Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (47 page)

Claudine
clapped her hands and a puff of tawny dust exploded before her as
she said something, her voice too low to make out. A paint-chipped
stool scooted across the room, its legs making a screechy-scraping
noise on the wooden floor like fingernails down a chalkboard, to
rest directly in front of Nettle. The tiny sliver of doubt that the
sisters were witches was swiftly vanquished. If Nettle hadn’t
already held the empty expression on her features with determined
self-preservation, she might have given herself away.

Claudine
sat on the stool and smoothed her taffeta skirt down with
fingernails that were encrusted with dark dust. The creases in her
fingers and hands were also embedded with the remnants of powders.
“Why did you come to find me?”

Careful
, Nettle warned herself. It was imperative that she chose
her words cautiously and act as the sisters expected her to. The
fewer words, the closer to the truth, the better. Her mouth was dry
and her voice sounded feeble.

“
Dad’s not come back.”

Claudine’s piercing blue eyes glittered as they bore
through her. They were frightening in their emptiness of
compassion. “I know.”

I knew something was off the last time we spoke up in her
bedroom!
She
hadn’t been surprised at all that Dad hadn’t returned. She has him.
She said they’d needed a thirteenth sacrifice and they’d found one
in Dad.
He
has to be at Madam Bawdsworth’s, along with the others!
She didn’t know if
she should say anything further, but by the expectant look on
Claudine’s face, she figured she ought to. “He told us to go to our
Aunts if he wasn’t back when he said he would be.”

Claudine
glanced briefly away and gave a bored sigh. “Yes, you’ve said that
before.”

Had she?
Yes, up in Claudine’s bedroom yesterday. “But we don’t want
to go, not without Dad. I came to ask what you might advise us to
do. Leave or stay?” She knew it was best not to mention Willoughby
and the disturbing message he’d carried.

Claudine
patted her hand, it felt dry and coarse like sandpaper. “Of course
you should have. I’m glad you came.” She came close, and Nettle
could smell a dank odour about her like cooked meat left in the
fridge too long. For a fearful moment she thought she’d been
tumbled. But as Claudine brought her hand up, she was holding a
small pair of scissors and with a deft snip she cut a lock of
Nettle’s black hair. She held the dull lock before her, eyeing it
with a dreary kind of interest. “You’ll stay, of course. You and
your pretty cousin.”

Suddenly the ground began to shudder. The stools they both
sat on jostled and shifted with the motion.
Earthquake,
Nettle almost shrieked. She
caught herself in time. Thankfully, Claudine had given Margot a
knowing sideways look. The sisters seemed untroubled by the quake.
The kitchen was alive with the disharmonious sound of clanking and
chinking as cutlery and utensils and pots and pans and canisters
wobbled or swung against one another. There was a tremendous jolt,
then another, and then the trembling diminished until it was no
more.

For a lengthy
moment there was silence in the kitchen while everyone waited to
see if the quake was over or would start up again.

Claudine
broke the silence, and the staff bustled back to business. “Gradlow
has almost broken through to the Heart,” she informed her sisters
as Margot came over to collect the lock of hair. Margot took the
lock over to the bench where she’d been gathering a new set of
canisters and jars and vials. Claudine leisurely rose from her
stool and joined her sisters at the bench. Their attention
elsewhere, Nettle chanced a glance at Jack. His violet eyes flew
wide to see that she wasn’t under their enchantment at all. Very
slowly, as not to attract attention, he shook his head at her,
warning her to be careful.

Margot
snipped at the lock, trimming it into tiny pieces that drifted down
into a heavy mortar. She then placed what remained of the lock in a
small vial and put it in her pocket. Claudine added ingredients –
things that squelched or snapped like breaking bones or crunched –
as Margot pounded the hair, grinding and scraping the mortar until
the mixture became a fine dust. Claudine threw a handful of this
mixture into a candle burning on the bench beside her, and as she
did so, she spoke one word, in a language Nettle had never heard
before. It sounded guttural and clunky and made her skin
crawl.

As soon
as the powder encountered the naked flame, the dust caught fire,
and like a sparkler - bloomed, crackling and spitting into an
iridescent star until it burnt away into a puff of purple smoke. A
metallic smell permeated the air.

The
sisters then turned as one to look expectantly at Nettle,
like vultures gathered around carrion. Nettle felt a burning
sensation on her inner arm. She didn’t know whether she should
react, so she chose not to.

Claudine approached, her antique shoes clacking across the
small space separating them. She
smiled that smile that Nettle had seen
every time they’d met, but this time she saw through it. It wasn’t
real. There was no friendship behind the smile, just a predator.
The flat eyes of an animal watching its prey.
She sat down and took Nettle’s
arm, turning it over. There was a strange symbol on her inner arm,
much like an infinity symbol with three lines slashing through it.
“Now then,” Claudine said to her sisters. “She’s bound to us and
will not stray. Until we can hand her over to Cretta tonight, she
will remain here. In the meantime, go and make yourselves useful.
We need as much life-essence as we can purge, and you,” she said
with a warning finger to Dolcie. “We need that dagger, and we
needed it yesterday. Get in there and make those Tears happen, use
any method you deem necessary. We are running out of
time.”

Dolcie
squared her shoulders, thumping her wooden spoon in her palm like a
prize-fighter making his opponent a promise. She stalked through
the red door, and as the door opened, screaming and whimpering
could be heard from within. Every nerve in Nettle’s body writhed at
the sound.

JAZZ!! Jazz is in there - she has to be in there!
What were they
doing to her? Dolcie had come out with a bucket of blood. What did
Claudine say?
Jazz wasn’t necessary, they could use anyone else.
No, she thought,
trying to keep logical, they wouldn’t harm her, they
wouldn’t
kill
her, they needed her...
But they could still hurt her,
her mind
rebelled,
maybe Jazz being whole isn’t particularly
necessary.

Claudine addressed
Margot. “It’s time to meet with our Lady. Inform
her Cretta will be delivering an intriguing gift from
us.”

Margot
inclined her coppery head. Her lips twitched as she glanced smugly
at Nettle on the way past. She swept from the kitchen, the black
swing-doors banging behind her.

Nettle stole a nervous look. She anxiously glanced around,
wondering how she could get to Jazz. What could she use?
A knife?
The kitchen was
full of them, but she had never used a knife to defend – or attack
- ever.

Claudine turned back to her. Panicked, Nettle froze. The
woman was shrewdly looking at her, and then something caught her
attention.
“What is this?” Claudine lifted Nettle’s limp wrist,
absorbed by the bracelet. The bracelet looked worn, the bands about
to disintegrate at any moment.

Abruptly Claudine let Nettle’s wrist go and clapped her
hands together right in front of Nettle’s face. Nettle couldn’t
help herself
- she flinched. And Claudine was expecting it.

Claudine
leaned forward, her eyes gleaming, to whisper, “Got
you.”

CHAPTER FORTY

The
Red Door

Nettle
shrieked, the noise warbling in her throat. She leapt up, the stool
tipped over, clattering behind her. She threw herself against
Claudine and knocked the woman from her seat.

Claudine landed on her back with an
oomph
, completely taken by surprise. She
scrambled on the ground, her voluminous dress a
hindrance.

Nettle
skittered away to the furthest corner of the kitchen, her back
hitting the wall. Her whole body was shaking, nerves electrified
and heart pumping like a piston. “You’re a witch!” She knew she
sounded dim, but it was the only thing that kept coming out of her
mouth and she couldn’t stop herself. “A witch! You’re a witch!”

“Of
course I am, you stupid girl.” Claudine rose, her features twisting
cruelly. “Come here, now.”

Nettle
felt her arm burning. The symbol. Its black lines shimmered and
writhed and she felt an urge, a need, to do as Claudine bade. “NO!”
she yelled. She rubbed at the symbol, futilely wishing that she
could erase it.

Claudine
looked at her darkly. She had obviously been expecting her to
comply without hesitation. “Come to me, right this
MINUTE!”

Nettle shook
her head, her hair whipping about with the movement. Her hand
scratched frantically at her arm. The pull to do as Claudine
commanded seemed to fade. Claudine’s ruthless expression seemed to
falter, shifting to bewilderment. She pointed a ragged finger.
“What... What are you doing? How are you doing that?”

Nettle didn’t
know what she was referring to. She followed Claudine’s gaze and
saw that her fingernails were black. She’d scratched the rune from
her arm, its black lines flaking away like paint.

Claudine
screeched, more panicked than angry. “Sink! Get her! GET HER
NOW!!”

The sous-chef
lumbered toward Nettle.

Nettle didn’t know what to do, or how to defend herself.
Her gaze searched wildly about the kitchen for something, anything,
to help her fight her way to Jazz.
There!
She’d spotted a meat mallet, crusted with
blood and gunk, sitting on the table near the red door. She waited
for Sink to come closer, luring him away from the back of the
kitchen, then bolted around an island bench to snatch up the
mallet. It felt heavy in her hand. Nettle’s heart was racing, her
breath short and sharp and deafening in her head as she ran toward
the red door. The children scrambled out of her way, clustering in
a corner, making pitiful mewling sounds.

Something churned through the air like a jet-plane plume.
The grey vapour struck the door just before Nettle reached it. She
jerked her hand away, her feet skidding on the wooden floor to
right herself. The gas engulfed the red door in a hazy cloud and to
Nettle, it seemed as if the door undulated like the surface of a
lake. A moment later, as the smoke dissipated, the door became
solid again. Nettle reached for the handle. It was locked. She
shook it and jostled it and rattled it. She banged a fist on the
door, crying, “JAZZ!! JAZZ!!”

Behind
her she could hear Sink’s ponderous footfalls. She didn’t have much
time. Terrified, she brought the mallet down on the door handle
hoping to bust the lock. The impact was jarring and sent a shock of
pain down her arm. She lost grip on the mallet, it slipped from her
fingers. As she bent to pick it up again, she narrowly missed being
grabbed by Sink. She buckled her knees to fall to the ground and
rolled, sweeping the mallet up as she did. She came to a half-kneel
and swung the mallet at the enormous man, catching him at the
kneecap. He let loose a bellow of outrage and pain, crumbling to
his knees. He lashed out, his meaty fingers grabbed the mallet and
her with it, dragging her close. His black eyes were pinpricks and
his mouth opened, revealing his shark-like teeth. Nettle screamed.
She let go of the mallet and frantically scrambled backward
fetching up against the red door. She felt the door vibrate as
someone thumped against the other side. Dolcie’s voice, muffled by
the door, cried, “What’s going on? Let me out!”

Sink was
slowly clambering to his feet, Claudine was circling from the other
side. Nettle didn’t know what to do. She was trapped. “Stay away
from me!”

Jack had stopped washing dishes, soap suds dripped from his
forearms as he stared in astonishment. She met his gaze with a
pleading look –
help!

Claudine had
come to a standstill. Her right foot was tapping rapidly on the
ground and Nettle could see something sparkling and crackling at
the heel of the silver buckled shoe. “Let Jazz go,” Nettle said. A
burst of annoyance bloomed through her at how horribly feeble her
voice had sounded, like a plea, rather than a demand.

“
Jazz isn’t in there,” Claudine said.

At that, Nettle felt a small amount of relief. Her gaze
flicking toward the kitchen door.
Jazz must be upstairs.
She had to find a way to get to
her. But there wasn’t only Jazz to save, they had her father too.
Her gaze returned to Claudine and she gave the woman a mean glare.
“Where’s my Dad?”

Claudine took
a tiny step closer. “Somewhere safe.”

That wasn’t
reassuring. “Safe for how long? What do you want with him? You said
he was a sacrif-” Her voice caught. “A sacrifice. You’re going to
kill him.”

Claudine smiled, as if sharing a private confidence with a
girlfriend. “Your father’s rather special. But you know that
already.” She took another tiny step, her fingers lazily trailing
across a tabletop. The tips of her fingers came back stained with
blood. She rubbed them together idly. “His heart is full of pure
love for your mother. He’s devoted to her.” Her eyebrows drew
together unhappily. “And you wanted someone to replace her in his
heart.” She shook her head at Nettle,
tut-tutting.
“And that would never do. You’re too
foolish to even realize it would never happen, could never happen.
You can’t extinguish that kind of love. You can’t replace
it.”