Blood, Glass and Sugar Read online

  Both men were staring at her. Bran had never looked more appalled.

  Auran broke the silence first, striding to Evie’s side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Bran watched the movement as if he could set Auran’s hand on fire with his eyes.

  “Do we get to prove how much we like women?” Auran asked, stroking her arm with gentle fingers.

  “Leave her alone,” Bran said, slowly, pronouncing every word crisply.

  Auran gripped Evie tighter, leaning his face down to her neck. “Play along, Evie,” he whispered, before pressing his lips against her throat. A shiver rushed down her spine like tiny needles, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, his soft braids tickled her skin. She froze, unsure how to play the game, or why she should. In folk tales, people were never supposed to play games with faeries.

  The lights went out. Auran broke away from her, and she saw his teeth glint in the dark. He was smiling.

  “Aha,” he said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evie’s eyes adjusted to the dark, just as the metallic stench of blood filled the air. She could almost taste it; strong and thick as if she had bitten her tongue. A door creaked, high and grating like nails on a blackboard. Evie covered her ears until it stopped, turning to see a metal studded door slamming closed, the window at the top of it blocked with thick metal bars.

  ‘What the hell is this?” she asked.

  Auran’s smile faded. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes narrowed with pain. “There’s too much iron here,” he gasped. “It’s burning my lungs.”

  Something rattled behind her. Bran, dressed in a long black robe, was leaning against the grimy, stone wall. Beside him a rack of dirty, overused torture devices hung on metal chains from the ceiling, swinging gently. He was holding a chain too, except it was crystal clear, made of glass.

  “I see I have visitors.” He turned his back on them, lighting dark red candles in enclaves on the wall, one on either side of the rack. The wax dripped down, white beneath the red dye, like infected flesh.

  In the light Evie could see an array of rusty knives, some curved scimitars, others wavy like Auran’s sword. There were manacles, whips with metal spikes on the end of the leather tassels, thumbscrews, and sharp metal claws among other things Evie couldn’t name.

  Auran was coughing, choking on the air. Tears streamed from his eyes, glinting on his cheeks. His skin was pale, another light in the black dungeon. His veins were visible, black rivulets running all over his face, the tendons sticking out in his hand, still clamped over his mouth and nose. He hadn’t even drawn his sword.

  Bran smiled, a thin pale-moon sliver of a smile. Evie inwardly corrected her thoughts. He was no longer Bran. He was Envy. Envy owned the glass chain in the painting. Auran had been calling him out by getting close to her. He should have waited to speak with her first. They were both unprepared now; there was no way Auran had expected an iron filled dungeon.

  Evie’s feet were wet, and looked down to see a stream of dark blood running under her. It was sticky and warm between her toes. She stepped out of it, her gaze following it to its source. An iron maiden stood in the corner, black holes where the eyes should have been, and yet Evie was sure something watched her from inside.

  “I had to shut the shop early today. I wanted Bran to have a little nap while I dealt with our very rude customer.” Envy swung his glass chain over his shoulder and marched to the maiden. He opened it slowly, Evie wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She was afraid of who was inside.

  Auran’s painful gasps faded into the background, as Evie’s breath came in shallow gasps, making her throat dry and sore.

  The metal coffin creaked, as if the carved maiden was screaming. Evie dropped her gaze, afraid to look at the victim’s face and saw long, webbed feet. Looking up she saw the metal spikes inside had torn pieces of dark green flesh out of the victim’s body when the door had opened. Blood streamed down fast, pouring out of a tube at the bottom and into the river rushing alongside Evie.

  The faerie woman was almost dead, her eyes already far away, gazing into the distance at something only she could see. Though Evie was certain that whatever she saw was not heaven, not a shining light, or pearly gates.

  Auran fell to his knees and retched onto the damp stone floor. Evie felt her legs go weak beneath her, and she swayed. This woman had been flirting easily with Auran only a day ago, vibrant in a way that humans could never be, unreal and yet super real. Now she was bloodless. Drained, as though Envy would make a juice of her insides.

  Her eyes were glassy. Unseeing. Doll-like. She was dead. Her otherness meant nothing anymore. Faeries could die, just like humans.

  “Who is next?” Envy was cheerful, smiling with Bran’s lips, talking with Bran’s voice. He shut the iron maiden with Bran’s hand, looked at Evie with Bran’s eyes.

  A metallic note rang through the air. At her side Auran had drawn his sword. The blade sang in the murky air as he stood. He held it out before him, taking an offensive stance, though he looked far from able to fight. His eyes were rimmed with red, he dashed at them with his free hand, and more tears trickled out, clinging to his long eyelashes. He was trembling violently.

  Envy was beside her before she could grasp what was happening. His glass chain rattled as he threw it over her head, winding it twice around her neck and pulling tight.

  She kept as still as she could, and strained to fill her lungs with air. Her windpipe ached with the pressure of the chain, and she could already feel her head getting light. Her body shook, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Fear flooded through her, acid in her veins instead of blood.

  “Drop the sword, Prince. Or I snap her pretty neck. I won’t be happy if you force me to waste her.”

  His voice was loud in her ear, he jerked the chain and she choked out a cry.

  Auran swore, and threw down his sword. It clattered into the faerie woman’s blood, which splashed onto the blade, smearing the polished silver sick green.

  Auran stumbled forward a few steps, he coughed. It was a painful bark and he wiped his hand across his mouth. It came away dark purple. His lips looked bruised now, stained all round as if he had been eating blackberries.

  ‘Such a beautiful, beautiful sword.” Envy’s voice was hungry, full of yearning. “It too shall be mine.”

  He unravelled the chain. Evie clutched her throat, still unable to take a decent breath of air. Her throat felt swollen and tender.

  Envy spun her away from him, and she crashed into the swinging rack of weapons. A dagger sliced her arm, and she drew back, alarmed at the blood that rose from the gash and trickled down to her hand in a lukewarm trail.

  Envy lifted the sword and swung it through the air, testing its weight. Evie pressed herself against the wall beside the rack, forgetting the wound on her arm as Envy moved closer to Auran.

  Auran was back on his knees, his breathing shallow and quick. Envy swung the sword, faster and faster, drawing a figure eight with his hand. He wielded the blade at Auran’s face.

  Evie barely saw it happen, it was quick and silent. Two thin lines appeared on Auran’s cheeks, and blood flooded down his face like war paint. Auran fell back with a yell.

  Envy touched the blood, rubbing it between his fingers before he licked one tentatively. “Sweet, sugar blood. Not a drop of iron.” He laughed, and then threw the sword to the wall. “Humans could hunt faeries for their blood, it tastes almost as good as their food and goes to the head twice as quick.”

  He reached above him, to one of the many metal chains that hung from the ceiling, and pulled it so that it lowered a little. A lever on the wall beside the door creaked and turned. Envy grabbed Auran’s arm, lifting it easily. The faerie prince barely resisted. Each of his breaths was a small whine, wheezing from his chest. Envy clamped the cuff at the end of the chain around Auran’s wrist.

  The sound that followed was like water falling on a flame, an angry hiss as Auran’s skin reacted to the iron. To his cred
it he didn’t scream, merely groaned softly, his eyes glazed as they watched Envy walk casually to the rack, where he extracted a sinister looking dagger. He twirled it around his fingers, back and forth, like a man doing a trick at a fair.

  Evie’s head was beginning to clear, though her throat still ached. She had to think. Auran hung limp from one chained arm, his sword discarded at the far end of the dungeon. There was no prince charming. Not even a princess. Just a girl.

  Envy paced toward her, holding out the rusty dagger so that she flinched away. “See what is in store for you too, my lovely.” He touched her face. His fingers were cold and bloodstained, sticking to her skin.

  She pulled back, turning her face away. He laughed softly. Then went back to Auran, his priest-like robes trailing on the filthy floor.

  Evie saw the glass chain folded over his belt, hanging like a decoration among the black skirts. If she could get outside with it, out of the alley, Envy would be destroyed.

  Her heart beat hard in her chest, adrenaline burning in her veins like a drug, anticipating that she was going to act, though Evie had no idea what form that action would take.

  Envy slashed at Auran’s cloak, snapping the ornate fastening at his shoulder so that it pooled on the floor. He cut through the baggy sleeves of Auran’s shirt, exposing his bandaged arm, still wounded from the fight with Wrath. With a smirk, he slid the dagger through the stained bandages, re-piercing the wound.

  Auran’s cry propelled Evie into motion. She moved without thought, her hand reaching out and grasping the handle of a wakasashi on the rack, a Japanese blade, smaller than a Katana. It was wet, soaked with slime and blood.

  Envy paid her no heed; he was twisting the dagger into Auran’s arm, raking it down through his flesh. Blood spurted out, running down his arm like a waterfall. She could hear it splashing on the ground, audible even over his cries.

  Evie held up the sword, it weighed less than a practise Bokan. She was grateful for its lightness as she crept along the floor. She raised it higher, then reached for the chain on Envy’s belt.

  Auran saw her, and cried louder keeping Envy’s attention on his cruel amusement. She could smell Auran’s skin burning, sizzling softly, reminding her unpleasantly of frying meat. She swallowed back a retch, her eyes watering with the effort, and grasped the chain. She yanked it hard, stumbling back and brandishing the sword in a way that would have made Michael ashamed.

  The chain trailed off the belt, Evie thought the sound was deafening, but it came off quick. Envy spun, fury making his face red as a brand. His eyes were wide and blazing. “That is mine!”

  He lunged forward, but Auran caught his arm with his unchained hand, gripping as hard as he could manage. His knuckles whitened and he gritted his teeth.

  “Go Evie.” His voice was hoarse, rasping. More blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

  “Release me.” Envy’s voice was the hiss of a cobra. He raised his dagger, ready to bring it slicing down on the hand that Auran held him with.

  Evie threw down her sword and ran to the door, taking hold of the bolt and pulling it with all her strength. Her hands were slippery. A mix of blood, slime and sweat made them slide over the metal uselessly.

  Auran’s sharp scream and the sickening crunch that accompanied it gave her the will to manage the bolt; it slammed across with a sound like a gunshot. She darted into the hall outside. It was lit by the red wax candles, burning at irregular intervals so that some spaces of the hall were pitch black. She ran forward, the chain dragging behind her, clinking and rattling.

  The thick iron stench was just as strong here. It coated her tongue, unbearable, as though she had swallowed a battery.

  She kept running, her footsteps splashing on the wet stones below. She took random turns, left and right, weaving through the dark maze, the sounds of Auran’s torture echoed through every hall, remaining at the same level, never fading. It was by sheer chance that she found the door out into the shop. The cool, clean air was a relief but she couldn’t slow down to enjoy it.

  “Evie!” Footsteps pounded behind her. She reached the door and undid all the locks. Her hands fumbled, the chain almost slipping from her grip more than once.

  Envy stormed into the shop, leaping down the counter steps three at a time just as Evie burst out into the alley. The night air kissed her skin with frozen lips. The place was deserted as usual, a thick carpet of newly fallen snow twinkled like a path of crystal before her. Evie sprinted through it, not looking back to see if Envy was following. She knew never to look back.

  Her feet sank into the soft snow and the cold bit her skin. She tripped forward, falling onto her knees. She scrambled back up, and dashed the last few meters in a panicked frenzy. When she emerged into the street beyond, she finally looked back.

  Envy collapsed in the snow, mid-run, his robes disappearing, changing back to Bran’s normal clothes. Bran fell forward, screaming as Envy died, as though a piece of him was being torn out of his body. Then he was silent, dragging air into his lungs, clutching handfuls of the blood-soiled snow, ruined by her dirty footsteps.

  Evie doubled over, pressing a hand against a stitch in her side. The chain shrank, forming into a large shard of mirror glass. She dropped it on the ground before its jagged edge could cut her, and stared down into it, taking deep shuddering gasps of air.

  Trix’s face stared back up at her from the mirror.

  Chapter Twenty

  Evie straightened up, turning to see that Trix was really there. Her blue hair glowed under the orange streetlight. Her face was pale as ivory.

  “Oh my God, Evie!” She threw herself forward, wrapping Evie in a lung-bursting grip. Evie’s legs felt like ribbons under her, ready to unravel. She gripped Trix back, her mind buzzing. How? How was she here?

  It felt good to see her friend. So, so good. She forgot her confusion, it didn’t matter that nothing made any sense. She was alive, and here.

  “Evie. Why didn’t you tell me?” Trix pulled back, and Evie swayed on her trembling legs. Trix dragged her back into the hug. “You can tell me everything. Even if it’s this messed up.” She let go again, stamping her feet in the snow. “God, is this real?” She paced back and forth, stamping again, and stopping. “Is it?”

  Evie looked down at the mirror. New snowflakes were falling, melting on the surface, mixing with the smears of green faerie blood.

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  Trix wound one of her black extension braids around her fingers and pulled on it. She looked distracted, like a mental patient. She spun under the snowflakes.

  “Faeries. I fucking knew there was something else, but faeries!” she said, not answering Evie’s question.

  Faeries. Green blood, and purple. Everywhere.

  “Auran!” His image flashed into her mind. Kneeling on the floor, iron poison in his lungs, eyes blood shot. Envy slashing at his wrist.

  “That’s his name. The guy that told me what was happening. The curse. Everything. We have to look out for you,” Trix said, grabbing Evie’s arm, and coming close to her face. Her pupils were huge. “Christ Evie, he had wings. He can fly.”

  She spread her arms, twirling faster. Evie’s head spun in answer. She looked back into the alley, to see that Bran was recovering.

  He looked around him, stumbling to his feet and staring down at his hands. He didn’t know how he had got there. She could see it in his slow, disoriented movements. He caught snowflakes on his palm and peered down at them, before looking up into the sky. Then his gaze fell, coming to settle on her.

  His lips were blue with cold, but she saw them form Auran’s name, the anger in his eyes enough to set the snow on fire as clarity returned to him. He ran in the direction of the shop.

  “Bran!” Evie yelled, and started after him.

  Trix grabbed her arm. “Evie, what’s happening?” She seemed scared now, though her voice was still excitable, her eyes still over-bright and manic.

  “Wait here a little lon
ger. Look after that glass.” Evie went into the alley, looking back as an afterthought. “And for God’s sake don’t bring it in here. Don’t cross back in.”

  She ran back down to the shop. How could Trix see the alley now? Had Auran given her the fruit too? He shouldn’t have dragged Trix into the mess. But Evie couldn’t be angry. Not until she saw him. Bran might finish Envy’s job first.

  The door was open. She clambered up the stairs and into the living room. It was normal again. No dungeon. Just Bran pointing a gun at Auran, who was in the centre of the room, clutching the edge of the sofa for support.

  “Bran, no!” Evie crossed the room to Auran’s side, kneeling to examine his wounded arm. His wrist was cut and clearly broken, his hand hung from it, flaccid and pale.

  “Move aside, Evie. He provoked me again. You could have died.” Bran looked exhausted, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his cheeks red and fevered. “He came here to provoke me, to get the glass pieces no matter what the cost.”

  Auran tried to laugh, but it turned into a spluttering cough. More blood flecked out onto his hand. A black ring burned around his wrist where the manacle had seared him.

  “I think he has paid the greatest price of all of us,” Evie said evenly, staring into Bran’s eyes. “So put that down now. Auran needs help.”

  Bran lowered the gun a little. “He needs to die. He cannot be trusted. Why would he sully his royal hands now? It suited him fine to let his knights do the grunt work until yesterday, and now here he is trying to act this all out like some amusing little play at Court.”

  “This is an act of charity on my part, you fool.” Auran choked out his words. “Would it please you to have knights of Unseelie dealing in your business? I am their foster prince. My blood is not the blood of their royalty. I must never show them weakness. They would see you and the girl used terribly and then killed.”