Twist: A Fairy Tale Awakening (Spindlewind Trilogy Book Two)

by Genevieve Raas

  My veins smoldered and my fingers hungered for his neck even though I knew it would do little good.

  “What truth is that?”

  His features darkened with a mirth that sent a chill down my spine.

  “All in good time. For now, I wish you to stay and for once in your life observe instead of act.”

  “You’re insane if you think I will stay here one second longer than I must. I’ve only come to save Laila from you. I owe her that.”

  He laughed as if he found what I said an amusing joke.

  “You owe a great many things to a great many people,” he said. “But, I knew you’d come only for her.”

  Ice cut into my gut. I trembled, but with anger or fear I wasn’t sure.

  “What are you saying?” I asked. “The oracle saw her here...with you.”

  His features dissolved into self congratulatory malice.

  “Oracles see countless castles in the air. That old man was right in telling you never to trust them. Precarious creatures. Their visions are easy to manipulate, especially when you are me. Especially when it echoes what you, Rumpelstiltskin, so want to be true.”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t accept the truth that was now so obvious. I had been made a fool, again. I had been tricked, again.

  “You lie,” I said, horrified.

  “Time is running short,” he replied. “I couldn’t have you avoid me any longer. Trying to outwit destiny. You can’t outwit me. You needed a push, a kick. That’s why I blocked your cards from revealing your future. The oracle was perfect for delivering my message, a vision of Laila dressed in red! That boy softened you, and I needed that fire re-stoked and the girl was the only thing I knew you would fight for. Would risk everything for.”

  My heart sunk and my throat went dry. That was nothing to the splitting of my soul as if I lost her for a second time.

  “She was never here at all, was she?”

  His lips pulled into a sneer.

  “No, but that isn’t to say you won't see an image of her. That's the thing with this place, it finds our deepest desires and manifests in pleasant, or unpleasant, ways.”

  Rage rushed in my chest. I should have known not to hope for the impossible. Aldred was right. I should have left well enough alone.

  The bottle in my pocket pressed against my ribs. I still had my ace. If I couldn’t save Laila, I could at least end his games so he could never harm another.

  I lunged at him, coiling my fingers in the scruff of his shirt and pulled him against me. He only chuckled and I tried not think how very much like steel his muscles felt beneath my knuckles.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” he asked. “Watch me suffer? Pull out my fingernails and hear me apologize? We both know that is impossible.”

  My grip tightened and everything in me chanted to crush him.

  “No, what I have planned is far more fitting,” I said. “I won’t let you pull me down again. I won’t let you pull anyone down again. I am ending you.”

  I removed the bottle from my inner pocket and uncorked it. The amusement in his eyes darkened. I enjoyed the fear radiating off his skin.

  Smoke poured out of the curved lip and wrapped him in purples and grays. I anticipated the moment he would dissolve and turn to mist within the bottle.

  His shirt remained firm in my grip. His heart beat strong against my fingers. The smoke sucked back into the red glass and Fate remained standing just as solid, just as strong, as ever.

  Everything in me panicked as he laughed. Laughing that I had been so stupid. Laughing that I had ever thought I could beat him.

  He gripped my throat, his fingers pressing until I struggled for air.

  “Of all the choices you could have made, you chose a bit of glass,” he said. “I once told you your choices will always mark you. Unlike an oracle, my predictions are true.”

  He took the bottle from me and smashed it to the floor. His grip loosened and I fell back. I rubbed my throat.

  “I don’t understand,” I rasped.

  He grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me up to him. His lips brushed my ear and I hated feeling their heat.

  “Deities require much stronger magic than your little trinket there,” he whispered. “Pity. It could have been so easy for you. But you never choose the easy path, or the right one. Every choice you’ve ever made has led you right back to me.”

  If you choose this path, there is no escaping, the oracle’s voice echoed in my mind.

  Terror swept through me hard and fast. Still, I refused to believe this was it.

  I struck my knee into his side trying to free myself, but he froze me before I could cause any harm. My every muscle stiffened as his magic bound me. I struggled to move, but I was utterly immobilized.

  He admired his work as I grunted with fury.

  “Quiet at last. You are much more enjoyable when that tongue of yours is caged,” he said.

  Leaning in he dug into my pocket and I detested the sensation of his fingers brushing against me. His eyes lit with curiosity and I saw he held my potion and willow in his hand. My only chance of escape.

  Ice surged through my every vein.

  “Adorable,” he said. “Always prepared. You had a way out for you and the girl, now your only way out is when I allow it. Although, ‘when’ might not be the most appropriate word. More like, ‘if’. I need you to be open to new possibilities.”

  If? I thought.

  “I am looking forward to what I have in store for you. In fact, you might even thank me for once. Now you can finally achieve your destiny.”

  I tried to force my body to move.

  What horrors was he planning for me?

  He left and his enchantment broke leaving me falling to the floor, again laying on the Persian rug as he had left me all those years ago.

  I splintered open violins in the music room and sliced through oil paintings in the gallery. Crushed vases, overturned desks, ripped open cushions in sitting rooms and grand salons. The rooms never ceased, each bursting with priceless collections I destroyed. Desperation urged me to find any hint of where Fate might have hid my potion, or any magical object that might grant me freedom.

  I refused to be his prisoner. I would find a way out. I wanted no part of his plan, to be his toy, the very thing I feared.

  As I pulled back a heavy duvet from a four-poster bed I realized I allowed my anxiety to make me an idiot. Fate wouldn’t conceal such an item somewhere easily in my reach.

  I threw a pillow on the floor, feathers exploding out of it.

  If there was any hope, I had to find Fate’s private quarters.

  “You,” I said, grabbing a slender man by the shoulder. He spun around, his pupils dilated and a fine, white powder dusted his nostrils.

  “Another one wants to join!” he exclaimed.

  He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his circle of friends. They passed around a small, gold box and lifted it to their noses and inhaled quick and deep. Smiles spread across their lips, and their cheeks flushed red.

  “Where are your master’s rooms?” I asked.

  “Master?” he asked, sniffing. The other giggled as if I were a mad man. “We don’t have a master here. We do as we like, and damn anyone who tells us otherwise!”

  They burst out in cheers and clinked goblets together in a toast.

  “I see,” I said. “Then who was that man to whom you all but worshiped? Commonly only masters receive such regard.”

  “Oh, him!” A woman said, combing her fingers through her hair with such ferocity I feared she would pull out her own locks. “That is our host. Such a fantastic host he is, too. He deserves our every reverence. I’d kiss his feet if he allowed it.”

  The others nodded along with her. A stout man took another snort from the gold box.

  “Do you know where he goes when he isn’t here?” I pressed.

  The slender man thought a minute, hitting his forehead with his fist. Then he snapped his fi
ngers as if the one corner of his mind caught an idea for once.

  “Somewhere else,” he said. “I know it’s in the palace, but it isn’t in this room.”

  “Yes, somewhere else!” the others chanted with him.

  Nothing would have given me greater pleasure then snapping their necks. Swallowing down my irritation I thought it best I leave.

  As I turned away a hand clapped on my arm and pulled me back.

  “Listen,” he said, his pupils large. “You look like you could use a bit more enjoyment. I can feel your muscles are hard as rocks!”

  He handed me the little box and opened the lid. White powder was inside.

  “Why don’t you take a bit?” the woman asked, her hands trembling now as she pulled them through her hair. “It will make you ever so cheerful. Boundless energy.”

  I broke free and stepped back.

  “No,” I said, my own hands trembling with hopes for murder. “I prefer other vices.”

  My frustration built as every other conversation I tried to instigate ended in a similar fashion.

  “Where is he?” Only a shrug in reply.

  “Where does your host stay?” Only a giggle and a snort.

  “Where can I find him?” Only a drunken hiccup.

  My jaw began to hurt from clenching in annoyance at every one of their glazed faces I tried speaking to.

  I was engaged with one such idiot when a voice, barely a whisper, penetrated the dull roar of conversation and merriment.

  Rumpelstiltskin…

  The voice spoke my name. A rigid voice.

  I spun around catching the flutter of a red dress and cascade of chestnut hair.

  My heart stopped. My body stiffened.

  I pushed my way through the crowd, shoving drunken bodies out of my way and clambering over dropped goblets and half eaten apples. I had to see though I knew she wasn’t real.

  The visage wove easily between the revelers, while I continued to squeeze and press myself through.

  “Laila?” The name seemed foreign on my lips.

  She turned around. Her cheeks were flushed and lips crimson. Anger heightened her beauty. Just as I always saw her in my dreams.

  She set her jaw and continued away from me. Before I even thought, I followed. I was powerless not to follow.

  Breaking free of the crowd her running form glided down a hallway. Her crimson gown shifted prettily over the parquet floor. Mirrors shimmered on either side multiplying our reflections.

  “Laila, stop,” I called again, but still the vision wouldn’t halt.

  She and the hall were bathed in a flash of white light. Thunder rumbled beneath my feet.

  The creak of a hinge cried out as she entered a room and closed the door behind her.

  I grabbed hold of the doorknob, another flash of lightning revealing my ashen face in the mirrors surrounding me. Pulling it open I bolted inside.

  There was nothing but darkness and the sound of breathing, though hers or my own I didn’t know.

  Lightning washed the room in garish white. One flash was enough.

  Laila stood before me, her face twisted into one of absolute rage. Her hands were stiff claws and her chest rose and fell in measured breaths.

  Thunder crashed in the distance.

  “We could have had it all. We could have had love, but you chose to destroy everything!” she screamed.

  She lunged at me, her fingers digging into my shoulders. She pushed me into a wall. I shoved her away.

  “I was powerless,” I said.

  “Lies,” she replied.

  She’s not real. It is all in my head.

  “It was a mistake, but please understand. I…”

  “Mistake?” she cut me off. “Stop pretending you can feel pity. You never could. You are a coward hiding behind masks and scorn.”

  “But I can feel pity. I can. I do.”

  She’s not real. It is all in my head.

  Another flash of light revealed her approaching me.

  “You took everything from me. You made me a monster. I lost my child because of you.”

  A bright flare showed her rigid hands trying to scrape at me, as if trying to tear at my clothes and my flesh.

  I wanted the vision to end, but unlike most dreams where I could wake here I couldn’t. I was trapped in my own dream.

  She’s not real. It is all in my head.

  She chuckled.

  “I hear you trying to convince yourself. I might not be real, but my hatred is.”

  I wanted to fall to the floor from the weight of her words, but two cold hands gripped around my throat, preventing me. Her fingernails dug into my skin, pain splitting into my neck. I tried to pull away, but her fingers might have well been steel.

  “Once again, you want to escape the pain. Escape your guilt. You’ve tucked it away deep inside. But you shouldn’t be allowed a respite. You need to feel the wound.”

  She gripped tighter.

  “Forgive me,” I gurgled.

  She laughed.

  “Forgiveness? Not for what you did to me. To all of us. What you took for your own selfish reasons. You destroyed my life and took my child, all to kill a man. A man you are no different from.”

  That was a truth I silenced to survive.

  Her eyes burned with murder. The muscles in my neck started to spasm, and the searing agony grew unbearable. She squeezed harder. Tendons popped. Bone cracked. My throat was breaking.

  Eyes lit with glee, She leaned forward. There was no citrus in her hair as I remembered.

  “Is this how it felt to watch me ask for forgiveness? To enjoy my begging and squirming?”

  “No…” I croaked with the last of my breath. “Please. I loved you. I love you still.”

  She pulled back.

  “I don’t want it,” she said. “Your love is as disgusting as your soul.”

  Her grip loosened.

  Black spots speckled my vision and I choked in air. After several hacking coughs freeing breaths entered my lungs and my vision cleared.

  She was gone as if she had never been there.

  I ran out and back into the hallway. The moon now shone through the windows as if no storm ever thundered. I looked at myself in the mirror and inspected my neck. There were no bruises, no broken bones.

  Only a man whose guilt plainly etched every line on his face. I thrived on my numbness, now I was thrown back into the thorns of what I had done. My sins pierced me fresh, my wounds rubbed with salt.

  I spent nineteen years trying to forget Laila’s face the day the Furies took her away. Nineteen years wanting nothing more than to wipe that horror from my memory. Seeing her features in Tristan was painful enough. To see her again so vividly after so long, reminding me of the pain I caused, was unbearable.

  Each one of my muscles shook uncontrollably. I hated with every fiber of my being that I should break so easily. My calmness was my strength, and now I was reduced to a shivering rat.

  I trembled and backed away from my reflection. Not knowing where else to go, I ran back into the light where the others celebrated. For the first time since I could remember, I didn’t want to be alone.

  I stumbled into a room of gray haze. It was sweet and seductive. Couples laid on silk pillows on a floor of Persian rugs. Curling clouds of smoke rose from water pipes.

  Staggering towards a heavy table, I leaned against the polished wood and grabbed an empty goblet. Trying to steady my hands, I poured the wine until crimson dribbled over the rim and down my fingers. Plum and cedar rolled in my mouth as I guzzled, the alcohol burning my throat with every swallow.

  Pouring a second glass, I closed my eyes and savored the first wave of serenity washing over me. I needed a balm. The numbness to return. Anything to stop me from bleeding out.

  “You are a tormented soul,” a throaty voice said.

  I looked up from my cup and saw a woman lying on her side. She lifted her water pipe and inhaled deeply before letting the thick smoke roll out of her
red lips. Her face was soft curves and shadows. A sheer gown of black hugged her legs and breasts.

  I tried not to notice the two pink nipples peeking through the fine material.

  “You know nothing about my soul.” I drank heavily again.

  She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Gold bangles jingled on her slim wrists as she took another puff on her silver pipe. The smoke washed over me like serene waves. I liked it.

  “I know you must be all tightly knit up inside, just as tightly as your doublet and your leather boots that even cover your kneecaps.”

  The wine flowed hot through my veins now. Still, I craved further separation.

  “So observant,” I quipped.

  She laughed a musical laugh. I made to turn away, but I stopped as she grasped my hand.

  She tugged, and I easily fell down into the silk pillows. A wave of dizziness caused my head to spin and her features to blur. I tried to refocus my vision a she traced my knuckles and veins with her pointed, red fingernail. A once familiar thrill rippled my blood.

  She lifted my chin and met my gaze. I blinked hard, trying to see her more clearly.

  “Your eyes hold the most exquisite storms,” she said. “But wine is far from the best to calm them.”

  She reached over and took the goblet from my hand and placed it on a low table by her side.

  “I didn’t realize you were an expert,” I said.

  “I am an expert in many things.”

  She slid her hand down my arm and squeezed. My muscles tensed beneath her touch. I couldn’t even recall the last time I felt a woman.

  “Then what do you suggest, madam, to rid me of my malady?” I asked.

  She inhaled deeply on her pipe, the bubbling water raging. Smoke cascaded from her lips like a waterfall, thick and heavy.

  “Hashish,” she stated. “Freedom. Freedom from everything. Many wish to escape and forget. You seem to have been running from your past a long time and it’s finally caught up to you. The past inevitably catches us. But this allows you a respite. A few moments where you can live as if your worries never existed.”

  “Sounds rubbish,” I said.

  “So quick to dismiss,” she replied. “Try and see if this doesn’t help more than a bit of fermented grapes.” She handed me the pipe. “However, the choice is yours.”