her hip. She pushed his head away and made to crawl back onto the bed. Once she was sitting on the bed, she shook her hair out
.

  "What a night."

  "You're telling me," he said. "I made coffee. Thought you might need it."

  Naomie smiled at him.

  "Would you get it for me?" she asked.

  "Anything for you," he said.

  She sat back and he went to get her coffee. He fixed it with cream and sugar, which wasn't her everyday fare, but she did it that way on the weekend as if to remind herself she wasn't going to work. He went along with it because it made her happy and a happy Naomie meant he got to be happy as well.

  When he came back into the bedroom, she was tiptoeing across the floor on the balls of her feet and swinging her arms. Ray watched her from the doorway, the steaming mug of coffee in hand, and tried to figure out what about this felt wrong. Normally, he could be fascinated by watching her move but right then, all he could think was she's being funny somehow.

  "Here's your coffee."

  She spun to meet him as if she were wearing high heels and reached out for it. He put it in her hands. She brought it to her lips immediately.

  "Watch it, that's hot," he warned. She stopped, looked at the mug with distaste and then at Ray. A smile graced her lips, but didn't reach her eyes. Ray called that her show smile. It meant something was not the way she wanted it, but she would take it for whatever it was worth.

  Ray scratched his chest and stretched again getting another warning twinge from his side.

  "Did you sleep alright?" he asked.

  Naomie made a dismissive gesture and took a small sip of her coffee. With a wince, she brought the cup down again.

  "That's really hot."

  "I told you. Even with the cream, better to let it cool."

  She set the mug on the bedside table next to the righted phone and flopped back down on the bed. Ray joined her. When he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away roughly. So he lay beside her and watched her breathe.

  "You didn't tell me how your night was?" he asked. "Did you have any strange dreams?"

  "No," she said. "I slept fine. No dreams."

  "Do you want to go dig around in the garden?"

  "No."

  Ray rolled over until he could see her face. The smile hadn't moved. Why did she have her show smile on? They were alone.

  "You sure? Good way to get some exercise in on a Sunday."

  "No," she repeated. Then she turned on her side away from him. "I just want to be left alone."

  Putting one hand on her shoulder, he tried to get her to turn back to him. She resisted, then pushed his hand away.

  "Naomie."

  "No." She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and curled into a ball. Ray sat up, tracing her body with his eyes. There was something wrong. He couldn't put his finger on what because she wasn't talking to him, but something had to be wrong or they would be having a better morning. After the dream of the night before, having her turn her back on him needled his brain. He rubbed her back and then moved to get up. Maybe he needed to go spend some time in their garden and it would make everything seem more together. Possible, but not guaranteed. He got up off the bed and headed for the closet. His jeans were in stacks and t-shirts beside them.

  "Naomie?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Naomie."

  "What?"

  "What are you going to do today?" He pulled a t-shirt over his head and then stepped out of his pajama pants. Leaving them in a pool on the floor, he picked out a pair of scruffy, holed jeans. They fit loose over his hips.

  "I do not know."

  "Maybe we could go see Marie later. Talk to her about things."

  "What things?"

  What did she mean what things? No way she had forgotten so quickly. His bullshit meter dinged a little higher even though he couldn't tell what it pinged on. Obviously, she didn't want to talk.

  "Just things. We'll talk about it later."

  "Of course."

  She sounded so tired.

  "I'm headed out. I'll be back in a couple hours."

  "Yes."

  He spared a glance at her before leaving the bedroom. She had curled into a ball, bare feet hanging off the edge of the bed. The need to give her a hug came and went. So far, she hadn't wanted anything to do with him. Maybe she just needed some space. He grabbed his flip flops on his way out the kitchen door to the back of the house. The sunshine felt good on his face. Like maybe the dream of the night before really had been nothing but a dream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Moll stared across the table at her best friend and tried not to comment. Naomie had piled her hair on her head with pins that twinkled. Marie had to wonder where she had even gotten them. On top of that, she had shown up for dinner wearing a dress Marie knew she only wore on special occasions. Ray had dressed himself accordingly, wearing a button down shirt and a pair of slacks.

  "Were you two going somewhere nice?"

  "No, she just insisted that we should be dressed well," Ray said.

  "It is for the best," Naomie said as she busied herself with the silverware. "One should always try to show yourself in your best light."

  Marie and Ray exchanged a glance.

  "Raymond," Naomie said. "I wonder if you would mind terribly going to get some more wine."

  "There's really no need," Marie said. "I have wine."

  "But I think Raymond should go bring us some."

  Ray bounced between the two women with his eyes, waiting to see which will would come out stronger. Marie, wishing to be conciliatory, said,

  "I guess that would be all right."

  "Lovely. Raymond, if you would."

  Ray looked at Marie and then spread his hands.

  "Do you want a particular type of wine?"

  "A red. Something robust and fruity," Naomie said.

  "Okay." He got up from the table and palmed the car keys. "Marie, you want anything?"

  "No, I'm really fine."

  Naomie went into the kitchen and Ray leaned down to whisper in Marie's ear.

  "Something is going on. She's been weird all day. I'll be right back, I promise."

  "I'll be fine," she assured him. "I know how to talk to her."

  Ray rushed out the door. The click of the lock sounded final.

  "Naomie," Marie said going to the door of the kitchen. "You've done something new with your hair."

  "It's nothing." She primly fluffed one elegant curl. "I think it looks lovely. Much better than the way I had it."

  "Well, it's definitely different. And it's been a while since I've seen that dress. What's the occasion?"

  Naomie's hands were busy. She rummaged through the silverware drawer as if looking for something without answering Marie's question. After several moments of clattering, Marie asked,

  "What are you looking for?"

  "A knife."

  "You've already been through the butter knives."

  "No, something more substantial than that."

  "Next drawer to your left. What do you need a knife for?"

  "I have something I need to carve."

  She slipped the carving knife from its place in the sharps drawer beside the cleaver.

  "Such as what?"

  "You, dear."

  The knife made a curious sound through the air as Naomie swung it. Marie dodged backward and slammed into the wall across from the door.

  "Naomie!"

  "Be quiet," she roared. "You abandoned him."

  The word who was lost in the slicing sound as Naomie rushed after her. Backing up, Marie kept her hands up in front of her as if they could truly ward off a blow. They danced into the spare bedroom and Marie tripped over her chair which sent her sprawling with a cry. Naomie collapsed toward her, driving the blade down. It went through the edge of Marie's shirt and brought up a thin line of blood along her abdomen. Marie's fear broke her out in a sweat. Rearing back, Naomie double-fisted the knife and sought to drive it down into Marie's stomach. She missed and the blade hung up in the carpet as Marie frantically tried to roll away.

 
She misjudged the edge of the desk and banged her head against the wood, but managed to get her hands up as the next assault came in. Naomie put her weight on the back of the blade, inching it closer to Marie's chest. In one motion, Marie bucked her hips forward and pushed hard back against Naomie's arms. It momentarily trapped her, but there wasn't much else Marie could do from that position. It wasn't a stalemate, but a reprieve.

  With her body trapped between Marie's, Naomie switched tactics, rolling to one side and off Marie's body. The two women both struggled to their feet.

  "I can't believe you would hurt him. I'll cut out your heart."

  "Who?"

  This time the word came out between them and Naomie recoiled as if struck.

  "You hurt him, then you forget him? How can you be so blind?"

  The knife sliced through the air and Marie stepped back, running her heel into the wall beside the desk. Nowhere left to go that way, but the door was directly to her right. She could possibly make it out before the knife became buried in her back.

  "Who are you talking about, Naomie, Kevin?"

  Marie couldn't see how Naomie would get so upset over Marie's husband, he wasn't that important to her. Yet she spoke of someone, obviously someone they both knew. Otherwise, would she be screaming and threatening her?

  "Who is Kevin?"

  Naomie charged forward and Marie turned tail, heading out the door. There was a bump as Naomie hit the wall and rebounded, but she wasn't far behind. She could practically feel the knife as it got closer. Then they were in the living room. Marie raced around the coffee table, putting it between her and her best friend.

  "Kevin, my husband, Kevin. Your client. Ray's best friend." Marie gave the short version. It had to be enough. Naomie's eyes registered nothing as if she were a robot.

  "What do I care for this Kevin?" Naomie circled to the side closest to the front door. Marie circled away, eyes ever on that knife. "He is nothing."

  "Then tell me who, please? I don't want to fight with you." One hand on the table to steady herself, Marie continued to move as Naomie stopped. Veins stood out against Naomie's face which was pale to the point of ashen.