Silent Doll (28 page)

The lines in her skin were so deep in some places that they looked like cracks. I wondered what was holding the woman together. After looking her over, I did my best to pretend I didn’t know who she was.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I believe you can,” she said in a purring, raspy contralto.

“How is that, exactly?”

She smiled at me. Her teeth looked sharp, her features wolfish with the fur all around them.

“It’s cold and late; must I stand in the corridor?”

Little pig, little pig, let me come in
, I thought as I gave her a sharp shake of my head. “As you said, it’s late and I don’t make a habit of letting strangers into my home at this hour.”
Not by the hairs of my chinny chin chin
.

She gave an exasperated sigh, and I felt her try to press her will on me. She was doing her best to influence me into opening my door and letting her inside. I hadn’t been expecting it, so my guard wasn’t up. I had to grip the door and really fight it for a moment before overcoming the urge.

“Won’t you please let me in?”

“No. I don’t know you. Now what do you want?”

She let an indulgent smile play on her lips. “I’m looking for my daughter, my youngest, Trinket. One of my employees claims to have seen her come here recently.”

I wondered how recent that was. Had she been tipped off by the bouncer who’d seen us talking on the steps a night or so ago, or had Trinket not been careful enough on her way back from the police station?

“I’m sorry, but she’s not here. Why would she be?”

Her smile turned even more predatory.

“Because, Miss Farbanks, you have a reputation for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

So, she knew who I was. She had done some homework.

“I get paid for that,” I said, giving her a smile just as ferocious. “She couldn’t pay me and I haven’t seen her since I told her to take a hike. I don’t do charity. I told your other daughters the same when they came.” I could play the bitch just as well as anyone else.

“And blasted my child through a railing and down four floors when you have nothing to hide.”

I snorted. “She asked for it. No one demands to come in and search my home, let alone try to push past me to do it.”

She raised a hand, letting the sleeve fall back; she had lots of tiny silver and gold bangles wrapped around her thin pale wrist. I saw the deep blue of her veins.

“Ember is a little fiery,” she admitted, “hence her name. It is imperative that we find my angel. We’ve had to shut down while we search, which means our revenue drops.”

“I’m very sorry, but as I said, she’s not here.”

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Farbanks. I think that is a lie. I think your act is very good, but don’t kid a kidder. I think you are very much the good little white witch. I think you would help her if she begged you.”

“Well, you’ve been around the block enough times to know,” I said cattily. “Good night now.”

I slammed the door shut and started working the ward as fast as I could—not fast enough. The door exploded. It was blown right out of the frame and into me. I hit the wall hard, knocking my television over as I fell to the floor. I clung to the wooden cabinet, trying to anchor myself and stop the world from spinning.

“You disrespectful little brat,” she said, now inside my apartment.

I placed a hand to the back of my head and blood oozed sluggishly over my fingertips. I’d taken her measure, and she shouldn’t have had that kind of power; then I remembered the bracelets. She’d shown me the spell as a threat and I hadn’t even noticed, as it was so old school. Each bracelet could be enchanted to store a little kinetic energy each time she moved, with so many and a few days she’d had enough reserved to huff and puff and blow my frikking door off. I really had to learn to stop insulting the bad guys—they were all a tad emo-centric and reacted badly. I couldn’t make the world stop spinning—I guess even I wasn’t immune to concussion.

“Trinket,” she called, her voice authoritative, “you come out here right now.”

I heard the spare room door open and dragging footsteps moving across the floor. I couldn’t confirm it was Trinket obeying her mother’s command because spots were beginning to color my vision—big black ones. I hoped Incarra was sensible and stayed out of sight.

“Mother is very displeased with you.”

I tried to stand, but couldn’t work out where my legs were. I felt like I was living through the impact of having been hit by a train. I was beginning to wonder if I’d cracked more than my skull when I’d hit the wall.

“Pick up your things and let’s go, and not a word out of you until I say,” her mother ordered. The black spots became the yawning mouth of a wolf—ready to swallow me up as I fought to keep it back.

“Don’t forget that,” I heard as I was slowly swallowed up by the darkness. “We’re going to need one more.”

And out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I knew I was conscious again because I felt the pain. It was slowly receding from the back of my head, dragging away from me reluctantly—like nails clawed into my brain. I didn’t open my eyes. As soon as I was able to think I did damage assessment. I was sitting in what felt like a chair; my wrists were bound behind the chair with tight coils of rope. I felt the same rope around my middle, holding me to the seat. I gave a tug on my wrists; it felt as though they’d been secured to the chair legs. I twisted my feet a little; they were free and unencumbered.

I opened one eye to look around me. I was sitting before the stage, as though a singular audience for the coming show. On the stage, near the back, stood a glowing vial in a tripod, gleaming lines of power filing up the legs to drip into the top. Evenly spaced around the bottom of the tripod were six hearts; there was a single gap left for a seventh heart.

Mine, no doubt.

A ruckus near one of the wings drew my attention. Trinket, surrounded by her sisters, was being pushed around, their hands shoving her and twirling her between them. My hearing came back to me in a rush of vicious taunts and accusations of betrayal, and Trinket crying out in distress.

I lifted my head, wincing at the ache in my neck. I groaned and blinked, as if trying to focus; the movement drew the attention of the group on stage. They pushed Trinket to the boards and left her lying there, as if now the real entertainment was about to begin.

“Mother,” called the tallest one, Prima. After having seen her mother, now I realized she had to have been modeled to look like her mother in her youth. “She’s waking up.”

Ember climbed down from the stage to stalk around me.

“I’m really going to enjoy this,” she snarled. The poisonous apple obviously didn’t fall far from the tree in Ember’s case, and me blowing her through a balcony wasn’t exactly going to make us friends. I couldn’t believe that the man that had made them could have ever believed they would turn out so wrong. I watched her as she returned to the stage.

Trinket was cowering where she was thrown, visibly unsure what to do. “Don’t move, Trinket,” came her mother’s commanding voice. She became like a statue, only her eyes able to move. The Madame slithered from stage right in a spangled purple evening gown. Her black hair was down now, cascading over her shoulders in black curls, not a thread of grey showing—which made me believe it wasn’t natural. Her dress would have been quite fetching on a younger woman, but on her it just looked awkward. She resembled Cruella De Ville, all sharp bony angles. The V line cut of it, slit down between her breasts, filled me with revulsion—there are just some things an older woman can’t pull off.

I had to thank a higher power that being immortal meant my breasts would never go south—hers had drastically done so, and the dress not only highlighted that, it was like playing a hideous game of peek-a-boo. Any moment she might pop free—I had a horrid fear it’d look something like the face of
Benjamin Button
at the beginning of the movie. I shuddered in my seat.

“Anyone get the license of the truck that hit me?” I said.

That made a creepy little smile twitch the corners of her lips. “Back with us, Miss Farbanks?”

“Regrettably,” I said, looking around me more openly. My earlier jibes about immortality aside, I was pretty sure I still needed my heart. I didn’t know if that was something I could grow back and I didn’t want to wait until she had carved it out of my chest to find out. I concentrated on my thumb—setting just the very tip of it on fire. When I felt the heat of it against my skin, I slowly started burning the ropes around my waist—just a little at a time, no smoke, no tell-tale singed smell. I had to be cautious. I knew she’d expended the spell on the bracelets she’d worn on her right wrist, but who knew what other tricks she had.

She ignored me and approached Trinket. “I have such plans for you, my disobedient child, but first,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, “on your feet.”

Trinket slowly pulled herself to her feet, trying to avoid her mother’s gaze. She was about half her mother’s height.

“Follow me,” the Madame said, leading Trinket down the steps at the side of the stage. I hoped she would trip and break that fragile looking neck, saving me—but that would have been too damn easy and convenient. They came to stand in front of the stage in line with my chair.

“Now, my girl,” she started.

Trinket, gathering courage, said, “But, Momma, I don’t want to.”

“Why ever not?” Prima asked from the stage.

“We each took our turns,” said the Seasons all together—eerie in itself.

“Don’t you want Mother to get well?” Ember snapped, more confrontational than the others.

I gave a sharp bark of laughter, which made them all turn to look at me. “Gee, are you lot a bunch of gulla bulls,” I said, making gullible two words, still secretly burning away the ropes. “She’s not sick, she’s just old. Well, not physically sick, but there might be something wrong inside the old gal’s noggin—narcissus complex.”

“Look at her,” said Prima, pointing, and I watched the Madame fall into a role of fatigued sickness. “How can you say nothing is wrong with her?”

“Because nothing
is
wrong—everything that’s happening to her is natural. Mortal creatures age and die.”

They looked at their mother questioningly. She shook her head. “Do not listen to her, my darlings. You know we must do this to live, my life supports yours.”

They all nodded.

“God, they really buy any crap you sell them, don’t they,” I asked. I felt the rope around my middle begin to slacken. “What can I expect from a bunch of oversized Muppets who thought nothing of killing six people?”

Trinket looked at me, seeming hurt; I mouthed a quick ‘not you’.

“This spell isn’t about life,” I went on, “it’s about vanity. It’s a youth potion she’s had you murder people for, so that she doesn’t have to look like that anymore.” It would have been really good at that moment if I could have pointed at the Madame to emphasize my point. “It won’t extend her life and won’t extend yours.”

The Madame snapped, “You’re too late to try that. We already began the spell with six hearts. Adding your heart will just be a pleasant bonus, for turning our poor innocent Trinket against her family. Ember, get the knife.”

Ember walked back to the table to retrieve a large bread knife.

“Mother?” asked Prima, questioning. The Madame was so close to completing her plan that she was getting brash and careless, when before she was trying to keep them sweet.

“Oh, do be quiet, Prima. Mother needs you to be a dutiful daughter and just shut up.”

Prima went silent and did not look happy about it. Ember brought the knife to the edge of the stage. The blade had been cleaned, but I saw brown speckles on the handle.

“Give it to your sister,” their mother directed. Then, turning to look at her youngest, she finished, “Trinket, take it.”

Trinket couldn’t stop herself from taking it, but she could complain some more. “But she’s my friend, Momma.”

“You don’t need friends like her, baby girl,” the Madame scoffed. She took a step forward and hugged her daughter, careful not to catch herself on the knife. “All you need is Mother, dear, and Mother knows best. Now bring me her heart.”

Trinket turned toward me very slowly, shuffling her feet so that she only took the tiniest of baby steps as she approached. She was fighting the only way she could, by taking as much time as she could to reach me. I had to turn the tables and I had to do it fast.

I said, “You rotten old buck-toothed hunch-backed hag, hiding behind your children because you can’t face your twilight years. Is this what your husband really made them for?”

“Daddy made us so Momma wouldn’t be lonely,” said Ember with the conviction of someone who really truly believed something. She didn’t see her mother roll her eyes, but I did.

“Lonely?” I said. “She doesn’t care about being alone. She cares about being beautiful. She’s jealous of you, of your perfectly unchanging bodies, your frozen beauty. Every day she sees you and it reminds her how far she’s fallen from grace. It drives her mad as she ages just that little bit more, day by day.”