The Nutcracker Bleeds (22 page)

The
chain connected roughly with the side of the nutcracker’s head, biting harshly
in its passing. Armand slumped over; Rivere smiled, pleased that he’d finally
landed a hit. It was about bloody time!

When
the assassin raised his angry gaze back to the princess’s soldier, peering
through strands of long hair, Rivere’s green eyes saw the red substance running
down the nutcracker’s face. It was impossible, and yet, it was.

Blood
. A substance only
known to humans.

“What
the devil?” Rivere gasped, his eyes widening. Armand said nothing, raising a
hand to wipe the fluid away, slinging it off his fingers and onto the floor.

The
sudden sound of a crash rattled the tension, but did not shatter it. Rivere and
Armand both averted their eyes from one another to inspect the new happening.
They both found their search ended at the woman who stood in the room with
them, nearly forgotten.

Shards
of thin glass pelted Anne but did not slice her. Near her head, a metal spike had
emerged into the house through the window at her back.

A
window!
She hadn’t seen any window! The marionettes were breaking through. Anne ducked
down quickly and scrambled away across the floor. The puppets were reaching in
with probing fingers and perceptive strings, and there were sounds of screams
and laughter coming from the outside. How very hard it was to concentrate on
two things at once! Stay out of the way of Armand and the soldier; move away
from the window. She crawled across the floor, having let go of the marble in
fear for her life. Near the stairs, she managed to pull herself back up.

Armand
watched her move, then dashed forward quickly and chopped off the limbs of the
groping marionettes with a single slash. They recoiled and moved away from the
window. In that same instant, Rivere pulled his chain around Anne’s neck.

She’d
held back her scream, but then the chain was helping her do so, cutting off
breath. He pulled her in, thrilled with his catch. He pressed his face into her
hair, smelling her.

“
Very
nice make,” he commented, feigning that he didn’t realize she was human.

The
chain slid against her neck. It tightened. Anne was pulled back tighter against
the cloth–covered wood of the soldier’s chest. She winced, and she could almost
hear
him sneering.

“Well,
well. How the tables have turned. Your princess for mine. Where’s that
confidence now?”

Anne
clawed at the chain but couldn’t manage to get her fingers beneath it. It
pressed against her windpipe, choking her, making her gag. She focused on
Armand long enough to see that he was hesitant. He was surely searching for
some opening, but the fiery–haired soldier kept her in front of him. Darkness
was closing in.

“I
see no reason why I shouldn’t just kill her,” Rivere said. “I could finish you after
that. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Air
was cut off. Anne couldn’t breathe. She scratched at the chain–at the skin of
her neck, leaving long, red marks. Armand considered, trying to remember how
long it took for a human to die. He could try to strike the doll down, but
there was no way to know that his opponent wouldn’t use the woman as a shield.

Rivere
smiled, amused by the nutcracker’s confusion.

“It’s
over,” he said easily, feeling the woman’s legs go limp.

“Not
yet.”

Another
voice had risen up in the room, and just as Anne nearly fell into
unconsciousness, the soldier let go as a blade emerged from the soft wood of
his neck. Pine; with the right force, it was easily damaged.

Rivere
fell over when the blade retracted, looking up into the unfeeling eyes of his
brother, Brooke. Betrayal? What was this? And had they ever known of such a
notion toward one another? They had been a group, functioning only as a whole.
So what was this pain that Rivere felt, not in his throat, but in his whole
inner being?

“Why?”
Rivere rasped, clenching his throat and trying to rise.

“If
you were capable of understanding, you already would,” was Brooke’s reply.

The
fallen soldier stared in disbelief, even as Armand gripped a handful of his red
hair. His head was brought into the metal crook of Armand’s arm and with a
solid crunch, Rivere’s glass head burst apart.

The
nutcracker looked toward the other soldier that he’d expected to eventually
kill. At his gaze, the momentary ally pulled his other hand forward, and onto
the floor fell Princess Pirlipat, weak and sniffling.

Armand
looked to the guardian again, both of them holding the same neutral expression.

“Her
death be on
your
head,” the dark–haired soldier pronounced. Then he
turned his gaze away.

To
the side, Anne gasped for air, holding herself up on shaky arms. Her neck was
sore. There would be bruising. A footstep gripped her attention, and Armand
knelt down to her. She was very surprised to see him there.

He
didn’t speak, simply looked into her eyes that were red and wet from strain. He
tilted his head and put a hand on her shoulder lightly. Anne gave a short nod
of confirmation. Yes, she was alright. She was alive, and in the end, that was
all that really mattered.

“Stand
up,” he told her then, helping her to do so.

He led
her to the center of the room as if she was blind, stopping just before
Princess Pirlipat as she grieved on the floor.

This
would be it then? If one would call this simple, them his plan had been as
simple as he’d said.

Armand
gripped the royal doll’s arms and pulled her up without kindness. Anne stood
away, watching intently with a feeling of mild dread at her core.

Why
was he making her see this? Could he possibly have known that after she’d
discovered he had a heartbeat, she’d actually come to wonder if there was more
to all these toys than the
nothing
he claimed? Were they truly more
alive
than just animated? Still, she was more concerned about herself than any one of
these others... But looking into the eyes of this princess, seeing her fear,
made her doubt the most.

“Please…please,
I don’t understand!” Pirlipat cried, her eyes eternally dry. “Are these the
Lady’s orders?”

The
princess looked into the nutcracker’s eyes. There was nothing there, especially
not compassion. It was the same thing Pirlipat had seen in Brooke’s eyes when
he’d betrayed her.

“You
don’t have to do this,” she pleaded. “I’ll go away! Please!
I don’t want to
die
!”

“I’m
so sorry, princess,” Armand said, the coldness of his voice even sending chills
through Anne. “But you have no life to beg for.”

Anne
thought she saw the pupils of the princess’s eyes shrink with her terror and
realization, but the woman dismissed it as an illusion. The nutcracker did not
hesitate. He took one hand to her throat and the other gripped the crown of the
princess’s hair. She closed her eyes, muttering ‘please’ over and over again
pitifully. Her pleads went unheard.

The
nutcracker twisted, the princess screamed, and the head came off easily.

The
sound of the scream was cut short when the head became detached, but the sound
of it echoed on in Anne’s ears. Armand held up the limb body of the doll and at
the same time turned to Anne, putting the doll’s head directly into her hands.

Anne
stared down at it, her eyes roving over the unmoving face of the princess
Pirlipat. There was certainly no life there. It was nothing but porcelain. The
woman raised her eyes to the brown–haired soldier who had delivered his
princess into their murdering hands. He would not watch.

Armand
withdrew the glass sword, using it to rip open the princess’s headless body
from the gut to the neck and, putting the sword away, he reached inside and
griped handfuls of fluffy white cotton, jerking it out. It floated weightlessly
to the floor.

“Nothing,”
he said, illustrating his point by grabbing another handful. “
Nothing
.”

After
much of it was on the floor, the nutcracker dropped the body of the doll and it
fell without resistance. It was simply like any time that Anne had tossed a
doll into the toy chest or onto Olivia’s bed. It was nothing; made of nothing.
She understood. He’d made his point. And yet…

“I
see,” she said hesitantly. The princess’s head fell from her hands, and the
fragile porcelain shattered against the hard floor.

“You
know for certain that this was not murder and that it was worth the reason we
did it?”

Why
was he asking her this? Of course she knew that. She’d been willing from the
beginning.

So
why are there still so many questions?

Anne
nodded in acknowledgment. Soon, she was sure, the princess would be the
furthest thing from her mind.

“Then
let us go,” Armand said, starting past. “We’re done here.”

“
Wait
!”

Anne
was not the only one who had said the word. She turned back to see the
dark–haired soldier watching them. When her gaze met his, he knelt down before
her.

“Allow
me to come with you,” he requested.

The
appeal shocked her. She looked back toward Armand for his certain refusal, but
the nutcracker said nothing. Anne looked back at the soldier in the black and
silver coat. She was unsure of what to say, but he spoke again before she had
the chance.

“What
your nutcracker friend has said is very true.” The soldier glanced briefly
toward the remains of his princess. “She wasn’t real.
I’m
not real. I
feel alive, but I know I’m hollow inside.”

He
rose up off the floor, and Anne wondered how it was that he had come to feel
that way about himself. On impulse, she thought it was terrible. Then she
remembered.
Nothing.

“If
I’m going to
be
,” he went on. “I might as well make myself useful. I don’t
care why you destroyed her. You’re not like the rest of us. For your need, it
is acceptable. I’m a soldier, programmed only for a certain thing that I cannot
deny. Let me come with you. I need something real to protect.”

Anne
opened her mouth to speak, not sure whether she was going to accept or deny his
request, but the chance for either was taken from her by a great sound at the
door. Something on the other side was pounding on the wood, and the blocked
entrance was buckling.

Armand
drew weapons, Anne stared at the wood that was beginning to crack, and
something gripped her arm.

“We
should go,” the soldier said, giving her a stern look that was similar to one
she’d seen before.

She
gazed into his eyes. She did not even know his name, but somehow she believed
that he was sincere. Even so, she was not willing to take chances of this sort.

“No,”
she refused with a short shake of her head.

“It’s
only reasonable,” he insisted.

His
grip on her arm was gentle, but it held nonetheless.

“What’s
your name?”

This
seemed to catch him by surprise. He appeared uncertain.

“It…
I am called Brooke,” he told her finally.

“I’m
sorry then, Brooke. But if you’re desire is to help me, you need to understand
what I need most.”

Light
was seeping through the door where it splintered. Armand stood ready for the
break. Anne looked to him, making sure that Brooke followed her gaze and
understood what she meant. She turned back.

I
need to stay with the nutcracker.

“He
can help me find out what I need to know. I’m not leaving without him.”

Brooke
gave a short nod. He released her arm and headed past her.

“As
you wish,” he relented.

The
wood of the doors burst open. A swarm of marionettes flooded inside. The
nutcracker blocked off the first line. Blades withdrew from Brooke’s sleeves,
and he leapt fearlessly into the fray, just at her simple word.

Anne
backed into the stairs, hugging herself. A wooden arm chopped from a marionette
hit the wall near her. She gulped and watched the battle, seeing injured
puppets fall and rise back up again. Armand and their new ally cut through the
wooden frames.

You’re
not going to die
,
she promised herself.
You’ll cheat death. They’ll help you. When you get out
of this, you can have a nice, warm cup of tea.

The
puppets were not giving up, coming on as if they felt no pain. Were they after
her? Sent by the Rat King? She closed her eyes against the sight and the
thought.

Then,
very suddenly, the attack was over.

6

Silence.
The puppets had
retreated from the house completely. Those that couldn’t walk simply crawled
away, forgetting entirely about the three of them that remained inside. Armand
still held his weapons; Brooke was hesitant to put his own away. Anne stepped
away from the wall.