The Nutcracker Bleeds (38 page)

When
he spun out of a triple pirouette, there was a face before those bars, staring
in at him.

“Aaahhh!
Hideous!” the jester screamed, lurching back from the wooden face surrounded
with long, white hair.

The
eyeless nutcracker seemed to take offense to the remark. The hollow openings
narrowed to slits.

“Do
you know Anne?” inquired an accented voice.

The
jester was not sure how to respond. The wooden toy looking in on him was large
and terrifying! Had Anne sent him for purposes of retribution?

“I–!
Well, I might have met her once…”

“You’re
coming with me,” the nutcracker said darkly.

With
very little effort, he reached into the prison window, gripping the jester by
his black, cloth collar. Armand jerked the marionette forward and straight
through the box.

6

Todd
had said he would speak with Anne later, but now that he’d come, the woman was
nowhere to be found. Her room was empty, the bed hardly disturbed, and he was
terribly confused–in no mood for games. He had a proposition for her, and it
needed to be delivered immediately.

He
stood in the quiet of the room, considering things that needed to be considered
and wondering why in the bloody hell Anne was out of bed at this hour, when a
great noise above rattled his calm nerves.

Todd
looked up toward the ceiling immediately, hearing the noise much better through
the small grate in the ceiling. It was only that one, loud crash, but what had
that sound been? His concern shot immediately to Olivia. Could Anne have been
up there with her? Was something terrible happening? His brow furrowed. If the
nurse was doing something dreadful to Olivia, he would certainly be sure to
ruin her. Forget the proposition; she would be lucky to keep her life, let
alone her job.

Thinking
many outrageous thoughts, Todd left Anne’s lonely room and headed quietly
upstairs to investigate.

1

The
jester felt terribly uneasy, moving along in the shafts with a blade pointed
near his back. The nutcracker was forcing him down into the rodent’s lair, instructing
him specifically not to take him along the same path that he’d taken Anne
earlier. The jester had been much too terrified to protest, but his mind was
squirming still, trying to cultivate a plan to escape this.

The
nutcracker was unnervingly silent behind him. The jester glanced back over his
shoulder periodically to see if the strange, white–haired toy was still there.
Yes; still there. So was the blade. Hadn’t the jester seen him before? Wasn’t
he the Lady’s?

The
jester had considered leading the soldier off along the wrong path, but that
would undoubtedly be a bad idea. The toy behind him was not going to tolerate
mistakes. The jester cared too much for his own life to try anything. Perhaps
just better to do what he asked? He knew several ways into the rodent’s lair,
and the soldier did not care which one.

A
wicked smile emerged on the puppet’s face, but he tried to keep it down before
the soldier saw. He picked up his pace, leading down into the house with the
blade at his back pressing this urgent matter.

2

Toy
eyes didn’t close when asleep or unconscious, for what if a human had wandered
upon them in such a state? Would it not be odd for a wooden or glass toy with
no visible eyelids to suddenly have their eyes closed? Granted, they blinked
just fine when they wanted, but it was only for show. In their most vulnerable
circumstances, however; they returned to the state of their original make.

When
Edge awoke, his eyes were already open.

Immediately,
he could see where he was, still in the Lady’s realm, but as he remembered,
he’d not bested the nutcracker or come out of the fight fully intact. His foot
had been crushed, but upon further inspection of this unfortunate mishap, he
found that there was something attached to his ankle after all.

He
could not see it, for it was hidden by his boot, but there was a form within
there, quite near the same size as the other foot that had been shattered. The
repair had been done with putty or glue. It moved well enough, but a mild ache
still remained.

The
span of Edge’s vision widened and he saw that there were a handful of toys and
mice standing over him, peering down with–
what was it
–concern? The
thought made him snarl, and their closeness gave him a mild sensation of
claustrophobia.

“We
fixed your leg,” said Clara’s helpful voice. When he located her face, she
looked to be the most concerned of all. “I got the piece from the graveyard.”

Edge
cringed at the thought of wearing a dead toy’s used and unworthy foot, but he
had to have
something
. He had failures to remedy.

“He’s
gone, isn’t he?” Edge asked, refusing to look any one of them in the eye.

He
remembered the blood that had rushed out of the nutcracker’s arm when his blade
had met it. How insane and curious! How was it possible? Toys did not bleed! How
many times had Edge tried to cut himself, looking for such substance when there
was none to be found? There was only hollow porcelain and cotton–stuffed cloth.
Edge had thought that he could have ripped himself to pieces and still been
alive, but time and time again he’d seen toys fall. Perhaps it was simply
because they had convinced themselves that they were dead? He didn’t know. He’d
never sought to try it on himself, and he’d never shared these thoughts.

But
was it possible now that he could even have his dream? The nutcracker was…
different
.
Could his body not be compatible with Edge’s own? Preposterous. He wasn’t
giving up.

“
Are
you alright, Master
?”

Edge
looked up to see a whispering marionette peering down over him. This one was
female, wearing a large dress of black and white. Her eyes were surrounded in
thick, black rings. Her body had been merged with scissors, the blades running
down to form her arms and the handles exiting her back.

Edge
glared at her, didn’t care much for her inquiry, and stood up. The new foot
felt steady enough. One of the nearby mice handed him his precious blade.

“The
nutcracker has left–t,” the mouse informed him. “But not to worr–r–ry. One of
the flesh girls–s has been taken to the Master–r already.”

This
was certainly news to Edge. He stopped all movement to stare at the rodent.

“
Which
?”
he snarled. Either way, it was a violation of his plan to have this stage
happen so early.

“The
elder,” the mouse said, his pink eyes darting. “Not–t the Lady.”

The
black–haired doll flew into a rage, rushing forward and gripping the collar of
the mouse’s shroud, jerking it off the ground.

“Imbecile!”
Edge screeched. “You were supposed to wait and take the
child
!”

“The
opportunity aros–s–e!” the mouse sputtered. “She was found s–separated from the
nutcracker! I had n–n–othing to do with it!”

The
others shook their heads, denying involvement, and Edge eyed every one of them.
At the end of that, his eyes rested on Clara. She looked at him expectantly.
What did she want from him? She wanted him to be her hero? To race off and free
her beloved Anne so that everything could be well again? She’d be very upset if
something happened to that woman…

Oh,
but why did Edge care? He didn’t care, right? He had no reason to. Either
female was fine with him for the sacrifice, but it quite simply wasn’t time! He
was supposed to have his new body first. He was supposed to have conquered
everything! The rat did not need to grow stronger. This wasn’t right–and the
look in the child doll’s eyes told him that even more.

Roaring
in defeat and frustration, Edge headed off swiftly to try and correct this
unfortunate situation.

3

The
room was a forbidden place for some; a forgotten place for others. To Todd, it
was neither of these things. It was a realm where the elusive yellow papillon
lived, and though he had come here whenever the chance arose, swiping with his
net, the fair creature had evaded him every time.

Not
for much longer.

Standing
outside the door, he could hear faint sounds coming from inside, though any
greater noises had ceased. What was happening inside Olivia’s room? The noise
had been tumultuous–not caused by a simple falling doll or even if Olivia
herself had fallen.

He
gripped the bronze knob, twisting it–
unlocked
. He pushed it in…

It opened
only a crack and wouldn’t budge further. Something was holding it from within.
Todd could hear tiny sounds coming from behind the door, but he couldn’t make
them out.

“Olivia?”
he asked quietly, but there was no answer.

Todd
tried the door again, pushing his weight against it. Whatever was resting in
front of it was quite heavy indeed, and while he would admit he was more brain
than brawn, he didn’t think Anne and Olivia
together
could have moved
something to block the door this firmly.

The
young man was concerned and doubtful. Something wasn’t right. Was it William?
All those questions, just to change his mind at the last moment–on the eve of
the final poisoning–and try to spirit away both Anne and Olivia, leaving Todd
with the blame? This problem would have to be dealt with immediately.

Todd
left Olivia’s door and moved off downstairs, anxious to find his uncle and see
what that man was up to.

 
4

“Food,”
Anne had managed to choke out at some point during her decoration.

Her request
caught the dolls off guard, but eventually one of them consented to her appeal,
leaving the room and coming back with a piece of old, smelly cheese about the
size of Anne’s head.

Cheese…
How unexpected
,
she thought sarcastically.

Even
though she had no idea how long it had been there, she ate from the chunk until
her belly was filled–but not so much that she was overstuffed. Then, they’d
started on her again.

The
process was painful, but the food and rest helped Anne to bear it. It didn’t,
however, keep her from crying. What was left? Had she accepted this fate so
fully? She had completely resigned herself to torture and rape and mutilation
in the most uninhibited form by some giant creature? But why try to deny her
fate?

She
was no princess. There was no knight coming to her rescue.

Without
resistance, Anne allowed the dolls to do their work on her. They stripped her
of her plain dress and laced her up in a different costume. It was a gown of
white with a full skirt of gossamer. Tiny straps held up a bodice of silk,
displaying her ample accents liberally–as if she wanted them to be displayed.
They attached fake portions of hair to her own, hanging in thick ringlets. A
long, silk scarf was tied about her neck to hide her bruises from the chain
that had nearly killed her. They’d tied it on swiftly, uncaringly, much too
tight. But in the midst of this ordeal, Anne could hardly get her fingers there
to loosen it. The dolls applied a white powder to her face and body, and to top
it all off: a sprinkling of sugar to make her glitter.

The
process took a bit, but Anne remained silent throughout it, periodic tears
rolling down her cheeks. When the dolls were done, they pulled her to stand,
circling around to make sure she was presentable. Anne hardly looked at them.
She was too busy feeling sorry for herself, thinking of all the things she’d
done wrong.

She
thought of Olivia first, and how she’d stopped caring about the girl long ago.
Why couldn’t she have simply loved her? Was it really so terribly hard to think
of someone other than herself? Even someone who truly needed help?

What
about her attempts with William? The lack of respect she had for herself every
time he came to her, just for her selfish need to make him love her for her own
gain–just because of her need to feel something pressing between her legs to
give herself worth. It became perfectly true then. That was what she was.

She
thought about Armand–of his painful past, his miserable present, and his
eminent future. Why had she allowed herself to care about him? She could have
chosen someone else more accepting. Like Olivia; someone who needed that love.
Still, her thoughts of him did not go away. He had purpose, unlike her. He’d
told her that he wanted his enemy to become strong again, and now he was going
to get his wish. At least, perhaps now he would have his own peace.

“What’s
wrong, pretty?” asked the doll that was painting her cheeks. “Think you’re not
good enough for the Master? Then again, if I were you and I understood what was
coming to me, I’d be a little depressed myself.”

Anne
raised her head to the doll, seeing the way she was being looked at–down the
nose like some terrible stain. The red–haired doll had no sympathy for her.
Anne focused on a tiny, hairline crack across one of her glass eyes.

“I’ve
seen it happen, you know,” the doll said lowly as her painted lips moved.
“They’ve all been as attractive as you, so don’t think you’re special.”

Special?
That wasn’t anywhere near the proper word.

“It’s
terrible really. He loves dolls so much and yet we can do nothing for him.
Still, what he needs and craves is a human. Your fate is worse than ours, I’m
afraid.”

Anne
hardly listened to the doll’s words, seeing the glare from a sugar crystal that
was hung in her eyelashes. The doll stared at her, her expression slowly
sliding from distaste to hunger. Anne didn’t have time to prepare herself
before the doll gripped her.

A
mouth of hollow glass pressed roughly against her flesh lips, moving in a kiss
that had no warmth or breath behind it. Blunt porcelain teeth, placed there
only by the magic of the curse, scratched at the woman’s mouth. Anne felt a
cold, greedy hand groping her breast, none too gently. The woman took the abuse
as if it wasn’t happening at all.

The
other doll in the room that had been put in charge of Anne gripped the
red–haired doll and jerked her away, slapping her hard across the face for her
conduct. There was a sharp ringing sound as glass connected with glass.

“You
know we’re not allowed to touch them!” she reminded her partner in a hushed
voice.

“I
just wanted to try her first,” the doll said, wiping a bit of Anne’s saliva
from her lips. “Didn’t want her to be wasted.”

Anne
looked up at the doll where she stood smirking. Beside her, the other doll
looked fearful. The woman’s grey eyes were empty and unfeeling. She opened her
mouth boldly.

“It
felt like
nothing
,” she said hatefully.

The
red–haired doll’s face heated angrily, and she reached out, gripping Anne’s
arm. The sharp glass fingers dug in, sure to leave tiny bruises.