The Nutcracker Bleeds (28 page)

This
had, perhaps, been a lucky feat, but thick blood was seeping from within the
rat, running down the edge of Brooke’s blade and soaking into his glove. He
watched the stain grown, hardly even noticing the dying creature as it
collapsed near him.

The
mouse–rider had leapt from its mount in an attempt to escape into the shadows.
The nutcracker, however, had different plans for the creature. The mouse
skittered to a stop as it saw the blade of red glass crashing down. It was a
bit faster than its attacker, managing to avoid the next several attempts as
well.

Just
by luck, the mouse managed to sink its teeth into the wood of Armand’s leg.

The
nutcracker grimaced in pain as blood began to flow from the deep indention. But
before he’d brought his fist down into the mouse’s skull, it darted away. He
gave chase.

The
rodent thought it was leading–actually believed it was going to escape. It
scurried on, running on all–fours–

A
sharp pain in its throat made it falter. The mouse grasped toward the pain,
only to wrap paws around the end of a blood–covered needle that had emerged
through its skin. A second painful slice to its back left it flat and dying.

With
the whole group slain, Armand turned back toward Brooke, who was still staring
down at the blood he’d withdrawn on his blade. He’d never had the pleasure?

“Riveting?”
the nutcracker asked in his blandest tone.

Brooke
looked up; glanced back down. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his gloved
hand into the blood that had pooled on the floor. Armand watched him, wondering
to himself if this fascination was such a good thing. Anne, whom this soldier
had vowed to guard, was also made of flesh and blood. Brooke knew that it would
not be suitable to make
her
bleed, didn’t he?

The
nutcracker didn’t get to contemplate much further than that. Still, after this
group was dead, they were not alone. The dark–haired soldier seemed to notice
this as soon as he had, looking off toward the shadowy edge of the room. Of
course they were not alone. There was no possible way that three mice and three
rats could have overtaken so many toys
and
several soldiers.

From
various points in the darkness, Armand began to notice the glow of tiny, round
eyes. All of those eyes were pointed his way. Brooke arose near the nutcracker,
peering back at the eyes that saw
him.

Dozens…

The
Mausekönig had sent out an army–but whether it was small or large in comparison
to the complete number of followers he had, Armand was not sure. He doubted
this was it in its entirety. Still, he would kill as many of them as he could.

The
army of vermin crept across the floor, closing space, surrounding them. Armand
and Brooke stood back to back. Their weapons were at the ready. Still, there
was a bit of uncertainty as to what would come from this attempt. Nearly
seventy against two. It didn’t matter. Armand knew this would not be the end of
him. He had other things to tend to.

Where’s
Anne?

She’s
fine. She’s safe
.
He forced himself to believe that. Even so, his uncertainty nagged him.
Dreadful woman; invading his thoughts like that.

He
wished he’d never met her.

5

Within
the pot of a large plant, lying beneath the rim and against the dirt, Anne had found
herself a hiding place. The cat’s eye rested beside her. The safe haven had
been difficult to manage, and in the dimness she was unsure if anything had
seen her climb inside. She felt safe at least, and she didn’t want to know
anything different.

It hadn’t
been quiet in the room after Armand had instructed her to run, but she hadn’t
looked back. There were sounds of struggle and pain, but more prominently than
all that was the pounding of her heart.

What
was happening here? They had inadvertently wandered into a war battle that they
were not meant to be involved in. Olivia had sent them. Wretched girl. She had
no idea what was going on here! They needed to get out! But Armand was the one
who agree to do this–her bloody prince!
Sadistic bastard
. Hating him
meant hating this world. But Brooke had not tried to protest, had he? So, all
this was his fault.
Ignorant nothing.
He trusted Armand too much
perhaps, and yet not enough.

I
do hope they’re all alright…
Anne had to admit: she couldn’t quite get
along without any of them, despite how they had ruined her life.

Cautiously,
she leaned up and peered out over the rim of the vase. From here, she could see
out over most of the room, though it was a bit hard to look past the tree that
threw out shadows over the room like black lightning. Even though she couldn’t
see it fully, she witnessed the battle. She saw the circle of mice warriors,
some riding atop giant rats. She saw wave after wave, moving into the circle to
battle the two toys locked within. Together, Armand and Brooke thinned them
out, and when the number dropped too low, more mice joined in the fray.

Anne
watched this twisted dance for several moments, disgusted, and yet…

Yes.
Chop off all their heads! No; make them suffer!

A
tiny scratching noise gripped her attention, and she ducked quickly down into
the soil. What had that sound been? A random piece of wrapping that had fallen
over? Was something close? She lay down against the soil, knowing it was
getting into her hair along with the sweat and oil that was already there. Her
dress that had recently been clean had collected the dirt as well. Her skin
felt dirty and greasy, and if there’d been a mirror anywhere close for her to
peer
into, she would have closed her eyes and run past it like it was Black
Death.

Black
Death… Rats…
More bad thoughts.

Poor
hygiene was beginning to take a serious toll on her sanity. All those things
didn’t stray far from her mind, but at this moment, they were not the most
important.

Because
something was clawing up the side of the flowerpot.

Anne
halted her breathing. Her body became stiff, though she knew it would have been
better to keep herself relaxed. She found she could not. How could she? And how
could Armand always expect her not to be phased? She was only human, after all.
She wasn’t like him.

The
first thing Anne saw that made her cringe was a small pink nose. It moved over
the rim of the pot, sniffing busily. She saw the tiny nostrils working. Then
the bent whiskers emerged. A long muzzle. Two beady eyes that looked down at
her.

And
the creature grinned a toothy smile with rotten teeth.

“Peeeeek–a–boo!”
the mouse hissed.

The
danger hadn’t become real until the wretched vermin had spoken. Anne’s eyes
grew wide. Instincts took over. Without even knowing what she was doing,
grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it into the rodent’s eyes.

The
creature hissed and jerked back, and Anne hurried to her feet, running as best
she could across the sinking dirt and to the other side of the flowerpot.
There, she pulled herself up onto the rim, looking down at the long drop. How
in the world had she gotten herself in here? Oh yes…there had been a nice crack
for a foothold. The distance down seemed akin to jumping from the roof of a
house–nearly twice her height.

Still,
she couldn’t stay here. She shimmied down the edge a bit, trying to fathom how
this could work. She would likely break her legs or something much worse.

Before
she could decide what to do, she was already blocked off. The mouse had paced
around to find her, and she saw now that it was riding a monstrous rat. The rat
lifted its massive head toward her legs, nudging her dangling feet and sniffing
her. She pulled her knees up to her chest immediately in disgust.

The
mouse was not appearing too happy after the blow she’d caused him. It thrust a
wooden spike toward her, unwavering. If she’d tried to slide off, she would
have been impaled on it.

“No
more run–n–ning,” the mouse said. But that was as far is it got.

Anne
felt fear, but it was not enough to drown her panic, still scrambling for
safety, but in a red blur, the pike that the mouse held was chopped in half.
The rat responded to the attacker first, sending a strong claw into the
opponent’s side.

Only,
this opponent was a nutcracker, and the metal ridges did not break.

Atop
the rat, the mouse pulled a small vial full of turpentine, sitting back at the
perfect angle to splash it onto Armand, but the mouse had not counted on being
unable to control his mount. The nutcracker slashed the rat’s nose and it
reared upward. The mouse held on as best it could, but that was a serious
mistake. The path into the rat’s heart was clear, and Armand rushed forward
with the sword’s point, ramming not only through the rat’s body, but into the
mouse that sat atop it. Blood began to run from their noses.

When
movement ceased and the rodents were nothing but dead weight, Armand withdrew
the blade from their flesh. Then he turned to Anne.

“Jump,”
he commanded, holding his arms out to her.

She
looked down at him, seeing that he was covered in blood. Even his perfect hair
was clotted by it in places. Still, she did not hesitate to leap down into his
arms.

She
remembered the battle she had seen him fighting–remembered how the rodents had
closed in on him and Brooke. How had he gotten away from that without a great
number of them following him to her?

“How
did you manage to–”

“Nein!”
he said, silencing her.

He
gripped her hand, and together they ran around the edge of the room. Armand
chopped through anything that opposed them.

6

Once
again, Brooke withdrew his blade from within the belly of a mouse. Blood
splashed, making a pleasant splattering sound as it hit the floor. The number
of dead were growing, littering the battle area and forcing it to widen.
Personally, Brooke hoped the number of opposing was endless. He was enjoying
himself.

He
knew Armand was no longer fighting beside him, but he hardly paid attention to
the fact. This blood… It was
something
! He liked the color of it; it was
vibrant. He liked the feel of it; it had fleeting warmth, like being dotted
with the life that was fading from the mice. The smell was not very nice. It
was worse than the dark bile which Armand had expelled, but occasionally Brooke
managed to rip out large chunks of flesh–
organs
–and that was very gratifying.

He
fought them all alone, and in his frenzied, berserk state, he was sure to
slaughter them all before even realizing what he’d done.

He
felt something new emerge on his face. His mouth was stretched and parted by
teeth. Had he ever smiled like this? So widely; so genuinely? No, he didn’t
think so, but it felt too good to stop. In fact, he
couldn’t
stop.
Something inside wouldn’t let it pass from his face.

Brooke
threw his arms about, slashing through any feeble, flesh creature that came
close.

He heard
a sound
. Laughter
. It was wicked, maniacal, and it echoed back to him
from the walls. The noise gave him chills throughout. Pleasant ones.

The
sound had come from his own throat.

7

Anne
could hardly keep up with the pace Armand had set for them, but he pulled her
along behind him nonetheless. If she’d fallen, she was certain that he simply
would have continued to drag her along the floor. They stayed in the darkness
when they could, veering from the rodents. What was his aim in this, she
wondered. To head to the shafts and leave Brooke here to fend for himself?
Though, she had to admit by casting a glance that the soldier was doing pretty
well for himself out there.

Brooke
didn’t need Armand’s help.
She
did. Now if she could just keep up.

They
passed before the fireplace, a raging inferno–the pit of hell. The heat was so
great that Anne thought she would be pouring sweat before they got away from
it. Though unpleasant, something about the fire made her stare into it with
strict interest. It was ghostly and ethereal. The flames there were much
greater than she was–so powerful. In them, she saw death.

This
is how I’m going to die.

It
was a sudden thought, but it was so intensely felt that it slowed her down. Her
fingers slowly began to slide from Armand’s. Her feet got confused in their
stride. Anne fell.

Armand
stopped immediately, whirling on his heels. He reached out to her, and she up
to him. She was right there, nearly within his grasp–and then she was flying.

The
woman flew from the ground as if a bird–but a very confused one indeed. She
shot up toward the top of the mantle, and Armand finally noticed the strings
that ensnared her. Looking further up, he could see the puppets hauling her
upward with their living threads, stealing her from him. She rose much too high
too fast, and the nutcracker could do nothing but watch.