Page 46 of Emma & Edmund

"That cannot possibly be your real name," Emma exclaimed, earning bulging eyes trained at her as a sneer formed on the woman's lips.

"Miss Molada," Edmund quickly interjected, practically throwing himself between the two, kneeling and taking the woman's wrinkled hand in his with wide, begging eyes, "you know so much about me already. You must know what our mission is."

Molada spent a long moment staring deeply into Edmund's eyes. The longer the moment went on, the more Emma wanted to step between. Why in the world did she need her hand clasped in his, or to look so boldly on his face? Whatever her reason may be, Molada's hard eyes softened, a raspy sigh falling from her mouth.

"I'm aware of what you seek."

"Then please, help me. Tell us where they are."

Another long moment of silence. Another deep sigh followed by a mournful, lulling shake of her weathered head.

"There is nothing that can be done."

"What are you talking about?" Emma spouted, heart lurching as she watched Edmund's face fall.

"There must be." Edmund's voice cracked over his words, betraying the heavy emotion just barely held behind the surface.

"If there's a curse," Emma agreed, "there must be a way to break it."

"There never was a curse."

"Just look at me," Edmund swept one hand over his body as if to show off the obvious abnormality, desperation creeping into his words, "how can I be a man without a curse?"

"You," Molada pointed a long, bony finger right at his broad nose, "are not the seed of man. You were never a man, and you will never be. You are something much more special, so you should throw away these frivolous notions. And people." Emma would have been blind to miss the pointed look tossed her way.

It was as if the air was sucked out of the room, and suddenly Emma couldn't breathe. A glance at Edmund showed he didn't fare much better, his usual cheery face hard as stone. His mouth was tightly set over his tusks, and his black eyes were downcast.

"I..." Edmund stumbled over his thoughts, "I don't understand what you mean."

Quick as lightning, Molada pulled a pin from her hat, glinting off the low firelight. With a flick, she stabbed it into the mossy flesh of Edmund's hand, still connected with hers.

"Argh!"

Taken by surprise, Edmund ripped his hand from hers, pulling away from Molada as if she would attack again.

"What are you doing?" Emma nearly screamed, stepping between the two as the woman placed the pin back in her hair. "He could have your head for this!"

Despite Emma's furious words, Molada paid her no mind.

"Show me the color you bleed."

"You will not speak to him like-"

"Edmund Lockhart, show me your blood." She spoke as if Emma was nothing but a ghost, not even looking at her as she stood right before the sofa. The sounds of him coming to stand behind her said Edmund was doing much the same.

She was still glaring at Molada when a thick arm unfolded over her shoulder, his chest nearly touching Emma's back and hand palm-up in Molada's face.

His blood beaded, thick and viscous as any other, but rather than the expected red, golden honey dripped from his wound. Emma almost didn't believe her eyes, thinking it must be a trick of the light. But when the prick began to pool more and more of the gilded yellow, she could not deny what she was seeing.

Men did not bleed golden blood.

Just as quickly as she had pricked him, Molada wrapped her hand around his wrist, fingers barely meeting in the middle, examining the finger. Emma wanted nothing more than to push her away, but the urge was shoved to the side as a gasp took her.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the woman brought the finger to her mouth and wrapped her thin lips around the tip.

"I beg your pardon!" Edmund ripped his arm out of her grasp before Emma could even properly see, let alone react. Emma wanted to look over her shoulder, see the gaping appall that must be etched across his face, if only for it to finally be the moment he kicked Molada out the door.

Instead, her eyes were locked on the way the woman lapped up the final tastes of flesh from her lips, tongue darting out to capture any remaining essence.

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