Illusions of Fate

Nine

THE SOBS RACK MY BODY. MY HEAD HANGS NEARLY to the carpet, everything anchored by my hand stuck to the table.

“Three out of five. We’re nearly finished now, that’s a good little rabbit.” The pain crescendos in a blinding white burst of agony and I scream, scream, and scream until it breaks up into more

sobs. He always gives me enough time between fingers to go back to crying.

“By all means you should blame yourself for this, Lord Ackerly. It could have been avoided. Making me chase your magic for so long, well, of course I need a way to release the frustration.”

I open my eyes. My second shadow is so large it takes up nearly the entire wall now, and it vibrates with menace.

“You’ll say, must you have smashed all her precious fingers? Perhaps one would have been clear enough, but I want to leave no question in your mind that you are doing the right thing. The only thing. And if you do not lay yourself at my mercy within the hour, I will begin doing things that no amount of time will mend.”

The world explodes in agony again, and I haven’t even the energy to scream this time. There is blood in my mouth, and my vision blurs with spots. I’m going to faint. I want to faint. Please, please, blessed spirits, let me faint.

Suddenly, my hand is released. I slump to the floor, curled in a ball around my ruined fingers. I cannot bear to look at them. If I do not lose consciousness soon I will be sick. The pain radiates out from my hand, claws in my stomach, bursts in my head.

The nightmare man is still talking, carrying on his one-sided conversation. I tune in and out, trying to find blackness, but pulled back from the brink of unconsciousness time and again by his voice.

“. . . all settled then, I assume. I expect you shortly. This next bit will hurt, but we cannot have you here without a handicap, now can we?”

I brace for whatever is coming, but, to my surprise, nothing happens. Then I hear a shrill scream, like air escaping a boiling kettle, as the nightmare man cheerfully flings venomously green sugar crystals at the extra shadow. Each eats a hole where it strikes, and though the shadow darts around, the nightmare man continues to hit it.

I move onto my knees, biting my lip at the rolling pain—there is the source of the blood—and use my good hand to push against the table and get to my feet. The sugar bowl sits unguarded on the table. I snatch it and throw the contents into the fire, which pops and sparks in brilliant miniature fireworks.

The nightmare man turns around, twisted smile falling into puzzled frown, and I swing the sugar bowl up, knocking it into the hand cupping his shadow-burning crystals. They fly free, landing on the unprotected skin of his face with sizzling hisses.

He screams and shoves me to the ground. The impact jars my destroyed hand and it is too much. I lean over and vomit onto the rug.

A stream of words I do not understand but instinctively recognize as foul and evil stream from his mouth, but then, to my surprise and disappointment, he laughs.

I wipe the corners of my lips and sit up against the edge of the couch, barely able to see him through the red haze of pain.

His face has angry holes eaten into it, opening onto dark patches. He takes out a pristine handkerchief and wipes one side and then the other. But rather than wiping the burns off, it’s as though he has wiped his old face back on. No evidence of my momentary victory remains.

He sniffs genteelly, tucking the handkerchief back into his suit pocket. “I like you. You have all the spirit and passion they’ve been careful to breed out of Alben women. To thank you for finally giving Lord Ackerly a weakness I could exploit, I will keep you for my own.”

My head lolls back on the couch, and I close my eyes, letting out a sharp breath in place of a laugh. “I would sooner die.”

“Never worry about that. You’ll want me. You’ll be perfectly at home. And only I can keep you safe from the coming war.” A finger touches my cheek, and I shudder. I concentrate on the pain in my hand since it is preferable to the sensation of his skin on mine. “You shouldn’t have gone to the gala, Jessa. Men like Lord Ackerly will bring you nothing but suffering. I’m so disappointed in you. Still, you’ve learned your lesson, and we will move on as soon as this is settled. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a guest to prepare for.”

The door closes, and I open my eyes to find the room once again without an exit. I angle my neck so I can see the wall. Though the light has dimmed, I can still see my two shadows. They’re slumped in defeat, but tiny dots of light have eaten through the extra shadow’s silhouette.

Could it really be Finn’s shadow, as the nightmare man seemed to believe?

This is not the same world I woke up in yesterday. I know none of the rules, and I have none of the power. All the things I’ve learned, all the ways I’ve tried to make a place for myself where I am not at the mercy of others, none of it matters in this new, bizarre reality.

A harsh caw draws up my head. Three of the horrid black birds are staring at me from the armchair. One of them hops forward, darting close and pecking my leg with its bone-hard beak, then flapping back with a chorus of croaking laughter.

Another moves to do the same, and I cringe, shielding my ruined hand and ducking my face into my shoulder.

There is a clatter of wings and a chorus of angry caws, but nothing touches me. I raise my head to see one of the birds—missing a single claw—bobbing in front of me, flapping its wings and viciously attacking the other two when they get too close. It draws blood and rips a pinion out of the wing of one of my would-be assailants. They flap away, cawing reproachfully, and disappear into the bookshelf.

I wipe my eyes and look at the remaining bird. “Well,” I say, “spirits’ mercies. I am sorry I didn’t leave better food for you outside my window.”

The bird turns so one yellow eye is fixed on mine.

I sniffle, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “I should have known you weren’t evil. You’re far handsomer than those other wretched birds.”