by K. E. Blaski
He nodded, and Jennica stared at this nervous boy who had thought nothing of ripping her life in two. Hysteria crept around the edges of her voice. “Then I guess you’ll be pretty upset when I tell you I’m from another planet!”
She’d awoken in an insane asylum. That would explain everything. Justin had hit her in the head so hard she’d gotten a brain injury. An injury that made her nutball bonkers. Now she had to live inside her crazy mind, with this crazy boy she’d invented, playing a role in this crazy day play.
“Shh,” he said, and she fell quiet at the panic gripping his face. “That sound. Outside the door.”
And she heard it too: a slow scraping like metal on stone. It was impossible to believe things could get worse, but the noise sent a parade of shivers down her spine. She stood still, her breaths thin, waiting.
The noise faded, its maker moving farther away. Jennica ran to the door, Damen on her heels, the two suddenly allies against whatever was retreating. She had to see what was making the noise.
Together they pushed open the heavy door and peeked around the frame. In the dimly lit corridor, an enormous, scaled, silver tail slipped around the corner.
She caught Damen’s gaze and saw his fear reflect her own. “What was that?” she whispered.
“Your future husband,” he whispered back. “Noble Tortare.”
JENNICA
CHAPTER SIX
MADAM MEILYN
He has a tail. Jennica didn’t have the imagination to invent Noble Tortare. She didn’t have the imagination to invent body swapping, for that matter. Or skin that required people to wear gloves around it. And that meant this nightmare was real. Horribly, horribly wrong, and dreadfully real.
That sure didn’t mean she wouldn’t put up a fight. They’d have to drag her to the altar, kicking and screaming.
After the boy in the strange robes left, she felt more alone than ever. Even though he was the reason she lived inside this new reality, he was the only connection she had to her previous self. What would Grandma Lorinne think had happened to her? Would she recognize someone else staring out through her granddaughter’s eyes? Oh, how she wanted her new reality to end.
She’d spent the rest of the night rocking in the princess’s obscenely large bed, too scared to fall asleep, and too exhausted not to.
When the first gray light of dawn shone through the round window, a man’s voice shouted outside the door. “Cover yourself, Princess Nyima, for the presentation of this morning’s gifts.”
More people to deal with. She wrapped herself in a cocoon of orange sheets. The fabric stuck to her sweaty body like Saran Wrap. “Ugh. Okay. Come in.” The moment the door opened, she suppressed the urge to barrel through bodies and run, as far and as fast as she could possibly run.
Led by a football-player-sized man Jennica now realized was a soldier, a parade of exuberant visitors came through the door instead. Robes in shades of yellow and green, painted faces to match, and wigs from a bad French historical film. Of course, they all wore thick gloves, despite the fact it was hot enough that the women flapped themselves with tiny lace fans.
They acted like she wasn’t even there, huddled under the bedsheets. Individual voices jumbled into a singular drone she chose to ignore. She didn’t feel like listening. She didn’t know what to feel. Numb. And sweaty. Like the hottest July on record. She started counting the seconds to herself to keep her mind from wandering down the aisle of panic. She thought about that boy again—the one with the dark eyes and even darker lashes, twisting his hand through his robes. What had happened to his other hand, all bandaged up like that? He sure was skinny. Didn’t he eat?
Her stomach grumbled. When was the last time she’d eaten?
After the visitors deposited gifts and baskets of what she hoped included food, they left in a hurry—either anxious to get away from her crazy-colored skin or unwilling to spend more time than necessary with the girl wrapped in sheets rocking on the bed. At last the heavy door muffled the voices, and she slipped out of the bed onto the floor.
Rummaging through the closest basket, she grabbed what appeared to be a perfectly round apple without a stem. It smelled artificially sweet, like cotton candy, and she hungrily took a bite, surprised to find that it was wet and sour inside. Sticky juice dribbled down her chin as she devoured the peculiar fruit. There was nothing left when she finished. No pit, no core. She searched the basket for another, and ate it too. The fruit must’ve been filled with vitamins or something because she felt better already. Energetic even. More like herself. Her hands closed around a third fruit, when, without any help, Madam Meilyn opened the heavy door.
“Princess! Why are you eating on the floor like an animal? Get up, get up at once.”
She stood obediently, half-expecting that boy to follow Madam Meilyn into the room, but the woman was alone, and Jennica frowned. If she was really a princess and this was her last meal before marrying a silver-tailed monster, why couldn’t she eat on the floor if she wanted? She looked around in vain for a chair. “Where exactly do you want me to eat?”
Madam Meilyn’s brows furrowed. “In bed, of course. But if you must eat on the floor . . .” She pulled a large pillow from the top of the covers and set it next to the pile of presents, fluffing the center and straightening the edges. “You should at least sit on a cushion.”
Jennica sank into the pillow, the fruit in her hand. “What’s this called, Madam? It’s good.”
“Why, Princess, you should know. It’s a cocodrilli egg. Your favorite. Noble Tortare had them sent in from Denizon. And look . . .” She nimbly squatted on the floor, reached into another basket, and pulled out a green-colored sphere dimpled like grapefruit. She held it out to Jennica in her gloved hands. “Pomum.”
“Another kind of egg?” Her stomach was already reeling at the notion that the “fruits” she’d just eaten had actually been raw eggs.
“Of course not. Here, let me prepare it for you.” She reached inside her robes and pulled out a large carving knife. Jennica wondered what else the woman was hiding. The brown robes were ugly, but useful if they could conceal knives.
Madam cut the pomum in half, but before she handed both pieces to Jennica, she scanned her face, searching for something. Inside the pomum, the brilliant yellow flesh smelled like citrus. “You should use a spoon,” Madam said with a “tsk, tsk” as she produced one from her robes.
Jennica grasped the spoon, dug out a section of pomum, and cautiously touched it with her tongue. It was dizzyingly sweet after the sour eggs. She slurped, and dove into it with the spoon again and again, until only the rind was left. She tilted her head up to see Madam studying her.
“Am I eating wrong too?”
“No, of course not. But . . . your actions concern me, Princess. Do I have your permission to ask a candid question?”
“Ask away.”
“Are you Nyima’s twin?” Her eyes narrowed. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve upset you.”
Not upset—more like shocked. This strange woman, in her company only twice, already recognized that Jennica didn’t belong. And if people here could tell the difference, then back home her family was sure to notice. Maybe they could do something about it from their end. A doctor could use medication. A priest could perform an exorcism. They could kick that Nyima girl out of Jennica’s body and bring Jennica home.
“It’s okay, Madam. I’m not her twin, but I’m not her, either. You can see that, right? You know I don’t—fit in?”
“I know my Princess Nyima. I’ve taken care of her every day since she was brought to the castle. You look like her, you sound like her—but the words you speak are not hers. You’re much more . . . confrontational. And your behavior . . . last night, you screamed at your reflection, like you’ve never seen your own face, and today, you clearly have never eaten a pomum, but they are one of Nyima’s favorites.”
The question now was, what would the woman do with her newfound knowledge? “So you’
ll tell them I’m not her? I’m not the one he wants to marry? You’ll help me get home?” It was more than that boy had offered. Surely someone in this place would do the right thing.
Madam shook her head. “Child, you truly don’t understand. It won’t matter. Noble Tortare marries the skin, regardless of who’s in it. You’re an offering to keep the twelve spired cities safe.” She rose from the floor and Jennica followed. Without turning around, Madam spoke. “Since you are not Nyima, why are you here? And what did you do with the princess?”
Jennica didn’t know how much of the boy’s story she should tell this strange woman. She was tempted to say, I’m here because I wished to be far away from where I was and someone thought it’d be funny to grant my wish. But if Madam was close to Nyima, Jennica could at least reassure her that Nyima was safe. It was what she hoped Nyima might be doing for her own family.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here. I think Nyima’s in my body. I think we’ve switched somehow. Which means she’s safe, and my grandparents are taking care of her right now.” Hopefully Nyima would lie and tell them her planet was pleasant, full of loving and caring people. Hopefully she wouldn’t share the news that Jennica had been set up to marry a . . . monster. At the thought of her grandparents worrying about her, Jennica swallowed hard, willing her tears to stay away. If even a trickle escaped, her blubbering idiot self would take over.
“An exchange of souls. I’ve heard talk of experiments by the Order of Enau, but I never dreamed the rumors were true. Well, that is fine news for Nyima. She deserves to be out of harm’s way. But you . . .” Madam looked into Jennica’s eyes, trying to see her for the first time. She hoped she didn’t look as vulnerable as she felt. “What is your true name? So I may address you properly in private?”
“Jennica.”
“Even your name is unusual. I wish I could do something for you, Jennica, but your fate is destined.”
Jennica imagined facing the creature attached to the silver tail. Marrying it. Sleeping with it. Fate? Destined? “Help me escape.” Jennica closed her hand around the woman’s arm.
The effect was immediate. Warmth surged through Jennica: adrenaline, wrapped in electricity, and tied off with an irresistible sense of power.
Madam Meilyn’s pupils dilated, her breath came out hard and fast, and Jennica could feel the woman’s pulse racing through her veins.
“Jennica. Please . . . don’t touch me.” Her voice sounded slow and heavy. “It’s too . . . much.”
Jennica didn’t know what to do. If she let go, she was right back where she’d started: about to marry in a matter of hours. This was no beauty-and-the-beast fairy tale. She had to leave, and soon. If she hung on to the woman, maybe she had something to bargain with.
She held tight. “Say you’ll help me and I’ll let you go.”
Madam Meilyn unexpectedly yanked off her glove with her teeth and began to caress Jennica’s hand with her exposed fingers. “If I help you escape—will you be with me?”
“What?” Jennica tried to pull her hand away, but it was Madam who had the firm grip now.
“I’ll help you and then you—you will be my lover.”
No, no, no. Not what Jennica had in mind.
She looked the older woman over. Madam had turned the tables: she was in control now, and she was anything but fragile. Once free from Noble, Jennica would have to escape from Madam Meilyn next. Then figure out how to reverse this soul-switching thing. Didn’t the boy say a dark scientist did it? She could find one of those and get herself back to Earth where she belonged. But first, she had to get out of here.
Her voice shook. “Okay, Madam. Just get me out of here.”
In one swift move, the woman bent down and kissed Jennica on the back of the hand. When Madam raised her head, the black imprint of the woman’s lips shined against her rose-colored skin.
She snatched her hand back and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why’d you kiss me?” Rubbing her hand only made the lip print darker, like she’d pushed the dye under her skin. She spit on her fingertips and rubbed again. The stain now looked and acted just like a tattoo.
“Sealing your promise. I’ve marked you as mine. When you escape into Durand, people will see that you’re claimed.”
“What else is new?” First the guy with the silver tail, now this woman. Who was going to claim her next? “Just tell me how to get out of here.” She’d worry about her hasty commitment to Madam Meilyn later, when she had time to consider what had happened.
“We can carry out the plan Nyima rejected. She refused to harm her family. Your family. Nyima’s father, aunt, and two cousins are coming for the wedding and will be obliged to say their good-byes to you beforehand. They’ll come here, to your room, and you’ll ask Nyima’s father to take you to the East Courtyard. You want to see Aprica one last time before your wedding night. Understand?”
“Who’s Aprica?”
Madam Meilyn shook her head, then glided to the window and pointed to the sky, speaking to Jennica like she was a toddler. “Ap—ri—ca.”
She still didn’t understand—was Aprica the name of their god? Like Zeus?
“Nyima’s father will honor your request, because it’s all he can do. I’ll wait in the courtyard by the garden gate. You’ll have the knife hidden under your wedding robes.” Madam set the carving knife on the bed next to Jennica. “You’ll slice Nyima’s father’s throat to distract the guards so I can open the gate. The guards will rush to help, but will be afraid to touch you.
“Run into the city. Find Clayton’s Inn and show the owner my mark; only I have the dyed lips: he’ll know me. He’ll hide you until I come for you. Don’t try to go elsewhere. Once word is out that you’re loose, everyone will want Noble Tortare’s reward for turning you in.”
“I’m sorry, Madam, but this won’t work. I can’t kill Nyima’s father. I won’t be killing anyone. We’ll have to find a different distraction.” She wondered what kind of a world she was in where slicing throats was discussed as casually as the weather.
“You can kill him. Ask him how Noble Tortare’s soldiers knew where to find his daughter. He won’t give up his secret easily. Be sure to call him Granden. You’ll change your mind when you hear his answer. And wear my gloves from now on, to hide my mark. People will understand you wear them to protect your family from your touch.” She tossed her gloves next to the knife. “And until we escape, you must pretend to be Nyima.”
Madam Meilyn turned at the door. “Pretending will be hard for you, I know. You’re not like Nyima at all,” she added. “You have fire inside you. She was ready to die, but you—you want to live.”
JENNICA
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FAMILY
A knock jarred Jennica from a wary half nap. Alert, she felt her muscles tense as she pressed her ear to the door. “Hello?”
The door creaked and a silver hand thrust a white bundle at her. A gruff voice gave instructions. “Your wedding robes. Get dressed. More guests are arriving.” The door thudded shut.
She unwrapped the bundle and spread the contents across the bed: a cotton robe with trumpet sleeves that looked like they’d pool onto the floor, some hair combs and pins, and a white mask with cords for tying it onto her face. The combs and mask were gaudy, like a Bedazzler had exploded on them.
It took awhile to brush the tangles from her hair. She pulled it off her neck, twisting and sticking it on top of her head with the combs and pins. At least it made her feel cooler—although putting on the mask made her feel hot all over again. Her wedding robe looked like it belonged to a monk. All she needed was a braided rope around her waist and a cross around her neck. And unlike Madam Meilyn’s robes, hers didn’t have secret pockets to hide a kitchen knife. Jennica tried to be creative, tying the knife to her thigh with a ribbon from one of her wedding gifts, but as soon as she walked across the bedroom, it slipped out, nearly stabbing her in the foot before clattering to the floor. She had to think of another way—but
no bolts of inspiration came to her.
She tucked the knife under a pillow as what must’ve been Nyima’s family, followed by two soldiers, entered the room.
“My dear niece, what are you hiding there?” A forty-something woman with her cheeks rouged in perfect cherry-colored circles led the group further into Nyima’s room. The aunt.
“Not a thing.” Jennica plopped on top of the pillow. Her voice squeezed through the mouth slit in the mask, making it sound like she had a cold.
“Those gloves are awful. Couldn’t your dresser come up with something more bridal?” A cherub of a girl, with a powdered face and a painted mole, modeled her own gloves. “Mine were brought in from Telerune. Aren’t they fine? Children did the stitching. Their fingers are so small, they make the loveliest little stitches.”
Another young woman moved out from behind the aunt, this one with lips painted into a cartoonish pout and tiny breasts squeezed into the top of a tight robe, like she was cosplaying her favorite manga character. She stood in the shadow of the man holding the aunt’s hand, the man who must be Nyima’s father. “Your hair looks pretty, Nyima.” She cast her gaze down. “Piled on your head like that, it looks very . . . tall.”
“Thank you. I think.” A split second of self-consciousness washed over Jennica, and she had no idea why. She didn’t know these people. And soon, very soon, she’d be free, and they’d be a horrid memory. Why should she care what they thought?
Besides, look at what they wore. Silver robes. Crystals stuck to their faces. Powdered wigs. Nyima’s father could’ve replaced George Washington on the dollar bill.
“How are you?” the man asked.
“How do you think she is, Jemiah? She’s scared to death,” Nyima’s aunt said.
“I don’t think she looks scared at all. I think . . .” The manga girl crept closer. “Her eyes are angry. Why haven’t you opened your gifts? May I?”
