Holidays are Hell(122)

They thought she'd been posing as Joanna, Zoe realized and almost shuddered at the easy way he spoke of her death. "And did you believe them?"

"Oh, no. I knew you were still alive. I felt it in my mind and core, no matter what Joaquin said."

Joaquin, she repeated, committing the name to memory.

The Tulpa mistook her silence for confusion. "He's always been one for hyperbole."

"Then you've… reprimanded him?" she asked, hopefully.

"Oh, yes. He knows how I love children."

And the reminder was all she needed to shore up her nerve. "Fruit," she asked sweetly, holding out an apple. He smiled down at her and took it willingly.

Zoe watched him bite into it, imagined it as the juiciest and sweetest fruit he'd ever tasted, the crisp skin smooth against his tongue, the juice trickling down his throat. She put all her energy into envisioning this as she watched his eyes flutter half-shut as he swallowed and she rose up to her elbows, placing the cornucopia—the horn of plenty—on his belly as he reclined, trance-like, the scent of ripe fruit rising to permeate the air.

He came back to himself slowly, so that by the time he realized what was happening it was too late. The cornucopia was once again a tool of the Greeks, the pagan farmers… a tool of Zoe's will melding with the traditions of the past. The wicker unraveled as those ancient powers merged and the straw was once again a living thing, slipping around the Tulpa's body, burrowing through the bed and deep into the earth. The growth was slow at first, but it sped up as Zoe's excitement soared… and the Tulpa's spirit was enslaved in the narrow tip of the horn.

His eyes flew open, black searing to red, only to be snuffed by Zoe's power. She smiled, closed-mouthed, then rose—fruit and nuts, pomegranates and gourds, peppers and artichokes all spilling over the bed and floor. Each grew stems and spines and burrowed into the earth, both rising and falling, vines weaving among themselves to bind the Tulpa where he lay. Zoe knew the fruit he'd already eaten was doing the same to his insides and smiled again, feeling his eyes follow her as she dressed. When she was done, she turned.

The Tulpa's throat worked, visibly paining him, but he managed a deep breath, even as an emerging leaf shot from his mouth. "But… you're… mortal."

Zoe brushed the remains of someone else's ash from the crease in her slacks. "You forget what mortals are capable of, Tulpa dear. We can use belief to create, imagine, wish, and will things into being. And those of us with extremely powerful minds believe anything is possible."

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "You asked me before 'Who do you think you are?' But I never got to answer, did I?" She licked her lips and despite himself, the Tulpa's gaze flickered down before he drew it back to her eyes. She smiled knowingly. "Well, I'm Zoe Archer, dear. The woman who can break you at will. And the real question—you nameless, formless fuck—is who the hell do you think you are?"

His enraged howls were muffled as a miniature gourd spilled over his tongue.

"I'm leaving now. I'm going to bring in your so-called harvest and return those children where they belong, but keep one thing very clear in your mind," she flipped her hair back from her shoulders, knowing she was planting another seed, this one in his mind. "I can and will get to you again. Mortal or not, on this plane or another, anytime and anywhere."

Dozens of images of her smirking saluted her as she turned to leave the room, but before she did she glanced over her shoulder one last time. "Oh, and next time, babe? You'd better have a castle and a moat. Because I'll have learned how to kill you by then. And I won't be stopped by a mere kiss."

And with that she strode out the door to find Lindy slumped, anchored against the wall by the woody growth of a cranberry vine, the hard bitter fruit spilling like bright marbles from her mouth. Immobile, her eyes alone followed Zoe as she stooped to meet those hate-filled orbs. "You're lucky, Lindy. The cornucopia's powers won't hold you all long enough for me to both kill you and still get away," she paused as relief played across Lindy's face, then shrugged. "So I'll just let the agents of Light take care of that for me. Have fun."

Lindy's protests were berry-choked as Zoe strode down the long silent hallway, back to classroom where the children were now sleeping, curled up in the same even rows they'd occupied before. The ward mothers awoke when she entered, stood in tandem, but did nothing to stop her. They weren't warriors, and that wasn't their job. Zoe wove through the children, searched out the one she wanted, and lifted her sleeping granddaughter from her crib.

"He'll find you, you know," one of the mothers spat. "He won't stop this time. Not until your blood runs like a river."