The Nutcracker Bleeds (51 page)

Clara
hesitated a moment before replying. “He has grown tired of allowing you to
live. Now, your inquiry of me?”

“Surely
your master does not think that I am so unknowing–to not understand that he is
looking through your eyes at me this very moment, feeding you these words you
speak,” Armand said, staring at her–staring at his enemy. “I want him to
release the woman and the girl from their current state. I will gladly go to
him then.”

Clara
looked a bit troubled at the notion, silently listening as her master
communicated with her inside her mind. Armand’s stare did not falter, and Anne
did not lose her mixed look of anticipation and confusion. Finally, the child
spoke.

“He
gives you his word that after you stand before him, he will deliver the
humans.”

“Am
I to trust that?” the nutcracker asked with a short laugh. “Once I have secured
them, I want it done. Then I will do as he likes.”

There
was silence a moment before a cruel, sadistic smile crossed Clara’s painted
lips.

“He
could just kill them now if you please,” she conveyed.

What?

As
if the words were a curse, Anne’s brow furrowed, but it wasn’t long before the
pain hit her deep within. Her lungs seemed to shrink so that she could not
gather breath. Her heart began to beat at an unworldly pace. Her blood grew hot
and her vision turned to a red blur. She lost control of her legs and fell to
the floor.

Armand
managed to catch her before she hit completely, but that did not stop her convulsions.
She struggled for breath, taking it in through short gasps. That was all she
could manage. Sweat appeared quickly, and Armand could do nothing but watch her
dying before his eyes.

“No,
don’t do this.”

Clara
watched with pleasure that she’d never truly learned until she’d met Edge.
Perhaps, in Augustus’s mind, the misfit had taught the girl one good thing.

“My
master admits he was unable to do this before, for the sake of weakness and
because he needed them alive for the ritual, but he has, in fact, lost patience
with the humans. They have caused him nothing but trouble, and since he has
regained strength in another fashion, he has no further need for either of
them.”

“
Stop!
”
Armand commanded with desperation, watching Anne struggle, unable to help her.

Clara
laughed at his fear. “You are still so very weak, Armand!”

“If
she dies, I will burn this place to the ground!” the nutcracker roared, leaving
Anne’s side to rush over and grip up the child doll by her thick hair. She
squealed in pain as her feet lifted off the floor. “Would you be left with
nothing and lose your entire kingdom?”

Armand
spoke into Clara as if she was nothing but an instrument. Augustus heard those
words. There was not much considering to be done.

The
pain lifted from Anne as suddenly as it had come, and she took several gasping
breaths until she felt relief that could have been nothing but a miracle.
Armand released Clara and moved back to her, cradling her gently until she
seemed alright again.

The
doll stood away indignantly, greatly feeling the need to dart off into a corner
to cry for her mistreatment, but her master urged her to stay with the
nutcracker demon. He gave her commands.

“The
Master will agree to comply with your request,” Clara conveyed, angry for the
rough handling she’d received, “but this will be on his terms, and you will
simply have to trust him. You have no other choice, for he is in control of
this world. The woman will part from you and secure herself in an area large
enough for her to become her rightful size. You are to come with me and not
leave out of my sight. When you reach him, he will remove the curse and let the
woman go. The Lady, on her throne, will also be released.”

Armand
thought it over a moment; then looked down into Anne’s eyes. She seemed to
comprehend it all, even after her sudden brush with death. Her eyes asked him
the question. What should they do?

Armand
searched his mind for any way out of this. He could, of course, refuse
Augustus’s proposal, but if he did, the rat would surely kill Anne on the spot.
If he went along with this request, they stood a chance of actually having
Augustus keep his word of releasing her, which, despite Armand’s hatred for
him, the nutcracker believed he would do.

“I
believe it is the only option we have,” Armand said finally with a bit of
regret. “I’ll go to him. I’ll make something happen for you.”

“And
if not?” the woman asked, gripping his shoulder.

“Then
we will be no worse off than we were.”

“Except
that you are dead.”

“And
my being alive would not save you,” he countered.

She
stared at him a moment in shocked silence, but finally her gaze had to relent.
She could not argue against this.

“How
do we know that he won’t simply kill me once you’re out of sight?”

Armand
opened his mouth to stifle her concerns, but before he had the opportunity, the
doll behind him spoke up. She had moved closer and had been listening.

“My
master may not have much when it comes to honor, but like any good ruler, he is
reasonable,” Clara said. “Certainly you know that, nutcracker.”

Armand
gripped Anne’s arms and helped her to her feet, holding her until she was
steady.

“I
agree with her,” he said. “The rat will keep his word.”

For
her sake, he hoped he was telling her the truth.

5

Anne
bit her lip, not because she was worried about the rat’s words–or scoffing at
the idea that living was anything more than a luxury at this point–but because
this was finally the time. This was goodbye. She touched the side of Armand’s
face, memorizing the feel and the look of it–bloodstains and all.

“I’m
troubled over it,” she said, “but I suppose my choice on a very short list of
options is that I trust you to make things right for me. And for yourself. You
were unselfish for me, so now I must be unselfish for you. You should go and
face your enemy.”

Armand
managed a short, sad smile.

“I’ll
leave this with you.”

The
nutcracker took hold of Brooke’s arm that was holding fast to his hand, but
without much urging, it released its grip. Armand then took up Anne’s hand and
placed Brooke’s atop it, as if performing some odd marriage ceremony. Anne
looked on skeptically, but when the fingers of Brooke’s hand entwined with hers
on their own, she gasped as a shock ran through her. The arm was conscious?

“If
you have trouble, he will protect you,” Armand said.

Anne
may not have looked away from the arm save for Armand’s strange wording.
He
will protect you. Armand had acknowledged Brooke as something more than a
simple toy? The woman felt happy for the nutcracker’s inner growth. She could
feel tears behind her eyes.

She
clenched Brooke’s arm that was aligned with her own, hardly aware she was doing
so as she looked at Armand. The former prince stood away from her, he did not
touch her, and after everything, there was only one thing left in his mouth.

“I
love you, Anne,” he said, “and other than you and my daughter, I’ve only loved
one other thing in my life, and that was myself.”

She
listened, savoring these words that were surely their last.

“I
wasted my life. Don’t do the same.”

She
gave a short nod of understanding for what he was trying to tell her. She did
not bid him safety or a swift return. She did not hug or kiss him goodbye. If
she did, she would not want to pry herself away. Only one thing was appropriate
now; only
one thing
.

“Kill
him,” she said with strong emotion in her voice. He could tell by her tone and
the look of her eyes that she meant it passionately.

“I
will,” he promised her. He meant his words as well.

Armand
turned from her then, and Clara sent one last look at Anne before she turned
away and began to lead the nutcracker to meet her master. Anne only stood there
a few moments, watching him go, unable to move. Eventually, she likewise turned
and went her own way. All that was left was for the two of them to follow their
own paths.

Throughout
the house, a single clock chime was heard.

1

Having
completed the first part of her mission, Clara led the nutcracker down into the
deepest part of the house and on toward his fate. The negotiations had gone
well, and soon Anne would be cast out of this kingdom. All of that was fine
with Clara. She had other things on her mind now.

The
child doll knew–even before her master had told her–that it was not wise to
mention that the Lady Sovereign had been in the Rat King’s custody, that trap
had snapped just a short while before. Of course, the girl posing as the Lady
would have been dead, but Armand did not need to know that. He was doing well
to think she was safe on her throne.

Clara
thought about the nutcracker demon as he followed her with the heavy wooden
footsteps, and the more she thought, the more strongly she felt her feelings of
distaste until they grew together into a huge, terrible mass that could only be
described as one thing.
Hatred
. She could not hold it in. It would eat
away at her like an insect if she could not expel it.

The
doll halted along the path abruptly and turned around, twisting her attractive porcelain
face upward. The one behind her stopped as well. It was by her own admittance
that Clara stopped; not her master’s. She had something very important to say.

She
looked the nutcracker firmly in the face. He stared back at her impassively.

“I
hate you,” she told him seriously.

There
was silence for a few moments. Warm air hung about them in the shafts. The
nutcracker looked down on her from his superior height, his colorless hair
hanging around his face and reminding Clara of an old wizard she had seen
illustrated in a book once. But of course, Armand was nothing like that. His
solid expression did not budge.

“I
don’t blame you.”

She
gasped shortly at his response, unable to comprehend it. Then again, neither
did she truly understand her hate for him, even though she was certain of
otherwise. Her eyes of glass searched his face for a lie. She found nothing.

“You
probably don’t even understand why you hate me. But, it’s right. You
should
hate me.”

The doll
just stared at him a moment from within her glass head. Now what was this she
felt? Affection? No, certainly not. Sympathy, perhaps? She shook the feeling
away, remembering her anger.

“I
do
know why!” she cried. “I know that you’re terrible!”

“I’m
sure those thoughts were embedded within you from your birth. Embedded by your
master when he created you–to take
her
place.”

His
voice was unrelenting. The child clamped her hands over her ears.

“No!”
Clara protested loudly. She would not listen to this demon and his lies. She
would not fall for his tricks!

“It’s
alright,” he assured her. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

There
was a soft quality in his voice with those words. It made the girl feel very
uncertain. Why was she passing away from being so harsh and cold toward him?
She did not understand this at all. Without another word, the pretty doll spun
on her heels with a short ‘hmph’ and started off in the direction of the lair
where the Rat King awaited his enemy.

2

Armand
watched her shortly before falling in behind her. He reminded himself that this
doll was not his little daughter–not anymore. It was her voice that told him
for certain. This young doll had been awakened in this country; therefore she
spoke its language. This was not
his
Clara’s homeland.

Still,
looking at her familiar face made it hard on him, but he felt very little when
she spoke. A doll hated him; a little mockery. He was done with her now, but he
felt better. His anger had deepened a bit more.

Armand
did not smile, or laugh, or grind his teeth, but great emotions were surging
within him. He could not wait until they were unleashed.

3

Anne
wished she could hum a short, soothing tune to calm herself and surround her
body in something other than dead air and fear. At this time, however, no songs
came to mind.

Since
she had left Armand–
Armand!
–and headed off through the shafts with no
specific aim, she had not ceased to clutch Brooke’s arm that had attached
itself to hers. She had gripped it so tightly that her hand had begun to sweat
against it, and she could not feel her fingers. This arm of a toy that she had
once cared for–
no, he was real
–gave her a small bit of comfort now that
she was alone and lost, thinking that with every step she might feel the very
same as when the Rat King had attempted to kill her from afar. Perhaps he would
not keep the promise he had made of setting her free. She carried that weighty
thought with her. She clenched the arm.

“I
thought you were gone completely. He didn’t tell me you weren’t.”

She
spoke to the arm as if Brooke could hear her, even though she must have known
he could not. This was solely for her own benefit. She did not consider how it
did not help her sanity.

“I
watched them tear you apart, but you didn’t give up, did you? That’s it, isn’t
it? Under this curse, you can’t die because you’re not really… You can’t die
unless you let go.”

Anne
thought about that notion a moment, recalling all that Brooke had gone through.
And for what? For her?

“You’re
very brave.”

The
woman knew that she was nothing like he was. They had both faced many things,
but she had done so with a coward’s heart. Brooke had given no thought to
consequence. Was he foolish for it? Was bravery equivalent to stupidity, even
amongst toys? Or was
she
the fool?

“I’m
sorry. I know I am acting silly. You can’t hear me, of course. I’m feeling a
bit lonely just now…”

Anne
stopped short when she felt Brooke’s fingers tighten against her hand as if he
heard her words and felt her distress. In this, her lowest moment–her time of
loss and her fear that there would be no future–she managed a smile. She was
not alone after all.

A
strange thing cut through her mind then. Perhaps it was something that she
might have asked Brooke if she’d gotten the chance before all this had
happened. She found herself asking it now, though she hadn’t even given herself
permission.

“Do
you hate me for wanting Armand more?” she uttered lightly, almost in a whisper.

She
received her response immediately. There was a jolt against her arm as the bloodstained
blade shot forth from Brooke’s sleeve. His arm manipulated hers, pulling the
blade up before her. Anne’s eyes widened in fear. Was this her answer? Had he
embraced an emotion?
Jealousy.
He would cut her throat for it? She
wanted to protest, but she could do nothing.

As
soon as her panic rose, however, it began to subside. The arm was not making
any violent actions toward her. In fact, it was not moving at all.

What?

Brooke’s
arm held hers in the air, forcing it to stretch to its full length, pointing in
the direction she had very suddenly stopped walking in. What was this? Was he
urging her on? Was he warning her of something?

Anne
stood still in the shaft that was invaded by only designs of light from vents.
She stared onward, but could see nothing. She opened her mouth, nearly asking
Brooke what he meant before she remembered that he could not answer.

Then,
she heard it.

Faint
footsteps pounded against the floor of the shaft a short distance away. The
ferocity of the echo made it sound like an army instead of a singular foe as
the thing came closer to her. She wanted to run, even managed to shift her feet
a bit, but Brooke held her hand firmly. He seemed to have no intention of
letting her retreat. But what was this coming on at her? Surely not a rodent.
The Rat King had promised her safety! Then again, it was not as if she had
trusted him.

The
arm’s resolve did not waver. Anne tried to assure herself that she was going to
be alright, just as a small figure emerged from the lingering dust in the
darkness. To Anne’s surprise, she recognized her.

“Olivia?”

At
the sound of her voice saying the girl’s name, the blade shot back up into
Brooke’s sleeve just as the running girl fell into Anne’s arms.

For
a moment, the woman hardly knew what to think of this, but she clutched the
girl tightly as if Olivia was her only link to the outside. Unlike any time
before when she had hugged or consoled the girl, this time Anne actually
cared
. She felt it in her heart that the feeling was sincere.

“It’s
alright, my dear. It’s alright,” was what came from her mouth by instinct.

“I
want to go home!” Olivia sobbed, hiding her face in Anne’s dress.

The
girl was dirty, her pretty doll dress was torn; she was damp and she smelled
mildly of the rodents’ stench. What had happened while Anne was too busy
thinking of herself and her own losses?

“What
are you doing all by yourself?” the nurse asked Olivia, squeezing her tightly.
“What happened?”

“I
was there!” the girl cried. “Nobody came!”

“Where?”

Anne
pushed Olivia back, attempting to look into the girl’s lowered face. That face
was red with bitter sorrow and stained with tears.

“What
happened to you?”

“The
scissors!” Olivia screamed. “I knew the straps were not tight enough. I slid
out of them. But nobody came! I wanted to be saved and I waited and waited, but
no one came!”

Anne
felt a strange sort of guilt in that moment. She and Armand had not kept a good
enough watch on Olivia. They had not even known that she was missing from her
room.

“Are
you hurt?” the woman inquired.

Olivia
shook her head with a short movement.

“I’m
tired of this game,” the girl muttered lightly.

“It’s
alright, Olivia,” Anne said softly, as much for herself as for the girl. “We’re
going home.”

As
if to mark this with an omen, a shrill sound came rushing through the shaft
behind them. Neither could deny how it made them shiver.

4

The
sound of a scream rang through the first floor of the Ellington house. It traveled
up to the second floor through the heating shafts, but those who heard it there
were shaken out of their sleep only to fall directly back into it.

William,
on the first floor searching for Anne and Olivia, heard the scream of his
youngest daughter in the hall and moved toward it.

Todd,
with a key in hand that he’d found simply lying on the rugged corridor of the
second floor hallway, headed unsupervised to Olivia’s room.