Page 31 of Enslaved

She spots us and gives a little start of surprise followed by a sweet smile. Wrinkles around an empty eye socket crinkle. “Welcome, dearies,” she says, and waddles into the room, setting her sandwiches down beside the tea set on Kitty’s doily. Then she looks around the space, her expression puckered with disdain. “Tacky,” she tuts. “That wallpaper—harps, cherubs,andsongbirds? Pick a theme, why don’t you?”

She turns her single eye on the two of us. Her face creases into another smile. It goes on creasing, and the smile goes on growing, until I’m faced with far more teeth than I would have thought could fit into such a small face. Definitely not a human smile. “Well now,” she says, “aren’t you a pretty pair! Wait, wait . . . my sisters will want to see this too.”

She hastens to the mantel where a porcelain matchbox in the shape of a rose sits as it has for as long as I can remember. When she pops the lid, however, her fat, bristling fingers don’t find matches, but instead a large, many-faceted crystal which could not possibly have fit into such a container. She puts her back to us, hunches over. A grunt followed by an unsettlingsquishandpop.

Then she pivots on heel, facing us once more. The crystal is rammed into her empty socket. “That’s better!” she declares. An eyelid appears as though from nowhere to fall across the crystal then up again. Taking me in, the old woman’s expression falls. She shakes her head and tuts again. “Disappointing. So much potential, but it holds itself back. And what is that foul thing clinging to its soul?”

She takes a step nearer, shoving her long nose much too close to my face for comfort. The crystal moves in its socket as she inspects me, and my own multiplied reflection gyrates before my eyes, making my head spin. It’s a relief when she steps back, her lip curled in disgust. “Miphates magic,” she growls. “Written spells, ink and paper and wickedness. Nasty stuff.” Then she turns to the Prince. Her thin lips twist into a smirk of satisfaction. “Now that’s better! That curse you carry, boy, it’s a fine piece of spellwork. One of mine, is it?”

“Beldame.” The Prince offers a stiff bow. “Indeed yes, I do believe the curse on my blood was crafted by you. Or one of your sisters.”

“My sisters? Pah!” She turns and spits right on Kitty’s pretty floral rug. “My sisters could only dream of such craft! I remember when the bargainer came asking about that one—a curse that would target only the human blood in the half-fae victim. An intriguing and difficult bit of working, let me tell you. Mind, I had no idea upon whom my client intended to use it. No hard feelings, I trust?”

“None at all, Beldame,” the Prince replies with a gracious inclination of his head.

The old woman looks him over once more, her satisfied smile only growing. “I see it’s come quite close to killing you several times now. One more good burst, and you’ll be done for.” At this, she chuckles gleefully before waddling to the table and taking her place in Kitty’s chair. “How do you take your tea, my dears? Let me guess.” She flicks her gaze up to the Prince. “Black as sin. And you”—her smile slips into a sneer as she turns to me—“milky with five sugars.”

She doesn’t wait for our responses but proceeds according to her own wishes. The cup she hands me is filled almost to the brim with milk. An undissolved lump of sugar bobs at the surface like a belly-up fish. I quickly set it aside and murmur a polite refusal when the sandwiches are offered my way. This is the second time I’ve sat down to a meal without being allowed to eat. I should have stopped for breakfast before setting out this morning.

A flash of movement draws my gaze to the window. For an instant, I could swear it was the roiling sky of the Wild Magic Realm. When I blink, however, the view resolves into the familiar townhouses of Elmythe Lane. A hansom cab goes rolling by, the horse’s hooves clopping brightly on the cobbled street.

Shuddering, I turn back to the crone, who slurps her own tea noisily. She wrinkles her nose and glares down into the cup. “Ugh. Humans drink the foulest stuff. Wouldn’t you agree, Handsome?” she adds with a terrifying flutter of eyelashes the Prince’s way.

He smiles and takes a sip from his own cup.

It’s time I took what command I can of the situation. “Beldame,” I say in what I hope is a respectful tone, “I have come to bargain.”

“Naturally, dear.” The old woman sends me another look of extreme dislike. “No one comes calling to enjoy my company now do they?” She sets her cup down so hard, I’m sure the saucer cracked. “Very well, as you are obviously disinclined to exchange civilities, what is it you require?”

“I need a way to travel to Ulakrana and return safely again.”

“Ah!” The crone nods, understanding gleaming in her one good eye. “So you must drown and not die. That is tricky indeed.”

My stomach knots. “But it is possible?”

“Of course. Nothing is impossible. Just expensive.”

“How expensive are we talking?” the Prince demands.

The crone smiles but continues to look at me. “I will require three drops of your blood. With that, I can keep you alive post-drowning for a time. Whether you survive the journey or the return . . . well, that will be up to you.”

I glance at the Prince. He shakes his head. “Three drops is too high a price.”

“I’m not bargaining with you, boy.”

“You’re not bargaining at all. You’re thieving.” He sets his cup aside and stands. “Well, Darling, it’s time to go.”

Ignoring him, I lean forward in my chair, meeting the crone’s sharp gaze. “What’s the catch?”

She blinks innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

“There’s more to it than you’re saying. What happens when I give you my blood?”

At this, the crone smiles another of those too-many-teeth smiles. It keeps stretching far beyond the lines of her withered little face.“Pain,”she says, crooning the word softly. “You will suffer suchpain. Not in the bloodletting—that is a mere prick. But later. Three days hence and for three days after. Pain beyond imagining. One day for each drop of blood.”

I draw back, heart pounding. At first, I cannot find words. Then: “Will I survive it?”

“Of course. It’s not a good bargain otherwise.”

---