Lost Hope Page 18

  Deciding now wasn’t the best time to ponder my match-making skills, I slipped the ropes over my head, put Grace back on, and as Steve in badger form yanked and tugged on a dead man’s decidedly decimated dick, I did the only right thing in such circumstances. I repeatedly punched the defenseless Hangman as hard as I could in the face until bone broke, cartilage cracked, and his features became a bloody mess.

  Steve never once released his grip, and badgers have a lot of pressure they can exert with their surprisingly strong jaws. Steve tugged over and over, tearing through cloth and denim, and judging by the heightened screams, and Steve’s snarls through a mouthful of Hangman bits, he’d torn loose something altogether more important than the fly of the jeans.

  With a final nightmarish rip, Steve’s hold came free and he tumbled backwards, a mess of black and white bristly fur with his snout covered in blood, a mouthful of denim and fast shrinking flesh his awful prize. He deserved a nice fry-up for this, maybe once it was all over.

  Disgusted, and trust me, badgers aren’t normally fussy when they’re of the shifter variety, Steve spat out Hangman bits and glanced around, eyes darting this way and that. He spied Vicky close to George and ran to them then stood in front, fur standing on end, little eyes full of menace. He growled and snapped at the air, warning everyone to stay away.

  Did I mention, I liked Steve?

  The Hangman howled, and I wasted no time dropping the limp nooses over his neck. Wand was out of my pocket and shouting, “Yippee! Let’s do for this eunuch and laugh at his gaping void,” which I thought was a bit mean, as I lifted him high and called down as much magic as I could muster.

  “You like this bit, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Hey, I’m stuck in a foul-smelling pocket most of the time. It’s nice to get some air. Damn, Steve’s a right nob-muncher, isn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t let Steve hear you say that. Um, not that he can, but he’s not that way inclined. At least, I don’t think he is. And that’s pretty disrespectful to anyone that likes um, munching on nobs.”

  “You know what I meant. Ugh, bet it tasted all gristly and musty.”

  “Can we please get on with being dramatic and blasting the hell out of this guy?” I asked with a sigh.

  “Sure thing, buddy.”

  My will descended, or rose, whichever way you want to think of it, and was shunted hard and fast and with considerable annoyance into the faery wood. Wand’s sigils flared brighter than they ever had and I let lose a spell that we both agreed would do the trick.

  Wand seemed to know exactly what to do, and he snapped to attention, pointing up at the ropes as the air took them and dragged the Hangman into the sky violent with the madness that still raged as Sasha and Martha spun like dervishes above.

  The ropes snapped to attention, and the Hangman shot up into the air. His neck broke as he did so. It was a terrible sound, so sudden, and if he’d been alive it would have been the end of him.

  But this was the Hangman, and he was already dead. Blood poured from his groin, his head was at an obscene angle, and his legs kicked in death throes that would last an eternity.

  Wand shifted and so did the Hangman, angling up and sideways heading straight for one of the Paths opening and closing, snapping in and out of existence at an astonishing rate. The ropes went through, they pulled tighter, and the Hangman gasped as his head was almost severed from his body. He disappeared inside the Path, first his head, then torso, until all that was left were his legs.

  The Path snapped closed; his screams were cut off. Two leg stumps and a pair of bright red suede Adidas Originals fell to the ground with a thud.

  All was silent. Martha extricated herself from Sasha and came to the last bits of her husband without a word. Tears fell from her wrinkled face as she bent and picked up the Adidas.

  She stood, staring first at them then at me. She placed them back down, lined them up neatly, then rose, her focus entirely on The Hat.

  She wasn’t happy.

  Old Lady Wrath

  “You killed Paul,” screeched Martha, so incandescent with rage that she shook like she was about to explode. Which would have been nice, and saved everyone a lot of hassle.

  “Who’s Paul? Oh, you mean the already dead, homicidal freak who keeps trying to kill me? Yes, I killed him.” I paused for a moment, thinking. Just trying to wind her up really. “Actually, come to think of it, no, I didn’t kill him. How could I? He’s immortal, in limbo. No, it was you, and your need for revenge, that opened the Path, and that’s where he went. Wherever that Path led. So, how about it? Care to share where you, and I emphasize you, sent him. Old lady?”

  Now, I’m not saying she was happy before, but Martha had always been funny about her looks and her style. I think calling her old lady may have been a step too far, because she screeched and kind of turned feral.

  Martha’s body was engulfed in faery dust. Not the nice sparkly stuff that makes you all happy and want to cuddle puppies and go sort your neighbor’s recycling for them because they never bother and what’s that all about? No, it was dark and sparkly, like meteors burning up in the atmosphere, and the tiny specks shot out in all directions. Her body morphed, became more streamlined, almost ghostly. Her skinny legs faded, replaced with little but wisps. I think it was a flying aid, as she shot at me like the pissed off faery she was, and snatched me up as she continued her trajectory.

  Sasha slammed down onto her back, which was sweet, but all it meant was that I got smacked into the ground going about thirty miles per hour with two fae on top of me, instead of just one.

  Wand squeaked, so I had a fast, silent conversation with him about now being an ace time to do something cool and unexpected, so he said, “Like peek down her blouse, or up her knickers?” I shook my head, lamenting the fact my sentient wand was just a perverted stick.

  “I can do other stuff too,” said Wand, put out.

  “Then do it,” I screamed, and angled him up as best I could whilst one faery tried to gouge out my eyes and the other tried to do the same to my attacker.

  Wand readied, vibrated like he was taking a deep breath, and then he used an oldie but a goodie, with bells on.

  Sigils shone bright, danced in the air like musical notes come to life as the spell arranged then rearranged into something I’d never seen before. Tiny pinpricks of black nothingness blossomed into temporary existence, a pure absence of anything. Martha screamed as several took pieces from her, gorging on her faery essence and growing larger.

  She flailed wildly and managed to dislodge Sasha from her back, then rolled away and became truly solid once more, firmly on earth, no longer partially in Faery.

  Her solidity was no match for the spell and the tiny spots of emptiness couldn’t touch her. Those that had consumed her already vanished, her flesh returning.

  All I’d done was annoy her.

  “If anyone else has any ideas, now’s the time to speak up,” I shouted as I clambered to my feet, cursing the sun that was beating down ferociously. I was too old, and it was too hot, for this crap before breakfast.

  Steve broke from his position and launched at Martha, with every intention of ripping her face off as she had no dangly bits to snap at, but she shoved him away with a wave of the hand without even touching him.

  “I will have my revenge, and you will not stop me,” screamed Martha as she turned and advanced on me.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t me she had a problem with, was it? Yeah, it was. I’d been part of Sasha’s life for years. She loved me, and I had to die first, along with George, for Martha’s revenge to be complete. She wanted Sasha to suffer, that was why she was so intent on getting us all. Plus, there was something else. The fact she had a Teleron. I knew what that meant. She had help, help of a very Cerberus kind.

  That bloody Carmichael. He’d broken his word, his word sworn on his honor. He was helping, or had helped, and so Martha would have to fulfill her part of the bargain. Namely, kill The Hat.

&
nbsp; Martha launched at me again. Sasha reacted fast and grabbed her with incredible strength, forcing her down to the ground. Martha flailed and fought like a demon, not letting Sasha have a moment to gain complete control, and then she did something sneaky.

  She ripped Sasha’s dress clean off.

  Now, Sasha was no prude, as proud of her body as I was my hat, but it made her pause for a moment as boobs bounced and her sparkly dress fell to the floor. Martha spun to face us all as she retreated a few steps, and shrieked, “You’ll all die. I’ll see you burn for eternity for this. I’ll lock you up and make you suffer the worst indignity until the end of time.”

  “Blimey, make your mind up, love,” said Steve, somehow having transformed back and standing naked with a protective arm around both a blushing George and a very interested looking Vicky.

  The nakedness was getting out of hand, so I glanced aside and said, “Do it now.”

  Juice nodded, and fair play, he didn’t hesitate before he whacked his mum over the head with the spade from beside the front door he’d been clutching tightly.

  It was a loud thud, and I expected her head to be caved in. Martha turned to her son, scowled, snatched the spade, and lifted it to strike Juice dead.

  Then Sasha opened a portal, sprang for Martha, and grabbed her. It was a sight to behold. A naked Sasha, streamlined and perfect in every way, her flawless skin causing me to lick my lips despite myself. She grabbed Martha tight and spun her, forcing her into the Path.

  Martha squirmed and struggled and another Path opened, one of hers. Sasha was winning though, getting the better of Martha, and they were almost at the Path, no doubt leading somewhere Sasha could easily gain the upper hand.

  “Mum,” screamed Juice, and bless his cotton socks, he hurled himself at Sasha and tried to get her off his mum. Poor boy didn’t know what he was doing, what he was feeling. Ha, like I cared. He was an utter fool and way out of his depth.

  But it distracted Sasha, and Martha laughed as she spun fast, putting Sasha off balance. Then they were both tumbling through into the Path, along with Juice.

  “Here we go again,” I sighed, as I raced forward.

  As I hurled myself through the closing spot of emptiness, I heard George and Vicky shout after me. Steve hollered, “I’ll look after them,” which I wasn’t too pleased about as he was naked and a right dodgy character, but there was little I could do as I was ripped apart into teeny weeny pieces and the Path closed behind me.

  Wonder where I was going. Somewhere nice I hoped.

  Looks Familiar

  I landed with a painful thud on familiar ground. Even before I stood and took in the perfect plaza, the fountains, the clipped greenery, and the high castle walls, I knew I was in Sasha’s old home.

  Rubbing my knees, which hurt on a normal day but were absolutely killing me and felt like rocks grinding against brittle bone after so many knocks and bruises, I nonetheless readied for action.

  Sasha was standing several feet away, motionless. Martha was retreating, a shadow in her black garb, hair streaming behind her, seemingly in no hurry for a final showdown. What a strange place for her to return to. I’d have assumed she would have opened a Path somewhere where she could have easily got the upper hand, but then, she’d brought Sasha and George here, which, now I thought about it, didn’t make much sense. Why imprison Sasha in her own home? Something didn’t add up.

  Sasha was still as immobile as a statue, looking like a Greek goddess as the light glinted off her flawless skin. Her legs were shoulder width apart, her hands limp by her side, her head held up high to absorb the rays from an invisible sun. Slowly, over what felt like hours, she began to breathe deeper and deeper, the rise and fall of her chest utterly mesmerizing. I couldn’t draw my eyes away, was transfixed by the sight of her beauty.

  I lost myself in her, to her perfection. Sasha was, and I knew it already, but was only realizing it as an absolute truth now, utterly perfect and beautiful in every way.

  Her legs were slender but toned, her bottom firm like two melons, with a waist not too taut, covered in a layer of perfect flesh. Her breasts made my head swim, the curve of her neck made me think of a graceful swan floating on a still river on a summer’s day, and her hair was like liquid honey so divine I wanted to lick it.

  What a nightmare!

  I shook my head, forcing my gaze to avert, and made sure to remind myself to never let a faery be naked in front of me if I ever wanted to use magic. It was beyond distracting, and as Sasha breathed deeper and deeper, and faery dust gathered from the hidden parts of Faery, I only looked again as the air sparkled and suddenly sprang at her, clouding her with the essence of this strange, confusing land.

  When the air cleared, and the shimmering ceased, Sasha was wrapped up snugly in a tight-fighting golden dress that hugged her body but at least allowed me to breathe. Sasha gasped as the magical air shot away; she turned and smiled at me.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said, curling a perfect lock of hair around a divine finger.

  I walked over, somehow knowing that for at least a few minutes we were safe. “Why here? Why did Martha bring you here, to your home? And is this like last time, you changing it so there aren’t any people or things happening? Why’s it so quiet? Some kind of faery magic you’re doing?”

  “This is my old home, not my home now. I suppose we never discussed it,” said Sasha wistfully, eyes unfocused as she sank into memories so old it was hard for me to accept the age of the woman before me, “but I gave up the castle a few years after my father died. I ruled from a different place, somewhere I had constructed myself. There were too many bad memories here.”

  “Ah, makes sense. How come Martha’s here then?”

  “She must have been using it, made it her home. If she is who she says she is, and I believe her, then she must believe this is her ancestral right. She may have been here for a very long time. It keeps itself clean, like all of Faery, looks after itself, but was decommissioned, abandoned. It’s only Faery etiquette that makes it so, though. Many homes are given up, we leave them that way out of respect. She has no respect, she has been living here. Maybe for many centuries.”

  “So it’s empty? There was that jailer guy though.”

  “She will have had her people here, I suppose. But it feels empty now. Abandoned. Maybe she hasn’t returned for a long time, busy pretending to be human. Maybe she spent her spare time with that monster the Hangman. I don’t know. But at least we know why this is happening. She blames me for what happened to Father. I had no choice, Arthur, you know that. I told you the story.”

  “I know, honey. I know. You did the right thing back then. You always do the right thing. You’re a good person. Um, good faery. And I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Sasha reached out and hugged me tight. I hugged her back. It doesn’t matter how strong a person you are, family can get to you every time.

  “Why is she doing this? Why now?”

  Sasha pulled back from me and we stood apart, holding hands. “She believes it is time. Has probably been planning this for years. Maybe even had the child to lead up to this day.”

  “Haha, she wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t plan that far in advance. What, have a kid, just so in the future she could get him to help get to you? She could have done that in any number of ways.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Fae are complicated, and if there is a convoluted way to do something then we’ll take that option. We do love our plotting. Maybe she assumed I would have a human friend and she could use a son to get to them, thus me. Or maybe it is just a recent plot, a few years, once she knew of our friendship.”

  “We’re more than friends, we’re family.”

  “Family,” said Sasha with a nod. Then she cried.

  A faery crying is the most heart-wrenching thing you will ever witness. It’s so intense, cuts so deep, you will do anything to make it stop.

  “Yes, family. Me, you, George, V
icky, and the kids. A family.”

  “Thank you, Arthur. This life gets lonely sometimes. My family was destroyed so very long ago. It’s nice to hear.” Sasha wiped her eyes and hope was what remained. Hope, and a hardness. She wouldn’t let Martha interfere any longer.

  “And don’t ever forget it. Damn!”

  “What?”

  “Juice. I forgot all about him. Martha must have him.”

  “She does. He is not a nice man, more of a boy really. He is warped by her, but his core is rotten, always has been.”

  “Yeah, but I kinda feel sorry for him now. Poor dude must be confused as hell.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Right, so what’s the plan?”

  “The plan?” asked Sasha, confused. “Why, we go and kill her, of course.”

  “Cool. Let’s go do that then.”

  A Realization

  Sasha squared her shoulders, tried to look grim, but just looked sweet and angry, and went to march off. I put a hand to her shoulder and she stopped.

  “Wait a minute. Are you okay? You were caged, and I saw how you got me to you, all those old memories dredged up. That must have taken its toll, let alone being imprisoned. Are you all right?”

  Sasha sagged, her confidence gone, a rare experience for both her and me. “I am not all right, no. I am sad to my very core, shamed and angry and scared and guilty.”

  “Guilty?”

  “Yes, Arthur, guilty. I killed my own father, abandoned my ancestral home, that is unheard of for us. For so long I have been a woman without a true home, no place to belong. I travel from here to the other side, spend more time with humans than I do with my own kind because of the shame I feel. Shame that I did what I did, shame that I was treated in such a way, shame about my capture before you saved me, and lonely.”

  “Don’t ever feel lonely. You have me, you have us. And you did what you had to do, Sasha. Sure, your punishment for your captor when I found you was extreme, and I won’t begin to pretend I agree with it, but you were put through a lot, weren’t yourself, and—”