Silent Doll (29 page)

“Shut up,” the Madame snapped at me. “You won’t understand, not until it happens to you.”

I laughed a little loudly, a little crazily; she’d given me exactly what I needed to bring her down. “You really are a very poor witch. Even if I live to be as old as you,” I said with a smirk and I was now judging that she had to be at least in her late sixties or early seventies. “Let’s face it, you’re old.” I dragged the last word out until I thought steam might start coming out of her ears. “I won’t ever look any different than I do now. See, thing about me is, I’m a humanoid non-human, and an immortal one at that.” I kept laughing at her, really yucking it up.

Trinket continued to shuffle forward, no longer quickly enough for her mother. The Madame, at this point, wanted me to shut up, wanted to hear me scream and to revel in my pain. She snatched the knife from her daughter, curling her bony fingers around the handle, and charged at me. The last rope snapped, pooling into my lap, and I rolled out of the chair to the floor. My arms were still bound to the chair; I felt a wrenching and a sickening pop as my left shoulder dislocated.

Her momentum carried her forward, the knife stabbing into the chair; I brought my feet up into her stomach. The air went out of her in a guttural rush, and I propelled her up, away from me and onto the stage. She lay there in a heap, all her children just staring at her—and dolls can really stare, they don’t need to blink.

I pulled the rope still binding my hands under the chair legs and moved to the side so I could rub the rope against the protruding knife blade. It was hard going, as one arm was now lifeless at my side. I hadn’t counted on the angle and the sudden movement popping the joint, but apart from that my plan was going… well, according to plan.

I jumped to my feet and kicked the chair as far away as I could. I needed to keep that knife safe, it was evidence. I took hold of my left wrist, hoping I would just have a fraction of time to pop my shoulder back in—I’d seen it done on TV—but my miscalculation was going to cost me. I smelled the spell only a second before it hit me, all dark bitter energy, like burnt almonds. It hit me square in the chest, just as the door had, and I went backward into a wall.

I couldn’t hit my head again, that would be the end for me. I did the only thing I could think of: I pulled my dislocated arm behind my head, trying to hold off tears through the pain, and used it to cushion my skull as I hit the concrete. I screamed with new pain as my forearm snapped, and slid to the floor, tears blurring my vision, my arm flopping beside me. The Madame sat up, displaying a second set of bracelets on her other arm—she’d used the kinetic energy once again.

“Is that all you got?” I growled. “One trick pony.”

I pulled myself up to my feet, using the wall for support. My left arm was now completely useless, even if I’d been able to pop my shoulder back in by myself. It flopped comically as I moved. The Madame had risen to her feet as well. The side of her face was scraped, which probably hurt her pride more than hitting the wooden stage had.

I glanced over at Trinket; she had stopped moving. Her mother taking the knife had obviously counteracted the command, leaving her puzzled as to what she should do.

I’d taken my eyes off Madame for only a moment, but it was long enough for her to ready another spell; I only dodged by diving onto my already injured left side. I covered my face with my good arm as the ground where I’d been standing exploded, showering me with specks of granite. She didn’t let up, firing volley after volley of explosive magic at me. I turned over a table and, biting my finger so that it bled, made the object a shield. The next volley bounced off my shield—which still felt like being punched in the ribs and blew a hole in the nearby wall, showering me with more debris.

I sat my back against the table and tried to think or wait for her to run down. The blows kept coming, each one like jabs to my spine with a lancing poker. Didn’t this woman need a break? I was sure I’d gauged her strength correctly, and she was a lot older than me—emaciated to the point of ill health because she believed a cliché waist was beautiful. Then I remembered something Truth had said, that a human soul was raw, unharnessed energy. If Madame could harness that energy thanks to her blood bond, she would have seven batteries on tap.

I peeked around the edge of my shield. The edge of her next blast felt like a giant had slapped my face. Her daughters were on their knees, faces contorted in agony. She was drawing from them, but unlike in a real coven they couldn’t stop her. They were hers; she didn’t care if she used them up. All she cared about now was beating me.

It was time I took the offensive. I wouldn’t blast away like her, my style was to use a precision attack. I called upon fire, my natural fallback, and created a ball of it in my hand. Because I had to shape the ball by will alone, rather than using my hands, it took longer than usual; she landed another solid blow against my shield while I worked at it. Once I had the fireball formed, I lurched upright and threw the fireball. I aimed not at her, nor the ground on which she stood, but at the table behind her. It caught one of the hearts, knocking it to the stage. The flames engulfed the heart, turning from orange to blue as it burned the magic away.

She hurled curses at me and ran to protect what was left. I used power to push my table-shield closer to the stage. Trinket seemed to know what I needed; she tapped her fingers on her chest and then ran into the bar.

“Traitorous whelp,” the Madame raged as she worked to build a shield over the remaining hearts. “I never should have let your father create you. His stupid quest to create an innocent soul—a real child. He was supposed to be making a way for us to live young and forever, together. Then the fool goes and dies and leaves me with nothing but you.”

She was readying to aim a blast at Trinket, who couldn’t defend herself—I had to draw her attention back to me.

I yelled, “He’s seen what you’ve done, you know. He’s seen what you’ve made of his creations, and he’s disgusted.” She aimed the blast at me instead of Trinket; the table jolted back, bruising my shoulders and ribs. “How dare you? My husband’s deceased.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not watching. I’ve seen his ghost.”

The blasting stopped. “You’re lying,” she said. “Describe him.”

I told her what Incarra had seen.

Her voice changed to a shaky, angry near-whine. “Winston? Did he have a message for me?”

When did I become the after death delivery service? I peered around the table; Trinket had made it to the bar.

“No,” I said. “He had a message for
me
: to help you daughter, and to stop you.” She screamed, a wordless primal sound of grief and madness—mostly madness. The blasts started coming again. I changed the angle of my shield so that I could look at Trinket but protect my back.

“Trink,” I called, “remember what I told you about possession?” Her brow creased, then she nodded. “Try to hold on as long as you can.”

I wasn’t sure if she understood what I meant to do, but I didn’t have time to check. I needed the advantage now. I sought out the tethers, the metaphysical cords that bound the dolls to their mother, and with one burst of power, sliced right through them. I heard seven distinct pops and dull thuds.

The blasts stopped. I took a minute to breathe before pushing up to my feet again and taking the scene in. The six dolls on stage lay on their faces; Trinket, by the bar, lay on her back, hands on her chest. She’d understood, she’d prepared herself. I had to end this quick; I wanted to bring Trinket back. She was the only one who didn’t deserve for this to be the end.

The Madame crawled among her daughters on stage, shaking them, trying to get a response, to draw more power.

“They’re gone,” I said. “Trinket told me what I needed to know. The blood that made your bond was in their chests. I broke them.”

Her face was a mess when she looked at me, even more drawn with black and red eyes like a sunburned panda.

“Why did you kill my babies?” she wailed.

“They were your batteries, not your babies. I’ve stopped you drawing power from them, so now let’s see what you’ve really got.”

She looked exhausted and defeated. She had no juice left; on her own, she was nothing. I’d only fired a single shot and still had all my energy to go.

“No more,” she said weakly. “You win.”

She lowered her head to her arms and sobbed. What a miserable creature she was. I couldn’t feel sorry for her; She’d brought it all on herself. I walked toward the stage, aiming for the stairs furthest away from her, and mounted them slowly. My arm flapped painfully, but I ignored it.

I had one goal now: to save a life.

I headed for the elixir—the green liquid seemed to be a distillation of the envy and greed that had created it. I couldn’t save the lives of those that had died for it, I couldn’t reverse the magic that had been done to create it, but maybe I could change it just enough to give one last shot at life to someone else. The shield she’d made to protect it was easy to break; there was no power to it and it had been hastily constructed. I reached out to take the vial.

“No! That’s
mine
.”

Her screech was the only warning I got before she leaped on my back. She dug her nails into my scalp, pulling my hair; her weight toppled me over. I wound up on my back with my good arm braced against her chest, trying to keep her off me.

“You just want it for yourself!” she screamed into my face. Her thumbs came to rest on my cheeks just below my eyes and I froze. No sudden movements.

“Those eyes, those judgemental eyes. I’ll scratch them out,” she hissed, but made no motion to complete her threat.

“I don’t need it or want it,” I said, “but I could use it to save Trinket. Wasn’t she your husband’s best work? Wouldn’t that be a more fitting tribute to his memory?”

She looked at Trinket, her face very still; but then the sound of a door opening somewhere nearby spooked her. She raised her hands, aiming her nails at my eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I turned my palm into her chest and blasted her back into the table on which the tripod sat. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

The table toppled. The vial fell to the stage—miraculously unbroken—and began to roll toward me. I sat up, holding my hand out to catch it, and turned my head to see who had come through the door.

Incarra was standing in the stairwell doorway.

“Inc, stay back!”

“The police are coming,” she called.

“About damn time,” I groused. I hoped Hamilton had his warrant now. I scooped the vial up in my good hand just as the Madame recovered from her fall. She wiped her hand across her face, leaving streaks of red behind, and started to laugh, crazy suicidal laughter.

“Incarra,” I hollered, “go back into the stairwell and wait for the police.” Incarra didn’t move. “Now!” I barked.

I felt the Madame pulling more magic; she was going to do something reckless. I heard the door swing shut again just as she screeched and came at me again. I held up my good hand, frantically pulling power, feeling the hair raise on my arm until it was like a prickling glove from shoulder to fingertip, then threw the blast at her. When the blast hit the energy that she was summoning, the two combusted, throwing me to the floor and her backward into the wall.

Her body flattened, her hands spread palm down against the brick; pop-eyed with rage, she started laughing like a woman with nothing left to lose. I realized what she was about to do a moment too late: she funneled the blast into the wall, bringing it crashing down on both our heads.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I heard someone calling my name, but all around me was dark. I rolled onto my side, coughing through a thick miasma of brick dust. I held the palm of my good hand up and focused.

“
Lumos
,” I croaked. A sputtering ball of light coiled into life; I held it up to look around me. I lay under a dome of blast-fused wood and brick. I took a second to check for new injuries and discovered that I was nearly naked. My shirt was gone to just below my bust and hanging on only by a prayer at one shoulder. My jeans were reduced to hot pants. My shoes were completely gone. I needed to start enchanting my clothing.

“Cassandra!” The voice calling my name was closer now, and it sounded panicked. I put out the light and punched through the dome, then reached up through the hole and wiggled my fingers.

“Over here,” I called. “Over here.” Hands pulled away debris, gripping my good arm, pulling me up into fresh air and twinkling star light. I took in deep, pure lungfuls of the cool air.

Incarra threw her arms around my neck a moment later. I winced.

“Oh gawd, are you hurt?” she cried. “Of course you’re hurt, a wall fell on you. How badly are you hurt? What happened to your clothes?”

“I’ll be fine! Just help me out, okay?”

With some pushing and pulling, we managed to get me free. I surveyed the damage—the end wall was reduced to rubble, and the remaining three walls didn’t look so great either. I heard sirens approaching in the distance.

“Where is she?” I asked, looking around.

“Bitch is down,” Incarra said with the tiniest of snarls. “Over there. Dead, I think.”

“Are you sure?”