The Nutcracker Bleeds (54 page)

Anne
did not watch. She directed her sight on the vent and moved the girl toward it
as quickly as she dared to. What was wrong with her? Was she dying or was this
the lifting of the curse? Both were good reasons for them to get out of here,
though she prayed for the second thing to be true.

They
moved on steadily. Anne would allow for nothing else. Olivia continued to be
sick, spilling quite a mess along the way, slipping in it as she stepped. Anne
thought that she would be sick herself. They were at the vent. They passed
through. Olivia fell from Anne’s arms and passed out on the floor.

“Olivia!”

The
nurse ran to her, lifting up the girl and examining her. She was not dead, but
her heartbeat seemed very faint.

“Olivia!
Wake up! Can you hear me?”

No
more words could be found in the woman’s mouth as a wave of nausea ran over her
like an unyielding tide. Her head pounded. She felt dizzy. Certainly, she was
going to die. Anne vomited up dark blood, expelling the poisons from her body.
Her legs rebelled against her and she hit the floor. Within, she could feel her
insides wrenching.

Anne
fell over beside Olivia. They both became well–acquainted with the darkness.

9

Clara
skipped down the tunnel. She hummed as she skipped. Her golden curls bounced. She
couldn’t have been happier. Edge had tried to kill her, but he had certainly
not managed it, and he had
absolutely
not gone in to interrupt the
Master’s fight with the nutcracker.

Everything
was as it should be. Everything was right with the Master’s world.

Her
tiny feet carried her past the razorblade that had been unable to touch her,
now lying flat on the floor of the shaft. She gave it little mind. The sight
past that was what she wanted to see, and it was a pale, slender body dressed
in purple, lying motionless on the dark ground. She hopped down low to examine
it, pleased to see that the projectile blade had reached its mark.

The
neck of the doll that called itself Edge was severed, cracked cleanly at the
base.

Clara’s
anxious glass eyes roved the area, finally seeing the thing that she truly
wished to see. Edge’s pretty head was lying to the side. His hair had gotten a
bit of a trim, but the face was not broken.

The
child picked up the head with the long ebony hair hanging from it. She cradled
it in her arms like a baby, smiling happily. It was perfect. It was what she’d
always wanted.

The
doll started off with it, toward a destination of her own choosing.

“You
idiot child,” a voice screeched at her. It was neither male nor female. “What
have you done!”

Clara
rolled her eyes at the words. She twisted the head around in her hands, turning
the face up toward her. Wide, red eyes stared at her. Pale lips were curled in
a snarl.

“It
was for your own good!” she scolded the head.

10

Edge
could hardly gather the calm to speak. She had turned against him? Cleaved his
head from his body with his own weapon? Perhaps it served him right, but he
never figured her for being so clever. His rage boiled over.

“I’ll
kill you for this,” he screamed at her, but she just smiled at him.

“Nuh–huhhh,”
she reminded him smartly.

His
snarl turned down into a frown with his realization. He could never destroy her
while her master yet lived, and he could never defeat the Master on his own.
More depressing still was that, body or not, he could not escape her.
He
could not…
Edge’s eye ticked.

The
child giggled, the haunting sound coming at his ears from all directions. She
held Edge’s dismembered head against her dress like a valued keepsake.

“It’s
unfortunate,” Clara said, beginning to skip down the shaft once again, “but
don’t worry, Edge.
I’ll
take care of you.”

1

The
silence hung for several moments in the candlelit space, hovering over the
long, pale floor. The wooden prince stared toward the evil magician with great
emotion surging throughout him. In his rat form, the wicked being was no more
intimidating than he had been in a past age, for he was still the same monster
Armand had always known. The prince knew of the terrible things his enemy had
done–things that could not be reversed. It was time to pay for all sins.

There
was no forgiveness. Not for either of them.

The
hideous rodent stood straight behind the table, his slick, dark body covered in
a black robe. His grin spoke of his anticipation, but his hands remained flat
on the table top. What would the nutcracker do? Would he allow time for
chatting or would he attempt to strike without hesitation? Augustus waited
patiently for the outcome.

When
he became comfortable that Armand was not going to attack him immediately–for
the nutcracker had not even reached for his weapons–the rat addressed him. He
did so in their native tongue. Neither had been able to maintain the proper
accent over all their years of speaking English, but once upon a time, they had
both displayed their German heritage proudly through their speech.

“How
fine it is that we have come to stand together like this. Do you feel the same,
Armand?”

“Did
you keep your promise?” the nutcracker asked, completely uninterested in
anything else. He only cared about those two humans being safely back in their
own world? Very well. Augustus widened his smile in amusement.

“It
has already been done. As I
promised
; at the first sight of you.”

Armand
said nothing to that, keeping his face firm. It was evident what he was
thinking.

“You
do not believe me?” the rat asked, feigning surprise and beginning to step slowly
around the table. “I saw no reason to perform some ridiculous display before
you when there was no need for one. The humans have been expelled from this
place, as promised.”

The
nutcracker continued to examine him, trying to balance the rat’s words with the
look on his disgusting face. Finally, Armand seemed satisfied that his enemy
was being truthful.

“Good,
then we can settle our own business.”

Armand
pulled the sword of glass from his back. Augustus stared down at it a moment,
put off by this insistence. His wide smile faded.

“What’s
your rush? Do you anticipate death that much? You wish to kill me, but have you
truly thought it through? Because you must know that either way the swing of
this battle goes, you will die.”

The
wooden face of the nutcracker revealed nothing, but by that, it told
everything. The outcome was certain now; that was what he’d wanted to hear.
Armand had not only come here to kill Augustus, but he had come here to
be
killed.

Augustus
had played his cards wrong, revealing too much of the truth in hopes of turning
the tide. Now Armand could guess that his magic would end at his death. Such
sacrifices… Still, what he’d realized was quite interesting.

“Is
that so, Armand? That is truly why you have wanted to confront me. In hopes that
I can destroy you?”

The
nutcracker’s lips shifted; his gaze did not. He’d found out what he wanted,
which was that this rat could kill him. Why was he hesitating? They should have
been locked in battle!

Move,
nutcracker. End it!
he urged himself, but he could not move.

“Do
you know how many times I have sought to lift the curse that I placed upon
you?” Augustus asked, examining his claws distractedly. “Under these most
specific circumstances, it turned out that I cursed myself along with you by
doing to you what I did.”

“If
you did have a way, now would be a most convenient and opportune time,” Armand
pointed out. “Release me before I kill you.”

It
was not as if Armand wanted to be fixed. If not for the shame, it was as Anne
had said. She thought she could not go back into that other world after
spending such a short time here. After centuries, how could he
ever
hope
to integrate back to a human life?

“And
spoil this moment?” the rat sneered. “Why would I do such a thing?”

Their
hard stares stayed together. Armand cracked his wooden knuckles.

“If
you did manage to kill me, what if you did not die?” the rat asked
conversationally. “What if you are to walk on forever with no purpose?”

“You
have already told me different,” the nutcracker insisted. “Are you so terrified
of me that you would continue to stall like this?”

The
rat stared indignantly for a moment, insulted by this hurry, but on the other
hand, had he not also been impatient just a short while before?

“Is
there nothing you want to say to me before it is done? Nothing at all?”

The
silence was so heavy that it left little room to breathe. Armand supposed he
could have said many things then. He could have given a speech on the subject,
had he so desired. But after all this, what was there that needed to be said.

Wait…

“There
is one thing,” Armand said, clenching his teeth.

The
rat listened intently. The nutcracker did not bother containing himself.

“I
want to thank you for this
hell!”

His
grip on the glass sword tightened, all muscles throughout his body tensed, and
finally his feet began to move. Armand tore across the open space, aiming for
the monster before him. The sword was outstretched, steadied by both hands. He
gained speed with every step. He could hear his heart pumping faster. Now was
the time to end it.

2

Augustus
was not pleased with this, but what could he do save to relent and do battle?
The forsaken prince was thirsty for blood? So be it.

The
rat’s long hands rested beneath the bloody tabletop, holding for the right moment.
Even though he did not like the details of this situation, he could not keep
the crooked grin from growing on his face. The clacking of footsteps overtook
his ears. Augustus waited until he could clearly see the snarl on his enemy’s
lips. Then, he flipped the table forward.

The
long wooden object slung blood from its surface as it rolled through the air.
It blocked the path, but it was not a worthy obstacle for Armand. One hand came
off the sword and swung downward, the metal ridge of the arm smashing into the
table. The wood burst into pieces, falling past the nutcracker. The jolt made
him lose momentum, but soon he was dashing forward again with the gleaming red
blade in both hands. His hair and cloth coat billowed behind him as he raised
the sword higher. The King of Mice raised his hands.

The
nails of one claw blocked the blade’s edge while the other resisted the hilt
that Armand pressed against. They held a moment there–
pressing–
each
testing the other’s power. The rat was larger, though not quite back to his
full strength. The nutcracker, smaller but so full of rage, glowered beneath
the enormous face of the rodent. In this moment, neither used their entire
might, hoping to bluff the other. Neither was fooled.

“I
want you to know,” Augustus began, pretending to strain against Armand’s force,
“that I never acted inappropriately toward your tiny sister.”

The
smell of the rat’s hot breath was like a pile of corpses in the sun, but his
words were even more rancid. How could he dare say that he had never touched
her when Armand had seen it with his own eyes? He had looked through the
window! He’d seen the truth!

“She
was my
daughter
,” he growled, “and you’re a liar!”

He
pushed harder, managing to press the blade closer to the rat’s thick neck. The
Rat King’s eyes widened with the prospect, staring down at his opposition with
his vein–ridden, red gaze.

“Does
it hurt your poor, wood–encased heart?” the magician taunted, “and would it
hurt more to know that it was consensual? Entranced, she did everything I asked
willingly.
”

“Bastard!”
Armand yelled, losing his calm. No, he was not numb to it after all these years
that had passed. He had learned that.

At
the outburst and the surge of strength that followed, pushing the glass into, but
not cutting, the rat’s flesh, the rodent laughed loudly. He did not mind that
strings of saliva were dripping from his teeth.

“Goodbye,
Armand,” he bid.

3

A
shock rattled Armand’s flesh and shook his innards. He was thrown back from the
rat by an invisible force, sailing through the air until his body connected
with the floor. He fell with such force that he might have cracked the tile,
but he did not stop to look. The sword of glass was no longer in his hand.
Where?

He
sat up swiftly, though immediately was shoved back down by a heavy pressure
against his chest. The pain was dull for a moment, but when his hand reached up
and gripped the glass blade sticking into him, it flared quickly.

The
rat had projected the blade toward him with his unseen power, hardening it in
order to penetrate the wooden plate over Armand’s chest, but it had slid
further past that, moving through flesh and muscle until it had pierced the
prince’s heart. Armand could feel the vessel struggling to circulate his blood.
He certainly felt the pain. Still, he managed to sit upright. Dark blood flowed
from the wound in his chest. He felt it rise into his throat and he spat out a
mouthful of the acrid fluid.

It
had been only a chance and a hope, but Augustus had not truly expected the
glass blade through his heart to destroy Armand. He had designed him to never
be killed! This was a fine time for his work to be flawless. As he watched,
Armand sat up, wincing through the pain of his flesh. Within the next moment,
the nutcracker was rising to his feet. Staring at Augustus with dark blood
dripping from his chin, he broke the glass sword and left the remaining shard
protruding out of his heart. If anything was going to stop this demon toy, it
would be the agony, for wounds were not going to do much damage.

“Still
alive, are you?” the rat asked, his tone promising that he was not surprised.
“I suppose that crushes your hopes and dreams of death. I’m afraid that’s all
I’ve got in me.”

“
Bullshit
!”
Armand choked. “Hit me with something else unless you’re a coward! You said
yourself that you can’t undo what you’ve done to me! This is
nothing
compared
to what you’ve already done!”

The
rat ignored him, pacing a short distance away from where Armand stood in a very
awkward manner.

“I
have to say, it is a bit amusing to me to know that my darling Clara was your
daughter
,”
Augustus mused. “You would chase after your spawn even past death, and yet it
is by destroying mine that I live!”

Armand
straightened himself and stepped forward. He reached for the screw rapier as he
did so. The rat magician pretended not to notice.

“And
I suppose that since you were designed to live on forever, I must at least
render you harmless. A simple dismemberment should work properly. You’ll be
alive, no doubt, but I won’t have to worry about you any longer.”

The
screw was in the nutcracker’s hand. More steadily now, he approached.

“How
is it that you are going to rip me apart if you have no more power than what
you’ve shown me?” Armand asked.

The prince
stood straight then–a reflection of his former, prouder years. He held his
weapon straight out in front of him, aiming at his enemy in a threatening way.
The glass still slid within him with every pump of his heart, and his chest and
mouth still leaked blood, but he was feeling stronger. It was just a little
while longer and then all this suffering would be over.

The
magician smiled at this. “You said yourself that I’m a liar,” the rat admitted.

Armand’s
vision blurred slightly, and it almost appeared to him as if the rat’s body had
shifted–grown. The nutcracker gave his head a short jerk in order to straighten
himself, but when he saw the same thing once more on the rodent’s opposite
side, he knew he had not imagined it. Before him, the rat’s body budged,
expanding in all directions. He had dropped down to be on four legs like a
beast, and the bones and muscles of his shoulders shifted outward. The robe was
stretched and ripped. The front legs were much greater than the back ones, but
that seemed reasonable once the heads began to emerge.

Head
after monstrous head grew from the expanded shoulders of the rat King until
there were seven sets of eyes watching Armand; seven jaws gnashing at him;
seven tongues writhing for his blood. Armand was not intimidated. His enemy was
more than twice his size, but the Rat King was nothing more to him than the
cowardly toymaker who preyed on young girls. There would be no mercy.