On the Verge (18 page)

She flipped through the creased pages, running her fingers over her frantic scribbling, recalling the first time she had summoned Ophidia to her, smiling at the demon’s anger and fear upon meeting her new mistress. She’d had it easy as part of the Frye’s collection, but now that she belonged to Beldame, the collector had more important plans for her.

The other night when she’d taken control of her at the Vestiges Club had only been a test, one that Beldame felt she had passed with flying colors, although it had come at a great cost to her physically. But she would command the All Hallows’ Eve Convocation even if it nearly killed her and use her newfound demon multitudes to expand her reach. And imagine if she could convince the Bulgarians to part with their precious
Lucifer
. She’d find a way. Everyone had a price, and the portrait was already in Seattle. It was almost too easy, and with both of them tied to her commands the possibilities were endless.

The colors would just be icing on the proverbial cake. With them in her arsenal she could use Ophidia, and someday Dakryma, to help her harness demons in other cities through ligature. And using a nobody like Freya to collect them had been the perfect option. Ophidia was a powerful demon, but sadly not invincible. She didn’t want to risk losing the most important player in her scheme, even if the chances were relatively minute. Certainly she couldn’t navigate the dangers of acquiring the colors from the Verge herself. A girl plucked from obscurity and made to do her bidding was just what she had needed. Freya had the soul of a collector and the right looks for one of her portrait models. Mostly though it was just a hunch Beldame had, a feeling in her gut, that Freya was the one for the job. And she always went with her gut.

The best part was that for Beldame, sending Freya on the color hunt was a win-win. She hadn’t even demanded that Freya show her the colors before the opening night of the exhibition. She wanted the first time she saw the pigments to be a spectacle, a ceremony. And if the girl dared to show up, that was confirmation enough that she’d succeeded. If Freya was missing Halloween night, she was either dead or Beldame would end up with a lovely new addition to her art collection. And really, making her part of the collection would be happening whether she was successful or not. There was no way she would be letting the girl go even if she survived the ordeal. But, perhaps, if Freya did get the colors, she’d consider making her death quick and painless.

When she had first begun her treasured photography collection she wasn’t well practiced in the art of murder. It had taken some time to perfect the process. Now, it was almost like putting the girls to sleep, but it hadn’t always been that way. There used to be more struggle, more blood. A couple of times the girls had even managed to fight back, to beg for their lives, to ask her for a reason when they saw their cause was futile. Why? they wanted to know. Why them? And Beldame never knew quite what to say. Would it make it any less painful for them to know there was a justification for her actions? Would it give them any more peace as they fought for their last breath?

It didn’t matter really because Beldame couldn’t give them that comfort. The truth was that when she saw someone who appealed to her, she made them her own. It was just a simple desire to possess what caught her eye. There was nothing more than that. And when her acquiring gaze fell upon Freya as she chanced to pass by her one day, she had felt that tug in her insides and known she was the right one for the color hunt. She’d sent Ophidia out that very afternoon to trail her, to find out more about her, and she had been pleased when Freya had so easily acquiesced to Beldame’s plan.

Turning to the last page in her notebook, she descended the ladder and retrieved a pen from the large table in the center of the room. She ran her finger down the last few entries.

Janice because she glanced my way.

Emory because she wore green.

Maya because of the wisp of hair across her face.

She took up her pen and scratched out two more lines.

Cara because of the arch of her brow.

Freya because she reminds me of myself.

She gently closed the book and returned it to its spot on the highest shelf, then retraced her steps to the studio where Cara’s body still lay. Beldame sat down on the floor and grabbed the girl’s cold fingers. She held them tight and thought about Freya. She hoped that she would survive her encounters with the Verge. Then, after she delivered the colors, Beldame could have the pleasure of watching her die.

R
usty felt uncomfortable in the front seat of the old Cadillac. It had been years since he’d last left the lodge and he still wasn’t sure that it was the right decision. But the place had felt wrong as he lay there on the floor after his and Freya’s narrow escape. The living heart of it, dark and rotten as it was, had died when the Verge swallowed the goblins. The grand interior had felt more like a wooden tomb than a place freed of a tyrannical otherworldly force. Without the magic of the kobold, the lodge took its place firmly within reality, and in reality it was just an overgrown cabin in the woods, a desolate bachelor pad for an ugly, uncouth man.

In truth he was afraid of what might happen to him if he stayed there. Certainly there was no love lost between him and the kobold. In fact, it had given him a strange kind of sadistic pleasure to see those arrogant bastards go, but they had given him a purpose, even if they had treated him like some kind of imbecilic underling. Without them he was fairly sure the depression and anxiety that had flitted around the edges of his consciousness since the disaster with his face would consume him. Isolation felt more dangerous than taking his chances in the city, even if it meant he’d be the object of pity or scorn.

Besides, he felt strangely responsible for Freya now. He’d almost gotten her killed by leading her into that enchanted world unprepared, and then she’d saved him. He’d nearly been ready to let that suffocating darkness consume him, but then through the growing obscurity he’d felt her hand in his and it felt good. He remembered how it was to be a human, what his life had been like years before, and he wasn’t ready to give that up. He knew that the road ahead of her would be full of strange obstacles, as dangerous, if not more so, than the one they had just so narrowly survived. He might not have a lot of experience with humanity, but he knew about the Verge, knew he could help her, repay her for her kindness.

They hadn’t said much after the escape. For a while they had just lain on the floor, hearts pounding as they tried to catch their breath. Finally, when they’d both gotten to their feet, Freya had reached out her hand and touched him gingerly on the shoulder.

“Come with me,” she’d said. “You can’t stay here. There’s nothing left.”

She seemed to sense it too, the weight of the place, the bond they’d formed in that short encounter with the magical world. He’d only nodded his acquiescence, not wanting to say the wrong thing and make her change her mind. He’d never been very good at social niceties and, after years here alone, he was surprised he could even still communicate with another human, let alone an attractive woman.

The long walk back to her car had been cold and dark. He flinched when she started up the roaring engine. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a car. Freya had glanced over at him nervously and then thrown the Caddy into drive, executing a perfect y-turn and rolling slowly down the rest of the rocky drive. When she turned back onto the relatively smooth tarmac of the highway, she gunned the engine, and they’d shot down the mountain road, headlights cutting two glowing swaths of light through the impenetrable alpine midnight. Neither one of them looked back.

It was nearly dawn when Freya pulled the huge car into the narrow alley of the Briar Rose.

“We’re here,” she said, turning off the engine and opening the heavy driver’s-side door.

Rusty followed her around to the front of the building and up the stairs to her apartment. When they reached her door, he was suddenly overcome with a rush of nerves. His mind started to race. What was he doing here? He didn’t know how to survive in the real world. He didn’t know how to treat a woman like Freya. The only things he’d known for years were the woods, the mountains, and the goblins.

“Are you okay?”

Freya had paused in the search for her keys to study Rusty’s face.

“You don’t look well.”

Rusty sighed and tried to pull himself together.

“How can you tell?” he growled at her.

It sounded a lot angrier than he’d meant it to.

“Oh, well, I just mean,” Freya fumbled for the words. “I just mean you seem kind of nervous.”

Her cheeks were bright red. Rusty looked at her for a long moment and then slid his eyes to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that this is a lot to take in. The lodge has been my only home and the goblins my only company for a very long time. I feel as though I’ve almost forgotten how the rest of humanity lives.”

Freya let her gaze linger on him for a moment longer and then turned her attention back to the search for her keys.

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “I’ve never really understood the rest of humanity myself. I get by, but I’ve always been a bit socially awkward too, so there’s no pressure here. Just do you and the rest will work itself out, okay?”

“Sure,” said Rusty, but he was still a bit unnerved.

He was glad when they had both settled down for the night, she in her bed and he scrunched uncomfortably on her chaise longue, his long legs hanging over the end. When his day had begun he had never imagined it ending with himself in the middle of the city in a young woman’s apartment. He looked up at the sky through the window. It was starless, so different from the dazzling celestial blanket that he could see through his window at home. His eyes shut and his breathing deepened. Dreams filtered through his mind of caves and kobold and colors, and of Freya. She was smiling at him and then she disappeared into the blackness behind his eyes. In his sleep, Rusty shivered. He slept like the dead for the rest of the night.

“Do you want something? A latte maybe?”

They sat in the little bakery a few blocks down from Freya’s apartment. They’d both slept late, a function of their crazy adventure in the Cascades and the gloom of an autumn morning in Seattle. The morning rush had passed. It was just them and a few other stragglers, nibbling at pastries and staring at computer screens. It was still a crowd compared to what Rusty was used to. When he’d awoken to find himself sprawled awkwardly on Freya’s little couch, it took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. A tightness formed in his throat and his heart began to pound. Then he looked over and saw Freya curled on her bed, hair a mess, head resting on the crook of her arm, and his pulse and breathing slowed. She seemed to have that effect on him.

“A what?” Rusty asked, perplexed.

“A latte. You know like the most basic espresso drink on the menu?”

Rusty shrugged.

“Seriously? I mean I know your cave was remote and all but, still, dude. This is Seattle. Everyone knows espresso.”

“I just need something simple. Fancy’s not really my thing.”

“You don’t say?” Freya raised an eyebrow. “I’ll just get you a black coffee and a bagel. Why don’t you find us a table?”

Rusty located a suitably secluded seat in the corner. He’d tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but as a brawny six foot two man with a deformed face it wasn’t all that easy to blend in. He could feel the eyes of the other diners on him. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the marble tabletop, wishing they’d just eaten at Freya’s apartment. Freya hadn’t been to the grocery store in days though, plus it was good for him to get out in public after hiding for so long. Once the initial discomfort of being seen wore off, he actually started to feel something he hadn’t thought was possible in many years: free.

Freya sat down and passed him his breakfast before tearing into her croissant, flakes falling across the chest of her green army jacket. She took a few frantic bites and then sipped her latte.