The Nutcracker Bleeds (13 page)

It
was
all
his fault.

“I
have served you for many years–s–s, performing this–s–s s–same ta–s–k.”

“And
I do trust you to make it right,” the master said, his voice an elegant curl
that still sent chills down the rodent’s spine.

The
mouse fell to his face. He’d been chosen because he was small–among the
smallest–and could easily slip into places he would not be seen. Surely his
master would keep this under consideration before dealing harshly with him.

As
Sllevk worked through these things, the master came down from his throne.
Sllevk averted his eyes. His lord approached openly, stroked the fur of the
mouse’s head, and his clawed hand encompassed the smaller creature’s skull
fully.

“There
is still plenty of time, Sllevk,” the master said. “There is no way for them to
reverse what has happened. So all that there is left to do is
wait.
We
will bring the toys into subjection. If not, we will
crush
them. Either
way, the girls will be mine.”

The
master was being much more patient that the mouse had expected, but his fear
still did not subside–not for an instant.

“I
need you to be my eyes and ears now. Do find out the weakness of the Lady’s
fortress, and
do
find the missing girl, hm?”

Sllevk
was absolutely elated by his master’s lenience. He would not fail again.

“S–S–llevk
s–s–shall make you proud.”

“Go,”
the master bade, and the small mouse tore off, quickly moving into the distance
until he vanished completely.

3

The scout
gone, the master returned to his throne, which was an old sink basin that had
been tilted on its side, lined with a silk handkerchief that was full of ragged
holes. A pair of dirty, worn dolls awaited him there, their bodies smudged with
dirt and drool, their dresses stained with some other yellowy substance. The
lord hardly looked at them. They were old to him, but they served their
purposes. But that was what the flesh girls were for–to satisfy his hunger for
something fresh.

“I
feel weak,” he uttered, and with no hesitation, a doll beside him, which had
much of her hair torn out, rose up and headed off behind the sink.

It
was several moments before she returned, holding something wrapped in a white
bundle. She knelt and offered it up to her lord.

He
took it gingerly in his claws, lifting it close and unwrapping it. The writhing
pink thing was nearly transparent, twisted through and through with green and
blue veins. The creature barely had eyes yet, but it was plump and smooth. The
master recognized it as one of his own, but that did not cause him to become
sentimental. They were nearly
all
his own.

“Auf
Nimmerwiedersehen,” he sent, unfeelingly.

A
string of saliva dripped from his mouth as he opened his jaws and swallowed the
squirming thing whole.

4

Home
free?
Anne wondered.
But what now?

She
and the nutcracker who’d allowed her to follow him were nearly to the lift that
would take them back to the sanctity of the Lady’s kingdom, but Anne wasn’t so
sure that was where she wanted to be. Where did she need to go to figure this
out? Perhaps to Euan’s room? The man had always been odd. Perhaps if he had
known about the toys, he had something to do with this? Could he have brought
the curse into this house?

She
even stopped to wonder if Armand was actually carrying
the curse with
him. Her eyes drifted toward him, watching him walk on ahead, his hair
disturbed by the air. The way he’d spoken, he’d been alive before coming into
this house. He was some possessed and accursed toy? He disrupted the toys wherever
he went and made them come alive? It sounded like a good theory, but she
suddenly realized that it couldn’t have been correct.

The
nutcracker had also mentioned that these toys had been alive for a while, and
how could that be so if he hadn’t been in the house? Or maybe, just maybe, he
was lying about it all. But why, and what about the rodents? Had the walled–up
entrance to their lair also been magic?

She
walked on, passing a vent, and Anne was greatly lost in her own thoughts. She
almost missed the low voices beyond the grate. Then large shadows moved past.
Legs.
And the hallway beyond had her attention. She shielded the light of the cat’s
eye behind her back.

“
Get
your rest
,” she heard a voice whisper. “
Tomorrow is a big day
.”

The
men that had been in William’s study–this must have been them! But why had it
taken them so long to get back to the hallway? That didn’t matter much to her
now. What mattered was who they were.

She
craned her neck to see, but the shadows of the hallway concealed their identities
from her. She pushed against the bronze vent. Solid…but then she remembered
that she had a tool with her that could get her past this obstacle.

“Armand,”
she called lowly into the shaft.

The
nutcracker had moved on ahead of her after she’d stopped, not bothering to
wait. She then wondered why she’d called to him in the first place. He’d likely
just ignore her.

But
to her surprise–and delight–he actually turned around.

“Could
you get me out of here?” she inquired. It wasn’t only a request; it was a question
of possibility.
Is it possible for you to get me out of here?

It
took him moment to consider, but then–to her surprise once more–he walked back
toward her. She moved out of his way as he stepped up to the vent, looking at
it before he pushed his hands between the wall and the grate.

It
started slowly as his arms moved apart, and for a moment nothing seemed to be
happening.

Then
she heard the screws begin to break. The spiraling grooves of the holds were
stripping, and a thin band of light emerged, beginning to reveal the open
hallway. He pried it further, pressing his foot against the vent. Anne was
anxious to get out, but she was very impressed with the display.

Eventually
he motioned her forward. The space he’d made was a tight fit, but she guessed she
could squeeze through it.

She
moved close and slid past him with a little effort, able to force her flesh
body through when it wouldn’t have been enough for a toy of wood or porcelain.
Almost through it, she paused, looking up at him. The nutcracker looked down at
her impassively, this whole time saying nothing. Anne gave him a short nod.

“Thank
you,” she said.

She
wasn’t only grateful for the opening of this vent, but for the things he’d told
her. For the way he’d woken her up to this reality. But maybe she’d learned all
she could from him–or all he would give. She would go on alone.

He
remained silent, and Anne moved through the opening. When she was out, she
didn’t look back, and she heard the vent close behind her. Anne picked up her
step and headed after the men in the hallway.

Goodbye,
nutcracker named Armand
, she thought.
May we not meet again
.

Somehow
though, as she digested it, that thought sat strangely with her. It gave her an
uneasy feeling in her stomach, which led her to correct herself, adding to it a
comfortable uncertainty.

Maybe
we will…

1

In
the quiet of the night just before Christmas, there was much going on within
the Ellington house, though no onlooker would have seen it.

Outside,
snow was falling, putting a fresh blanket on the ground for the new day coming.
The stockings were hung by the chimney, warmed by the fire beneath. Those
flames, by way of the shafts, heated the tiny toes upstairs. The most precious
boys and girls were tucked snuggly into their soft beds, dreaming of a recital
where sugar–plum fairies danced ballet.

Beneath
the large tree in the hall, a man placed his gifts. He was neither chubby nor
rosy cheeked, but slim and pale with age. A blind eye was covered by a patch,
and he knelt with the aid of a carefully–carved wooden cane. Still, he placed
the gifts with love, for he understood the true spirit of Christmas.

From
hidden places, tiny eyes watched him with vicious intent.

For
t’was the night before Christmas, and all through that house, many things were
stirring–especially the mice.

2

Is
your name Armand?

Those
words echoed through his mind. He was not thinking of the woman who had said
this to him, but only of the words themselves. Similar words had been offered
to him by the Lady Sovereign, asking what she should call him. It had taken him
a moment to recall, but he’d finally remembered the sound of it from somewhere
in his past.

Armand.

He
hardly thought of himself by any name anymore–at least nothing comprehendible
to the English tongue. He avoided placing a title on himself when he could, but
he supposed one must be called
something
. How long had it been since
someone had said that name?

Armand.

He
didn’t dare speak it himself now. But somehow, hearing it being said by someone
else nearly made him
feel
again. Just nearly.

He
stopped in the dark shaft when a sound reached his alert ears. Something was
moving around in the blanketing shadows ahead of him. Being so close to the
Lady’s territory, he imagined it was only a soldier on patrol or some scout
moving about, but he wanted to be prepared.

He
moved his fingers beneath the wooden sleeve that resembled a white cuff. They
pressed down toward the needles that were strapped to his leg, brushed against
them…

And
he realized one was missing.

He
quietly counted them over again. Yes; one was indeed gone.

“Anne…”
he breathed, remembering her name to his own surprise. She must have taken it.
But the missing spike was of no consequence. He had others. He needed more weapons
though, for he knew these weren’t enough to take him to the end.

He’d
wanted the woman to show him the way, but only so he’d know where it was and
what he’d be dealing with later. There was no way he could have simply stormed
inside and faced his enemy like he was. It would be quite foolish indeed.

Not
without one proper weapon at least.

He
picked up his boot to move forward, selecting a needle. He didn’t think about
Anne further. He did not wonder if she was alright.

3

Anne
held the needle tightly in one hand–clenching it so harshly that her knuckles
were white from the retreating blood. It had been easy enough to steal from the
nutcracker, and even if he’d noticed, she didn’t think he would have cared. It
was just one needle–though she wondered if she’d wind up
hurting
herself
more than defending herself. For now, she picked up her pace down the hallway.
The larger shadows she’d come to follow were moving on much swifter than she
was.

The
two men turned the corner.

No!

She
ran now, holding the needle downward so that she wouldn’t fall on it. Her feet
made sound that was less than the thumping of a rubber ball. Anne truly felt as
if she was gaining ground, and in just a moment she would see exactly who those
mysterious voices and their questionable conversation had belonged to.

Misfortune
was truly her keeper tonight. Just as she rounded the bend, she heard a door
close.

Dammit!

Anne
stopped there at the corner, nearly out of breath, staring down the enormous
and dark hallway. The men were gone, and everything had grown silent. She
stomped her foot lightly in desperation, a tantrum meant for a child. The dim,
flickering light from the wall lamps made the corridor dance. There were many
doors. How was she to know which they’d gone behind! Further than that, how
could she have gotten into one of those rooms to check? It was not as if she
could turn the knob.

She
took a deep breath and stared. What was there to do now? She’d have to give up
on those voices. It was likely nothing anyway–just her paranoid imagination
changing into its adult form. Closing her eyes, Anne attempted to get back on
track.

Euan’s
room
,
she thought.

Yes,
she wasn’t too far away. She might not be able to get through the door, but she
might as well give it a look.

Anne
took steps around the bend, first giving the cat’s eye a little scratch to give
her a dim light in the darkened hall. It seemed quiet here, but too much of a
glow would surely alert anything that might have been awaiting her ahead.

I
must not get killed before I get myself out of this,
she told herself.
That was her top priority.

Then,
a sound reached her, faint at first but growing steadily behind her. She jerked
her head soundlessly but could see nothing. Still, she knew
some
thing
was there, and she would be foolish not to assume it was danger.

Her
eyes darted around, frantically searching for somewhere to hide. The doors of
the hallway were all closed. The look was almost dizzying to her. But at the
end of that hallway, though she couldn’t see it through the dark, there was the
stairway and a window…

And
the window is lined with thick drapes that touch the floor.

It
would be a wonderful place to hide–but could she get there in time?

Taking
a deep breath, Anne ran as fast as she could toward the end of the hallway. She
was thankful that her boots had no hard soles, for the sound of her running
surely would have alerted whoever was behind her.

As
she moved, she didn’t think she would reach those drapes before whatever was
coming rounded the corner. She could only pray that the darkness would shield
her.

The
blonde woman pretended not to hear the movement down the corridor behind her,
and she did not turn to look.

4

A
bloodied pink nose sniffled at the stale air of the hallway, and though the blood
was likely hindering his nostrils, he didn’t quite have time to stop and bathe.
Sllevk was on a mission.

He’d
instructed other mice on what to do in order to get themselves into their
enemy’s stronghold, and he’d made it his personal business to find the missing
girl.

Sllevk
stood on his hind legs, trying to sniff as well as he could. The mouse was sure
he’d caught a whiff of a human, but he seemed to have lost it. He glanced
around. Was that a shape heading off into the dark? No…just his eyes playing
tricks. His eyes were good in the dark, but only for a short distance ahead of
him. Beyond that, all was black.

The
small mouse moved forward. He stopped, listened. Again, he moved forward across
the hallway and stopped. There was nothing. No sound, no smells. Perhaps he
needed to wash his nose after all. The mouse nearly turned around, but then
stopped once again.

Was
that a sway in the curtains at the end of the hall? It
was
. A clever
little shrew, yes? She thought she could trick him. Alas, she had not accounted
for his superb deduction skills.

He
threw his feet down, moving rapidly along the hallway. The plush drapes at the
end were not difficult to reach. The mouse steadied himself, examining the
ruffles as his feet padded alongside them.

He
smelled something there. Yes, it was familiar. Yes! It was her! He gripped the
drape to dash beneath it. But wait…there was another smell. It was quite
different from the woman he’d been instructed to find. In fact, it was all
wrong.

Completely
wrong.

Sllevk
stood before the curtain, affixed. He considered.

5

There
was thick dark within the folds of the drapes–much darker than the hallway
itself. Anne had finally put herself there, stifling her labored breathing and
leaning against the wall to rest. She found it quite pleasant here–if only the
worry of whether or not she’d been seen wasn’t on her mind.

What
could be after her? And what was truly more horrifying? A mouse or another one
of those insane toys? She’d seen the mice that Armand had killed, but she’d not
had any association with them. Quite honestly, she didn’t want to.

There’s
something out there.

She
felt the presence, just as she’d felt the mouse creeping behind her in the
shafts. She imagined a mouse–or even worse, the jester toy–creeping up to the
edge of the curtain just in front of her face, carrying a ridiculously large
pair of scissors. They would creak as they blades opened–and the curtain as
well as her head would be snipped before she could do anything to stop it.

Anne
cringed and suddenly felt she should get as low to the floor as she could, but
she wouldn’t be able to run if the need arose. She’d put the cat’s eye on the
ground until it had gone out, but perhaps that light had been seen already?

She
paused in her thoughts to listen once again. There was a slow and steady breath
emitting from somewhere. It was nearby? If she heard it, she assumed that it
was. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Scissors…

Somehow
though, the sensation arose that there was nothing there at all. It was just a
boogeyman. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t know when it would be
safe
to look. Anne still heard the breathing sounds. Had she been found? Should she
try to run, breaking off down the open hallway despite what might have been
there? She didn’t know where she would go after that. She clutched the needle
tighter.

The
airy sound continued to infest her ears until she wanted to make her own noise
just so that she wouldn’t hear it. It wasn’t long after that thought when Anne
realized that the sound was coming from
within the curtain with her
.

It’s
not possible!

In
her mind, she began to panic. What could be done to remedy this? Close her eyes
and hope the stalker went away? No, she had been doing too much of that! She
had the needle. She needed to stand up for herself! And yet somehow, she
couldn’t move.

Her
head tilted slowly in the dark, looking down the gauntlet of folds within the
drape. There seemed to be nothing, but she couldn’t ignore the breathing that
had suddenly become choked, hitching at regular intervals. Sobs?

There
was a light sniffle, and finally Anne understood. Her eyes lowered straight
down to her side, dropping slowly until she saw it.

The
first things she focused on were the tiny shoes buckled across white feet. She followed
the feet upward to a large ruffled skirt that she couldn’t tell the color of in
the darkness. At waist–level, she found the face, a pale and ghostly white that
peered up at her with large, glass eyes. A mass of blonde curls sat atop that
head. The breathing–this crying–was indeed emitting from this tiny girl.

Olivia?
Anne thought for
a moment after a shudder ran out through her fingers. But no, it couldn’t have
been Olivia. This girl was much too young, and Anne realized suddenly that she
was a doll.

The
child doll gripped Anne’s hand that held the needle downward. The porcelain was
as cold as death.

“I’m
lost,” she choked in a whisper. “Could you please help me?”

Gripped
by both shock and relief, Anne found she could say nothing. But perhaps, once again,
there was no decision to be made.

6

Through
the midst of them, he walked, and they all moved out of his way as he passed.
They eyed him suspiciously.
Whispered
. They didn’t like him–
loathed
him–and yet they feared him. How had he–something so new; something not even a
toy–gained the absolute favor of the Lady so swiftly? They despised him for it.

The
others didn’t approve of his make. His clothes weren’t that of the soldier he
claimed to be, yet they were not common. His hair was too soft and healthy. His
face was too accurate. Wholly, he was much too attractive. The toys
hated
him. And the nutcracker didn’t care at all.