The Nutcracker Bleeds (29 page)

Fortunately
for him, the woman was clever. Perhaps he’d forgotten that about her. There
were stockings hung from the mantelpiece, out of the fire’s reach but not out
of Anne’s. On passing, she gripped one, and the weight of the trinkets and
candy inside made it impossible for the marionettes to pull her further. Armand
could see she was distressed, but at least she was safe as long as her grip
held. He had no way to know how long it would.

Now
for his part: saving her.

He
could cut the strings restraining her, but the only way to do so would be to
throw something. He couldn’t risk having the sword slice through them freely
and then plunge into the fire. The only things he had to throw were the
needles, and they would have to hit those strings very precisely in order to
destroy them. He could attempt it… No, it was impossible, but even if he freed
her from the strings, she would still be there hanging from the stocking. If
the puppets pulled her in, she would be their captive. If she fell when he
wasn’t ready, she would die upon hitting the floor or fall into the fire.

Armand
looked on at this predicament. The woman he’d sworn to protect was in trouble.

He
had no idea how to help her.

8

Mice
and rats fell left and right. Brooke cut through them before they had a chance
to sink their dangerous teeth into his wooden flesh. He was sufficiently
pleased with himself.

His brother
Rivere had always been quick to fight. Lakke had always been reluctant to.
Brooke had fought only when it was absolutely necessary, and when he did, there
were no second thoughts. But this time was different. He had to, yes, but these
mice were not like rebel toys. They fell so easily, and they were all enemies.

There
was beauty in this.

Brooke
had cut down so many that the rodents were becoming reluctant to attack him
now. They stood in their circle around him, contemplating what they would do,
but he did not let them take him off guard. He moved around constantly, looking
in all directions. Anything that came close got a threatening slash.

The
nutcracker had run off a while ago, likely to retrieve Anne from wherever she
had gone. Pity; he was missing out on all the fun. Brooke would have loved to
share this moment with one who was so skilled.

Upon
turning once more, his eyes fell straight upon the nutcracker that stood before
the fire. For a moment, Brooke thought he was being eaten by the flames, but
his eyes were playing tricks. Armand was yelling something, but he couldn’t
hear the words for the squeaking of the mice. The white–haired soldier pointed
upward. Brooke had to swat away another mouse before he was able to follow that
line of sight.

His
brown eyes trailed up toward the top of the fireplace, and that was when he saw
Anne, clinging to one of the loaded stockings with all she had. Further up,
Brooke saw the puppets that had their wicked strings entangling her. Her
strength would wear eventually. Then they would have her.

I
have to get up there,
he thought. Yes, that was what Armand was trying to tell him.

Distracted
as he was, a rat managed to sink teeth into Brooke’s shoulder, ripping the
material of his coat and making teeth–sized dents in his body which would never
heal on their own. But the rat didn’t get as far as ripping Brooke’s arm off. A
quick blade through its brain was good enough to make it fall.

Armand
was running toward him now, and Brooke had a good idea of what would happen when
he got there. He needed to get out of this circle. It wouldn’t be too hard.

Brooke
ran straight into the edge of the circle closest to the nutcracker’s
destination. Some of the rodents still stood in his way, but many of them moved
for fear of their death. The soldier leapt into the air, flipping over the last
few and hit the ground running once again. Armand was close. He locked his
hands together and lowered, and when Brooke reached him, his foot fit perfectly
into the fold of those hands.

Then
Brooke was sailing through the air, higher and higher after the nutcracker had
thrown him. But was his aim true? Would he be able to catch hold of the
stocking that Anne hung from, or would he glide straight on through and into
the fire’s blaze?

He
was high enough, and it seemed that the length of the throw would be true. It
was close, but Brooke managed to grip the stuffed stocking just above the toe.

In
the same motion that Armand had used to throw Brooke toward Anne, he reached
and gripped the sword from his back, withdrawing it once again. The rodents had
chased after him, but now they would have the nutcracker to deal with. Very
suddenly, Armand and Brooke had swapped positions. Each would have to pick up
where the other had left off.

9

Anne
screamed when something weighty fell against the stocking near her, and, in
fact, she nearly lost her grip. But looking down, all her fears faded to relief
when she saw Brooke. She’d thought she would have to get out of this on her
own. It was a good thing he was here. She was at a complete loss.

“Hold
on,” he instructed.

He
withdrew a blade and gripped several of the puppet strings in his fist. With a
simple wrist flick, he cut through them.

Anne
felt the burden of all her weight, as she was supported now by only the
strength of her own arms. She was already weakened by many feats tonight. That
strength would not last long.

10

Brooke
tugged on the strings that were attached to the marionettes above. He’d managed
to get a few cords from both of them. They pulled back, trying to manipulate
his mass. He could feel the threads wriggling in his grip, struggling to
escape. All it would take would be a good, firm yank.

Making
sure he wouldn’t fall along with them, he pulled them free of the mantle. They swung
down and forward, just as he’d anticipated, but before he guided them into the
fire, he jerked the strings once again.

One
puppet snapped free of the cords and soared into the flames. His plan hadn’t
worked. He had one more chance.

He
jolted the strings as if they were reigns, throwing the remaining puppet
roughly. Nothing happened. Once again.
Harder.
One of the marionette’s
limbs snapped off with the strings and the rest of the body plummeted into
fiery death. The limb Brooke was left with was an arm. It wasn’t what he’d
hoped for, but it was something.

Twisting
the string with the arm attached, he swung it toward the top of the mantle, and
it caught there in the crook of a heavy, silver candelabra. Brooke gave the
cords a tug to insure that they were sturdy enough. When he was sure that it
would hold, he turned to Anne.

The
woman looked very weak indeed, struggling through the heat and the weariness of
her body, but she had not resigned herself. She held on still, not wanting to
die. He respected her for that, though he would never feel that thing she felt.
He had nothing substantial to cling to–no reason to fear death.

He
reached out for her. When she noticed, she began to climb closer to him while
he gripped her arm for assurance and leverage. When she reached him, she
gripped him tightly, wrapping her body around his.

Brooke
almost lost his own grip at the notion of it. To be ensnared by flesh–what a
feeling! Such arousal! He had nothing with which to fully enjoy her, but he
felt her against him nonetheless. It was hard to shut the sensation down, but
he forced himself. He was saving her now, their lives depended on this.

Aside
from that, he had no right to have her or want her either one.

Enveloped
fully in her trust at this moment, Brooke used the puppets’ cords to scale to
the top of the fireplace. It wasn’t too difficult, though he hoped every moment
that the arm did not break or slip loose. With a bit of extra effort, he pulled
them both up over the top, onto a plain that was firm and solid.

He let
her hold him a moment there before he pried her away. Eventually, she came to
understand that they were safe. He saw relief in her eyes, and he realized then
that all of his earlier bloodlust had faded away. He had been right about her.
She was something worth protecting.

Brooke
smiled at her, shortly and simply, but it was so genuine that she felt a wave
of shock. She realized then in that moment, looking into his shining glass
eyes, that he truly held her above all else. Not only was it a simple thought,
he felt it inside him somewhere. He cared for her.

She
had become his new princess, replacing Pirlipat, who had merely been porcelain
and stuffing.

Anne
opened her mouth to say something, though not knowing what was to come out. Her
eyes widened before she had the chance to find out what it would be, her mind
quickly swapping to a destined phrase.

“Look
out!”

Brooke
turned his head to see the puppet behind him, just with enough time to raise
one of his weapons to block the oncoming scissor blade that was chopping down
toward them.

11

From
below the mantelpiece, Armand glanced up at every chance he got between slaying
rodents, hoping to finally see that Brooke had delivered Anne to safety. To his
relief, he eventually saw that very thing, though it was followed immediately
by Brooke battling a marionette that they’d not seen or expected.

Armand
turned to slice through a rat’s jaws before they could clamp down over his
head. Into his ears, drifted a voice.

“
Armand
!”

Anne’s
voice. From up above. He cut through a mouse. A new line of blood stained the
floor.

“
Open
the door
!” she screamed.

Door?
He knew nothing of a door. Hadn’t the room simply stood open from the hallway?

He
looked around as he defended himself. There was an open space that led into the
dining room, but then, near that… Yes! There was another door. There was no
handle–one of those that could be opened with a push from either side. Just
perfect for him to tackle.

But
what was the purpose? And did he trust Anne enough to know that this would be
worth his while?

Armand
maneuvered around, stabbed through a rat, and made his break for the door. He’d
expected the rodents to follow behind him, and they did without hesitation. It
was slightly difficult to stay ahead of them, but he managed. Nearly every
step, he felt them at his heels.

He
slammed into the door when he reached it, though it did little to move it at
first jolt. It budged an inch perhaps, a decidedly heavy door. The nutcracker
pushed back against it with all he had. The rats and mice behind him slowed,
seeing that he’d run himself into an obstruction. Still, they were not
overconfident. He had killed several of them, and those that were left were not
eager to lose their lives.

The door
was moving, being pushed with the soldier’s strength. He managed it only a
crack when the mice decided they didn’t like what he was doing. They came
forward–

–only
now, something was helping Armand to get the door open. A massive creature had
stuck its head through the opening that he’d made, and it pushed further in
order to get its body through the hole.

Duchess,
the large calico, hadn’t expected to come out of the kitchen door and see so many
rodents, but she had smelt them there, and the scent was driving her mad. Now,
she was free, and there were her prey, lined up in front of her for the
picking. The rats hissed at her. She hissed back.

Armand
left the area just as Duchess made her first strike and knocked the first mouse
from its feet–also just as the first groups of rodents began to retreat. They
would all be gone soon, he imagined, having forgotten about him for their fear.
There wasn’t much left to do now save for make sure that Anne was still
alright.

She
would be alright.

12

Brooke’s
marionette opponent was a nasty customer indeed, attacking so fast and
accurately that the soldier hardly had time to dodge or counter. He managed,
but the battle moved him all across the mantle–top so that he no longer knew
where the edge was, or even where Anne had moved to.

He
wasn’t certain of what was going to happen in this fight, but even if he had to
plunge head first into the fire, he was at least taking the puppet with him.

Their
blades clashed together, grinding against each other with an atrocious metal
sound. Brooke threw back the puppet’s blade, but the enemy immediately began
another attack.

The
scissor blade flew in–burying itself accurately into Brooke’s leg.

The
edge cut through the limb almost completely, and the soldier was forced down,
falling on his own leg so that the last fragments holding it together snapped.
Behind him, Anne could only watch helplessly. She had nothing with which to aid
him.