Wicked Ever After
1
There were no fences, no walls, no high, striped tent for this night circus. There wasn’t even a sign, but the crowd knew what to do, tramping down the aisle neatly mown through the high grass and forming an orderly line at the single beribboned turnstile. No one dared step beyond the charmed velvet ropes and into the darkness, knowing full well what dangers awaited beyond. They jostled and whispered, keeping their elbows tight to their sides as they stood on tiptoe to see what waited in the puddle of light ahead. Alone on the moor, ringed only with a circle of fairy lanterns strung on posts, the caravan waited for me like a hungry friend whose teeth had grown too sharp.
But I wasn’t scared of sharp teeth, so I smiled back.
The ground bumped along under my worn boots, the tall grass rustling against the hem of my taffeta skirt. It was almost my turn to pay. In front of me stood a stout matron with a lace parasol, her tiny husband clinging to her arm. Behind me, a crowd of young ruffians in short jackets whispered about how easy it might be to sneak in. And then, after noticing the cleverness of the eyes of the fellow at the turnstile, they turned to discussing how much simpler it would be to steal my purse.
I turned my head, just a little. “I wouldn’t.”
A smallish foot pinned my skirt, just to show it could.
“Course you wouldn’t. Ol’ lady.”
Quick as a blink, quicker than I should have been able to, I snatched something from the tall grass and spun to brandish it at the clutch of would-be thieves. “Say hello to my little friend.”
“I ain’t scared,” spit a brave one. But I noticed the foot was gone from my hem.
With a little shrug, I inspected the rabbit I held by the scruff of the neck, pointing it at them like a weapon. “Good for you, lad. Hold out a finger, then. Let’s see how not scared you are.”
He shook his head. And stepped back. One of his fellow gangsters sniffled and wiped a nose on his sleeve.
My grin grew, and I shoved the rabbit at them. “Just a bunny, boys. Who wants a little?”
When the rabbit’s jaw dropped open, revealing dripping fangs and blood-crusted lips, they screamed and ran for the back of the line. It was all I could do to keep from lobbing the bunny after them, just to watch them scatter. How easy it was to forget the very real danger of a frightened crowd running willy-nilly into the waiting night.
“Well played, rabbit,” I muttered, turning the bludbunny to face me and watching its jaws work as it snapped at plain air.
“You can’t pay with that, you know.”
A strange pull turned my attention to the front of the line, where a brightly striped pavilion rose from the moor like a night-blooming flower. A little tremor ran over my skin as I turned to find the barker staring at me, his red-gloved hands curled possessively around the bar separating me from the carnival on the other side. Seeing his face, I dropped the rabbit and gave my attention to the real predator. I, apparently, was next in line.
“Whyever not? It was a perfectly good rabbit.”
“Meat’s not currency, no matter how delicious.”
I let my smile match his and leaned closer. “Blood’s currency.”
The rabbit went for my ankle, and I speared it with a heel without even looking down.
With a low chuckle, the man leaned over his turnstile, his grin encircling me like a snake, strong and silky and ever constricting. His dark hair rippled in the moor wind but somehow never covered his cloudy gray eyes.
“Oh, I’ll take your blood and gladly, poppet. Just not his. Especially not now. Dead things have no spice.” He dragged a velvet-tipped finger over my cheek, and every hair on my body rose under the thick cloth covering me from chin to toes. “But you have plenty of spice, don’t you, love?”
That broke the spell. I pulled away, turning my face with a blush. “Not anymore,” I muttered.
Dropping a copper coin into the box, I pushed through the turnstile and tripped, falling hard on my hands and knees. The blasted rabbit was still speared on my sharp heel. Stupid. I knew better than to wear stilettos outside of a city’s stone streets. With a grunt, I yanked the still form off and threw it into the waist-high grass, its passing marked by shuddering green blades as the rest of the warren tidily devoured their brother’s remains. They’d have stripped my bones as happily.
I ran.
A tall black boot cut the grass before me, punting another soft brown rabbit into the night before a red-gloved hand appeared in my tear-blurred vision.
“My lady?”
He’d followed me from the turnstile, resplendent in his ringmaster’s kit and high top hat. I took his hand, cursing him for how smooth I knew it was under his glove, how unmarred his handsome face was by time and his many cares. Bludmen had all the luck in the looks and near-indestructibility departments; this dangerously gorgeous specimen would live to be at least three hundred and would look just as suave right up to two hundred fifty or so, provided no one tossed him into the salty and poisonous sea or drained him for impertinence. Whereas I was thirty-two, looked sixty, and would die before forty if my curse continued to cause supernatural aging. A human, and a poor excuse for one at that. It did not pay to bargain with witches in this world.
There were no fences, no walls, no high, striped tent for this night circus. There wasn’t even a sign, but the crowd knew what to do, tramping down the aisle neatly mown through the high grass and forming an orderly line at the single beribboned turnstile. No one dared step beyond the charmed velvet ropes and into the darkness, knowing full well what dangers awaited beyond. They jostled and whispered, keeping their elbows tight to their sides as they stood on tiptoe to see what waited in the puddle of light ahead. Alone on the moor, ringed only with a circle of fairy lanterns strung on posts, the caravan waited for me like a hungry friend whose teeth had grown too sharp.
But I wasn’t scared of sharp teeth, so I smiled back.
The ground bumped along under my worn boots, the tall grass rustling against the hem of my taffeta skirt. It was almost my turn to pay. In front of me stood a stout matron with a lace parasol, her tiny husband clinging to her arm. Behind me, a crowd of young ruffians in short jackets whispered about how easy it might be to sneak in. And then, after noticing the cleverness of the eyes of the fellow at the turnstile, they turned to discussing how much simpler it would be to steal my purse.
I turned my head, just a little. “I wouldn’t.”
A smallish foot pinned my skirt, just to show it could.
“Course you wouldn’t. Ol’ lady.”
Quick as a blink, quicker than I should have been able to, I snatched something from the tall grass and spun to brandish it at the clutch of would-be thieves. “Say hello to my little friend.”
“I ain’t scared,” spit a brave one. But I noticed the foot was gone from my hem.
With a little shrug, I inspected the rabbit I held by the scruff of the neck, pointing it at them like a weapon. “Good for you, lad. Hold out a finger, then. Let’s see how not scared you are.”
He shook his head. And stepped back. One of his fellow gangsters sniffled and wiped a nose on his sleeve.
My grin grew, and I shoved the rabbit at them. “Just a bunny, boys. Who wants a little?”
When the rabbit’s jaw dropped open, revealing dripping fangs and blood-crusted lips, they screamed and ran for the back of the line. It was all I could do to keep from lobbing the bunny after them, just to watch them scatter. How easy it was to forget the very real danger of a frightened crowd running willy-nilly into the waiting night.
“Well played, rabbit,” I muttered, turning the bludbunny to face me and watching its jaws work as it snapped at plain air.
“You can’t pay with that, you know.”
A strange pull turned my attention to the front of the line, where a brightly striped pavilion rose from the moor like a night-blooming flower. A little tremor ran over my skin as I turned to find the barker staring at me, his red-gloved hands curled possessively around the bar separating me from the carnival on the other side. Seeing his face, I dropped the rabbit and gave my attention to the real predator. I, apparently, was next in line.
“Whyever not? It was a perfectly good rabbit.”
“Meat’s not currency, no matter how delicious.”
I let my smile match his and leaned closer. “Blood’s currency.”
The rabbit went for my ankle, and I speared it with a heel without even looking down.
With a low chuckle, the man leaned over his turnstile, his grin encircling me like a snake, strong and silky and ever constricting. His dark hair rippled in the moor wind but somehow never covered his cloudy gray eyes.
“Oh, I’ll take your blood and gladly, poppet. Just not his. Especially not now. Dead things have no spice.” He dragged a velvet-tipped finger over my cheek, and every hair on my body rose under the thick cloth covering me from chin to toes. “But you have plenty of spice, don’t you, love?”
That broke the spell. I pulled away, turning my face with a blush. “Not anymore,” I muttered.
Dropping a copper coin into the box, I pushed through the turnstile and tripped, falling hard on my hands and knees. The blasted rabbit was still speared on my sharp heel. Stupid. I knew better than to wear stilettos outside of a city’s stone streets. With a grunt, I yanked the still form off and threw it into the waist-high grass, its passing marked by shuddering green blades as the rest of the warren tidily devoured their brother’s remains. They’d have stripped my bones as happily.
I ran.
A tall black boot cut the grass before me, punting another soft brown rabbit into the night before a red-gloved hand appeared in my tear-blurred vision.
“My lady?”
He’d followed me from the turnstile, resplendent in his ringmaster’s kit and high top hat. I took his hand, cursing him for how smooth I knew it was under his glove, how unmarred his handsome face was by time and his many cares. Bludmen had all the luck in the looks and near-indestructibility departments; this dangerously gorgeous specimen would live to be at least three hundred and would look just as suave right up to two hundred fifty or so, provided no one tossed him into the salty and poisonous sea or drained him for impertinence. Whereas I was thirty-two, looked sixty, and would die before forty if my curse continued to cause supernatural aging. A human, and a poor excuse for one at that. It did not pay to bargain with witches in this world.