A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

  “I don’t,” I agree, twisting my hand in the strap of the satchel. The bottles inside bang together, making me jump again. Georg’s eyes narrow and he folds his arms over his chest as he waits for more. Massive arms. Massive chest. I gulp and manage a tiny smile. “But I had to take the chance. You see, I . . . I was hoping you would take me with you.”

  “Were you?” His lips press together and there is a hard flutter in my chest. He looks angry. What if I’ve misjudged him? It’s not as if I’ve had much experience with people outside of books and my imagination. As the silence stretches on, my eyes start to burn and it’s not from the sweet smoke of his fire. I’m feeling sick. Freedom seemed so close and now it feels like it’s slipping away. Maybe forever.

  Around us, the shadows start to spin. No. I can’t go back to the Master.

  I won’t.

  “Or …maybe you could just show me the way out?” I ask in a small voice. “I can take care of myself from there.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” he bites out.

  Despite the way my insides are quivering, that observation earns him a glare. “I saved you, didn’t I?”

  He lowers his chin, eyes narrowing as his lips part.

  But then—maybe it’s the wavering light of the flames, the leaping shadows they cast or just everything in general—I list sideways as the whole world goes black.

  The next thing I know I’m blinking into Georg’s face. That scowl is still in place, thick brows furrowed tightly, but that’s not what I focus on. It’s his beard that holds my attention, golden at the edges, a rich, gilded brown that begs to be touched, just like his bear’s fur. My fingertips are trailing over the soft scruff before I catch myself.

  “Did you eat anything after that vamp had a go?” he asks gruffly.

  The question has me blinking at him and withdrawing my fingers. “Um, no. There wasn’t really time.” I swallow. “I had to hurry if I was going to catch you.”

  With a sigh, he reaches for a bunch of leaves next to the fire, grumbling as he shoves them into my hands. Currants, the only edible fruit in our forest. I take one, then another. The familiar sour sweetness makes me feel better almost immediately.

  When the berries are all gone, silence falls. It takes everything I have to break it. “Will you take me with you?”

  “What about your intended?”

  “Oh. Him.” I lick my berry-stained lips. “That’s . . . complicated.”

  He snorts, throwing a stick into the fire. “I bet.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  The look in his eyes makes me flush, and not in a good way. “Why don’t you explain it then?”

  The fire crackles and pops. Around us the trees sway, their branches making shadows that grow jagged and reach long, claw-tipped fingers for the flames.

  My hands are clasped so tightly together the bones protest. I’ve never told my story to anyone before. I had no idea it would be this hard. But where do you start when you don’t really know the beginning? My mind flits and darts about, finally settling on the easy way out, even though it pains me.

  “H-have you ever read any fairy tales?” I ask.

  Georg barks out a hard laugh that makes me jump. “One or two.”

  “Well,” I lick my lips again, “I’m kind of like those stories—the woman who’s imprisoned in a tower? Except my tower is this whole world.” I spread my arms wide before wrapping them around my knees. “And I’ve been trapped here so long I’ve sort of forgotten the details.”

  He tugs at his beard, his eyes softening. “Who trapped you? This man you’re supposed to marry?”

  “Yes.” I stare at the flames. “I don’t know his name. I don’t even know his face.”

  Maybe I did once. I can remember crying, struggling against hard hands. His hands. The taste of tears in my throat as I looked up. Papa’s watch ticking in my fingers. A burst of light that blinded me. When I woke up, there was only the mist. Then later the castle, and eventually, Itzel.

  “I was a child when he brought me here. I’m not sure how old. Seven or eight, maybe?”

  There is a low, menacing rumble from Georg’s side of the fire, but I keep my gaze on the blaze between us in order to finish. This is the hard part.

  “When I got old enough, he asked me a question.” I clear my throat as another rumble has branches falling deeper into the flames. “I wouldn’t give him an answer. But he kept asking. Over and over. The Master said he’d keep me here forever—unless I said yes. After enough years, I told him I would.” So many years. This place hazes the particulars. Day after misty day blending into nights without end. On and on and on, until one has to go a little mad just to cope with it all. Despite the heat of the flames on my cheeks, I feel suddenly cold, miserable and most of all, weak.

  “You agreed to marry him.”

  When I dare to look up, fire is dancing in the dark eyes across from mine. I nod, hugging my knees to my chest. “I did. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  “But then you found me.” His tone is strangely flat.

  “I found you,” I agree. “And I thought . . . maybe this was my chance to give the Master a different answer.” My voice hardens. “By not showing up at all.”

  Georg says nothing. He watches me as the fire spits its own fireflies into the sky. He seems to be puzzling long and hard over my face. It reminds me of the way I sometimes puzzle over my books, when the story doesn’t quite make sense but I’m too intrigued to stop reading.

  “Are you a princess, Alice?”

  I wrinkle my nose at the unexpected question. Does it matter? Not that I haven’t wondered myself over the years, with all the accompanying girlish fantasies, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m just Alice. “I don’t think so, but I really am trapped. Just like Rapunzel or Aurora.”

  “Or Princess Fiona.” His lips seem to twitch under his beard, but it might be a trick of the flames.

  “I haven’t read that one.” I lean forward, curiosity getting the best of me despite my jangling nerves. “I suppose a hero saved her, too?”

  A definite smile this time. “I don’t know if I’d call him a hero, but yes, he saved her.”

  “I knew it,” I mutter to myself, leaning back again.

  He shrugs. “Does it matter how she escaped?”

  “It matters,” I say shortly, folding my arms. “Because it’s always the hero who is brave in those stories, never the princess. Are women really so helpless?” The Master has always hinted as much, and most of the stories he brings me seem to agree, but some still, small part of me is not convinced.

  “Of course not.” Georg’s brows draw together as he considers me over the flames. “Fiona was brave,” he says. “Braver than the hero, really.” A faint smile. “But Shrek still had to fight a dragon to free her.”

  “Was the dragon an evil witch?” I ask, blinking at the power in that hint of a smile but trying to focus. This Fiona sounds intriguing, but I think the man is mixing up his fairy tales.

  He throws a branch from the small pile at his side into the fire. Sparks swirl up into the mist, blue and red and gold, before fading away. “Nope, just a dragon.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure there are no dragons in Niflheim, so we have that going for us.” For now. The trouble is, it’s hard to know what this place will cook up next. I look at the forest surrounding us, shivering as the shadows seem to leap forward. It’s only a trick of the firelight, I tell myself.

  As long as we leave by morning, we have a chance. Once the Master arrives, though . . .

  “I’m not worried about dragons,” he says, getting to his feet. For a moment, I think I see another shadow, this one of an enormous bear. His bear. I’m pretty certain this one is not a trick of the light, but it also doesn’t scare me. It makes me feel safe.

  I don’t know much about shifters like Georg. I’ve read a few stories that seemed more fantasy than truth, but most of my experience with creatures who change form is with the nastier creatures in t
his forest.

  Georg is different than them, both more human and more wild. Primal in way that prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. Clearly, the residents of the forest agree or we would have been attacked by now.

  But if the monsters don’t bother him, then why is he not pledging to help me escape them? Aren’t good men supposed to jump at the chance to save the damsel in distress?

  Silence winds out between us again, and the darkness thickens. The day is catching up with me fast. My eyelids start to droop, a familiar hopelessness pressing against my chest as I sink to the ground. When I wake up will I be back in my rooms—where that dress and the Master will be waiting?

  One hot tear rolls down my cheek. Before I can swipe at it, Georg appears above me, his face dark. He pulls my satchel from my arms and pushes it under my head.

  “Go to sleep,” he orders.

  My hand snakes out, grabbing his forearm. We both look down at my pale fingers on his deep golden skin, but I don’t remove them. And he doesn’t pull away. “Please help me,” I whisper.

  “I was always going to help you, Alice.” He grunts once at my sharp gasp. “It was just a matter of you asking first.” Marching back to his side of the fire, he leans back against a tree and closes his eyes. “We leave an hour before dawn. That’s when the path out of here opens up.”

  My heart seems to catch in my chest before picking up almost painfully. The night spins and I close my eyes tight. For a second I’m afraid I’ll faint again. I barely manage a whispered thank you, but Georg doesn’t respond anyway.

  Even with my eyes closed, it feels like I’m spinning. Faster and faster, headlong into the unknown.

  But I’m not scared.

  Even though I’ve no idea what comes next—what I’ll do or where I’ll go. My future is as foggy as this whispering night, and it could be just as scary.

  But I don’t care, as long as I’m free.

  4

  She snores. Soft, breathy, ladylike snores, but there it is. I lift my head from the bark, watching her for a minute before leaning back against the tree again and shutting my eyes. I won’t sleep, not with danger all around us, but at least my body can rest.

  My mind is shit out of luck. It’s too busy with her.

  Alice is a goddamn puzzle. Part of me still wonders if she’s real, and a part of me is thinking she just might be the realest thing I’ve ever met. There is something about her. I had a hard time letting her walk into that creepy castle earlier. Too hard.

  I had so many questions. A human in Niflheim? Why? How? When? She’d hinted at being trapped, a prisoner even—but she didn’t ask for my help. And hell, until that vamp showed up, I’d been able to pretend I wanted her gone.

  The truth is, bruins tend to be protective creatures. It’s in our nature, but Alice pulls at me in ways she shouldn’t. Dangerous ways. She isn’t mine to worry about. Three little words made that perfectly fucking clear.

  I’m getting married.

  I’ve learned the hard way that there are times when it’s best to ignore instinct and walk the fuck away. It wasn’t an easy lesson, but it stuck. I made myself walk away last night, dragging my bear by his metaphorical ears, and told myself that was the goddamn end of it.

  Turns out I was wrong. And now I’m wondering how to deal with that.

  “What am I going to do with you, Alice Liddell?” I mutter under my breath.

  “A better question might be what is she going to do with you.”

  My eyes snap open.

  I get to my feet slow and careful, looking all around. No one should’ve gotten so close without me hearing or smelling them. That’s not arrogance, it’s just cold hard facts. I’ve been on high alert since Alice’s encounter with the vamp. Despite the activity all around us, the rest of the things that live in the forest have been giving me a wide berth. No doubt word of the vampire’s swift demise got around fast.

  So, who missed the memo—or had the balls to ignore it?

  Then I see him.

  Or rather it.

  A cat in a tree. Not so very unusual. But this cat is unlike any I’ve ever seen before, with a wide mouth and teeth like razors. He has a squat, almost loathsome body; swollen, green and banded like a caterpillar’s. Or a slug’s. He undulates his fat self higher on the branch, watching me with poisonous yellow eyes.

  “Hello, Georg Kivistö.” It smiles when I start at the name. “I see you’ve found our poor Alice.”

  The cat’s smirk is like the flick of a light switch, illuminating that touch of familiarity that wouldn’t quite come clear earlier. Alice. A woman lost in a land of dreams and wondrous things.

  That fucking Alice.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  I don’t know why I’m even surprised. I know better than anyone that we’re all characters in someone else’s story. And there’ve always been humans who catch glimpses of the fairytale world—usually more’s the pity for them—but this shit is beyond the pale.

  The cat gives what might be a feline shrug at the expression on my face. “The best stories always get twisted up. Or perhaps it’s the writer who gets twisted.” The cat chuckles. “Regardless, she is that fucking Alice. And she has been trapped here a very long time.”

  “How long?” It’s an old story, but I can’t remember how old. Early 1900s? 1800s?

  Shit.

  Another shrug. “On your Midgard, she’d have died three times over. Perhaps more.” The thing’s smile grows wider, impossibly wide. I’m reminded forcibly of a wendigo. My hands form into fists and my stance widens without thought. The so-called cat seems amused by my reaction, its tail flicking wetly. “Things age much more slowly in Niflheim. For instance, I myself am approximately one eternity and a half.”

  “Cat years or human?” I mutter.

  “Impudent. Even for a king. Pardon, former king.” Another tail flick. “Or not so former.”

  I ignore this, not interested in what the cat knows—or thinks he knows—about me. “How did she come to be here?”

  “Exactly as she told you. By a man.”

  “What kind of man?”

  Another flick of that tail. “A dangerous one.” The cat’s enigmatic look tells me I’ll get no more detail about Alice’s mysterious captor from him.

  “He imprisoned her all these years?”

  “There are all kinds of prisons,” the cat murmurs as I push away from the tree with a growl. “And he’s had all kinds of help.”

  “Your help?” I move closer to his tree, but the cat only grins.

  “I’m merely an observer, Your Majesty.”

  My jaw tightens at the title that is no longer mine. “See that you keep it that way. Because I’m taking Alice out of here in the morning.”

  “Fine, fine.” His tail gives a negligent flick. “Just don’t expect her to stick around for long after you rescue her.” Yellow eyes gleam with amusement.

  “Why would I?” I snarl.

  “Just a feeling.” He licks at a paw. His tongue is pink and forked like a snake’s. “You should know that living here changes both women and cats. It could be that just when you want us most, we’ll not be there anymore.”

  The cat vanishes in pieces. Tail, tongue, ears and the rest. His grin is the last thing to float away, a sharp, thin line glittering into the darkness.

  I huff at his parting words, trying to shrug off the sudden constriction in my chest. “As if cats or women are ever there when you want them.”

  But the tightness lingers, long after he’s gone. What am I getting myself into?

  Finally, I sit down and lean back against my tree again. Despite the odd nature of our conversation and the cat’s propensity for drama, my mind is quieter now.

  It’s clear that helping Alice is the right thing to do, damn the consequences. My bear chuffs in agreement.

  Until the howl of a nearby wolf has chills slicking the back of my neck and I remember just how hard consequences can be.

  I think I hear
the echo of the cat’s laughter drifting through the trees.

  A branch snaps and I jerk awake.

  Despite the perpetual haze here, I know instantly it’s dawn. Shit. I’ve overslept. The portal will be closing soon and I don’t want to search for another, especially with—

  “You are a hard man to find.”

  I blink in the early morning mist, not so different than the night mist the cat left me in. My eyes snap first to Alice. She’s sound asleep by the cooling coals of the fire. But there is a shadow between me and her. A shadow wearing polished Hessian boots and an arrogant scowl.

  Fuck me. Konstantin.

  This can’t be good. Dark haired, lean, with the distinctive light grey eyes that are the hallmark of his lineage, the mercenary looks around my camp with a bemused expression.

  “Tell me, why would anyone come to this godsforsaken realm on purpose?” He looks around us and sniffs.

  I glance at Alice, a smile tugging at my lips as I get to my feet. “You might say I fell down a rabbit hole.”

  “So, this is wonderland, eh?” He wrinkles his nose again, but his eyes have narrowed and there is a glint of curiosity there. “Funny place for a vacation, my liege.” Konstantin flicks a bit of moss from his arm with a curled lip. “But a very good place for forgetting.”

  Subtle, yet cutting. He hasn’t changed a whit. “Get to the point, master of shadows. We both know I am not your liege, nor anyone else’s.”

  Unlike assassins of the realm, mercenaries of the fairy-tale world are rarely free agents. They pledge their service to those in power. Usually that means a house with royal blood, but not always. Konstantin has belonged to the Court of Fire for centuries before I was born, though they occasionally lend him out for dirty work. But if he’s here to kill me, he won’t find it an easy task. Instinct tells me that’s not his current mission, but that doesn’t mean I drop my guard.

  “Now that,” he glances around the clearing before his eyes come back to me, “is a matter of opinion. And timing. Karena is dead.”