Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales Page 9

  As Briar roused herself from her pretended rest, she said, “What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” She looked at Leon, now shirtless, but donkey-headed. The light exaggerated his broad, clean musculature—his rippling abdominals and his barber-pole thick biceps. Briar found it distracting. “Gentle mortal, sing again…” she went on a bit mechanically. Her mind darted as they neared the kiss. At first she thought about the other kids at school, and how they would see her differently from now on. But that was a distraction from her fear. Sure it was a stage kiss, but it held meaning for her—and maybe it did for Leon too. “Mine ear is enamored…”

  Her heart beat faster, her stomach knotted. She locked eyes with Leon through his mask and felt queasy. “Thy fair virtue’s force doth move me to say, to swear, I love thee.”

  Leon smiled beneath his mask. Before the kiss, Titania called forth her fairies: “Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!”

  But instead of the actresses playing their parts, an unexpected dark-robed figure, face—shadowed by the deep folds of a hood—entered through the garden gate. The figure stood next to Leon, who didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.

  The intruder pulled back the hood to reveal a young woman with thick blue dreadlocks. She wore strange gear-covered goggles, and there were strange dark shapes tattooed above and below her eyes. Her shoes were black with white spats that buttoned up to her knees, and she was fitted in a body-hugging corset. She gazed at the floor for a moment, and mouthed some words, looking like a perverse nun irreverently reciting a prayer. Then she fastened her dark empty eyes on Briar. Her goggles made a strange hissing noise as gears clicked causing the lenses to mechanically refocus.

  The intruder pulled her dark red lips into a sickening grin while reaching to her side. Briar noticed the steely musculature of the woman’s arms as she reached across her body, and how the boned bodice fit snugly to her tight, athletic physique.

  Briar turned her eyes to the audience and noticed that no one was reacting to any of this. The only apparent oddity was Briar, who seemed to have stalled with her lines.

  The intruder produced a short sharp instrument, like a thick needle, and with it she unexpectedly jabbed Leon’s side. Briar waited for Leon to react, but he barely noticed. Then the woman produced a silver hand mirror with green jewels along its border and across its back. A small trickle of blood oozed from Leon’s wound. The woman dabbed it with a finger, then licked it clean. She turned the mirror to reflect Leon. A stream of tiny silvery lights sparkled around his body. In an instant, he shrank to the floor, and his clothes collapsed into a heap. From them, a frog hopped out. The woman stuffed the transformed Leon into her cloak.

  The audience gasped and applauded what appeared to be a theatrical special effect. Briar froze with fear and confusion. She watched as the woman re-hooded herself and strode at a measured pace to the iron gate, vanishing through it with Leon.

  Chapter 11

  Briar stood onstage alone, fear stabbing her. There was only one thing to do, and she felt she had little time in which it could be accomplished. Even though other characters entered the stage and continued with the play, Briar bounded from the set and grabbed at Dax’s wool scarf as he sat in front row. “Let’s go,” she said. There was a force in her voice.

  “Oh, good lady,” Dax said. He turned toward the audience in an awkward attempt to save the play. “Dost thou not need to return to thy players?”

  Briar gripped Dax’s scarf tighter. “Now,” she said. Then she yanked Dax out of his seat.

  “Jesus Christ, m’lady,” Dax said.

  The two of them picked up momentum through the center aisle and burst through the double doors into the shadows of the car-lined street.

  “O.M. to the G., Briar. Have you lost your mind?” Dax asked. He pulled Briar’s iron grip from his scarf and he rubbed his neck to get the feeling back. “Jeez, have you been working your biceps with Leon or something?”

  Briar was about to attempt an explanation when she heard a noise like long fingernails tapping and clicking on cement. Briar looked away from Dax, focusing on the sound.

  “Helloooo?” Dax sang waving a hand in front of Briar’s eyes as if waking a hypnosis subject.

  Not again, she thought. “Did you hear that?” Briar asked.

  Dax looked left and right, shifting his eyes rapidly with are-you-kidding-me eyes. Then he spoke to Briar as though she was an un-medicated psychiatric patient. “Were you struck in the head with a dodge-ball? What in the hell are you doing? You’ve just left in the middle of your play!”

  Briar heard growling. She saw a dark shape with luminous amber eyes hiding in the shadows at the auditorium doors. She pulled Dax down and they fell behind one of the parked cars— hands first, onto the street. “Stay low,” she commanded, and peeked up just enough to scan the area.

  “I was going to say you’re losing it. But now I see you’ve completely lost it,” Dax said.

  The creature stepped out from the shadows—it was one of the walking wolves Briar had seen before, with its long hand-like paws, sharp dripping fangs, and its crazed, hungry eyes. “Are these things fucking tracking my every move?” Briar mumbled.

  Her thoughts became sketchy and unfocused; her breath was shallow and rapid. Then her stomach churned with heat that spread like liquid fire throughout her body. She would have panicked with such a feeling, but the heat-energy seemed to block out all fear. Briar’s focus became acute and her vision sharpened. She reached up and tried the door of the car behind which they hid, but it was locked.

  “Where did you park your car?” Briar asked.

  “Uh, crazy much? I’ll tell you right after you tell me what you think you’re doing.”

  “Dax, we are in danger. Well, actually, I’m in danger, and you’re just in harm’s way. Sorry.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The wolf stepped one of its scraggly limbs down the school steps toward them, as though hungrily hunting, not wanting to disturb its prey. It squinted its furious eyes and saliva dribbled in long strands from its jaws.

  “I know you can’t see what I’m seeing, but believe me, Dax, we need to get into your car right now.”

  Dax sensed a desperation in Briar’s voice that he had never heard before. He knew that whatever this episode was—even if she was having a mental breakdown—it wasn’t the time to debate. Better to just get her home and hash this out later.

  “This way,” he said, though he didn’t want to encourage any of this.

  “On three,” Briar whispered. She counted on her fingers and then, holding hands, they darted away from the parked car and ran across the street to the gated school lot.

  The wolf leapt on all fours, and bulleted toward them with a vicious, gravely growl. Briar yanked Dax’s hand and pulled him through the chain link fence, crashed the gate closed, and fumbling for the chain and lock. The wolf slammed into the gate and tried to fit its snout through the links to bite off Briar’s hand. But she managed to lock the padlock and pull her hands clear. She grabbed Dax’s hand and dragged him deep into the lot. Then she pulled him to a crouch between two tightly parked cars.

  The wolf yanked at the chain link with its knife-edged teeth, rattling it, wrenching it apart. Once it tore a hole big enough, it squirmed through and into the lot. Then it jumped and landed, claws first, onto the roof of one of the nearby cars, buckling the roof under its weight. Long claw marks ripped up the car’s paint where the creature skidded to a stop.

  “What was that—?” Dax stood up, gawking at the wrecked car. He turned on his cell phone to video record, but Briar slapped the phone away and dragged him down again.

  “We have to be very still,” she whispered. She felt a battle waging inside her—one side felt like melted gum on steaming pavement, the other felt an almost animal-like sense to survive— maybe even to destroy. She had never felt this other side before, but she could sense it all coming from that heat-energy coursing through her body. But it was
n’t clear which side would win.

  She peeked low through a car window and watched the wolf sniff the air, trying to get the scent of its prey. Then it bayed with a thirst for blood. She knew they must have thrown the creature off, making it both confused and angry. It snarled, and then with a shriek of its nails on metal, the beast sprang away. It hopped from one car roof to another, crumpling hoods until it left Briar’s view.

  Hearing each car buckling beneath some unseen force, Dax sank low to the ground. “I didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” he said.

  Briar grabbed his arm. “Shut the hell up, Dax. Just tell me where you parked your car. I can’t see it.”

  The reality of danger finally occurred to him and he couldn’t find a way to form words. He began hyperventilating. Briar shook him, repeating her command. Finally he whispered, “It’s over there.” He pointed toward the cruddy old white convertible parked about six cars away from where they hid.

  Briar needed Dax to focus. Just one wrong move could lead to ripped out throats. She held him by the shoulders and made serious eye contact. “Give me your keys—very quietly,” she murmured.

  Dax nodded. His eyes were clear and focused now. He drew the keys from his pocket and they made a small tinkling noise. In response, another car bounced and scraped as the wolf jumped atop, sniffing and grunting. Briar pulled Dax low and signaled for him to follow her beneath the car. Dax handed the keys to her and together they wriggled on their bellies across the asphalt beneath the cars.

  Before crossing to the next vehicle, Briar looked around for paws. Then they’d scurry beneath the next car, and the next. It was slow going, and strenuous, as they snaked along. But eventually, Briar saw the notched footboard of Dax’s car. They crouched low and Briar eased the key into the lock.

  “Rush past me and get into the passenger seat,” Briar said almost silently. Dax nodded and then flexed his neck as he curled himself into position. Then she pulled on the door handle and it opened with a mechanical clink. She swung the door as wide as she could, and Dax scrambled across the seats. Briar jumped in and slammed the door.

  “Lock ‘em,” she said. Her voice was like steel girders.

  “The doors don’t lock anymore,” Dax replied.

  “Hey, Garden of Eden, bite the apple already and get your damn doors fixed.”

  Briar fiddled with the keys in the ignition. The engine turned once and then stalled. Dax looked around, still seeing nothing that could cause such damage. But he held the door handle in a vice grip.

  The wolf landed with a thud on the hood of the car just in front of them. Dax only saw the car rocking by some unseen force, but Briar saw the wolf balancing itself on its shaggy, knotted limbs. “Get down!” Briar said and they both slid down as low as they could.

  The wolf stood, its teeth glistening with rage. It cranked its head back with a mournful call to the moon, announcing the end. It flexed its hand-like paws, extending its sharp, black claws and it stepped across to Dax’s hood. The old vehicle rocked on its corroded shocks. Dax held his breath, but that slight inhalation was enough to signal their presence.

  The wolf lowered its ears and slammed its front paw against the car windshield while snapping its jaws and making wild, ferocious sounds. It gripped with its black claws and the glass cracked and punctured, showering Briar and Dax with sharp little crumbs. The creature battered the windshield again, this time breaking through. Glass sprayed inward like tiny chunks of ice, and Dax let loose a full-bodied shout. Now the wolf knew they were there. It reached its pointed claws in through the broken glass, flailed at the dashboard and tore out deep gouges. Then it fitted its muzzle in and tried to bite whatever it could.

  Briar sat up and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine turned and the car rumbled with a roar that rivaled the wolf’s own. Looking down for the gearshift, Briar placed the car in drive, and she stomped on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward and rammed the car in front of them, sending the wolf skidding over the other vehicle’s hood. It whined, then slid down between the two bumpers and lay on the ground, stunned.

  Briar then slammed the car into reverse and hammered her foot on the gas again. Then once more she shifted into drive as she clobbered the gas pedal. The car lurched forward. By then, the injured wolf was trying to stand. But before it had a chance to rise completely, the car smacked into it, squishing it between the two bumpers. Dax’s car hood crumpled like a paper cup, and there was a hiss like pressured steam escaping. Briar watched— Dax still saw nothing—but the creature evaporated into a black cloud that blended into the black paint of the car in front of them.

  Briar was not about to wait to see if anything further could happen. The engine still rumbled with its tinny, yanking gyrations, so she thrust it into reverse. Going backwards, the vehicle boomed through the chain link fence onto the street. The undercarriage scraped against the pavement, and sent sparks flying. Briar floored the gas pedal and steered, looking over her shoulder. “These things travel in pairs,” she warned.

  “What things?” Dax asked. His voice was strangled and he gritted his teeth, preparing to fight, if it came to that.

  The car rocked as something heavy landed on the roof, and began tearing the fabric up. “Holy shit,” Dax yelled as something he could not see pierced through the cloth roof with four small holes. Briar watched the black, hairy digits twisting around until they hooked onto the cab ceiling and began to pull, as if trying to open a can of sardines. “Kick the ceiling,” Briar shouted. Dax hit the lever to make the seat drop back and he began bashing his shoes into the holes. The wolf on the roof screamed wildly and Briar watched as two of its claws pulled out. The bloody things dropped between Dax’s legs.

  Then the car conked out. Briar twisted the key in the ignition, but the starter only clicked.

  With the car no longer in motion, the creature persevered with a frenzied panting. It ripped and pulled with its remaining claws until it succeeded in gouging a hole big enough to fit its fangy muzzle though. The beast snapped at whatever it could.

  Dax could see the fabric tearing and ferociously shaking. “Try the car again,” he shouted.

  “Dax watch out!” Briar screamed. But it was too late. The wolf sank its teeth deeply into Dax’s scarf and it pulled it out through the hole, strangling Dax. The wolf began to shake its head, as though killing small prey caught by the throat. Dax stiffened against the attack and tugged back on the scarf enough to open his airway.

  “Oh my God! Start, you fucking car!” Briar yowled and slammed her fists against the steering wheel.

  With that, her hands began to tingle and then two blue flames engulfed them. Briar gasped. She felt her heart make an indecisive tremble. But it subsided when she realized that the flames only tingled a little, and didn’t burn. Instinctively, she reached up to the wolf’s muzzle with one of the blue-flames.

  “What—is—that?” Dax choked one word at a time through gritted teeth. I don’t know!” Briar yelled back as the undulating blue thing suddenly detached. Tiny bolts of electrical current ran up Dax’s scarf and she heard something sizzle. It suddenly smelled like overcooked meat.

  The creature let out an ear-piercing shriek as it flipped onto the street. It was badly singed and much of its exposed flesh hung rubbery from where it had fallen away from its face, leaving half of its skull visible and bloody. It hobbled away from the car and down the empty street, screeching in a high-pitched wail through the blackness.

  “Dax! Holy shit!” she shouted. But Dax couldn’t hear her. He was twisted into ball, coughing and drinking in air. “Dax are you all right?”

  Briar didn’t dare take time to turn the car around. She drove it backward all the way home, hoping that no other wolves could follow.

  Chapter 12

  Briar chugged Dax’s car up to her driveway and backed in while scanning the street for more danger. As soon as she turned the car off, it fizzled and sighed, as though it were exhaling its last gasp. Dax remained silent. He stared out th
e window, flexing his jaw. He had long since taken off the scarf and his neck was boiled-ham red.

  “Dax, everything’s going to be okay,” she said. She tried to sound reassuring, but she wasn’t sure at all. Briar tried to take his hand, but he sharply stared at her as though she were the invisible thing that choked him. “You told me wolves. I thought it was a joke.” He yanked his hands away and turned to look around for more of them. “I have no idea what we need to do now. But we can’t stay here.” He reached to explore the shredded opening in the roof.

  “Dax—you have to trust me now,” she replied. It was more than a little surprising to Briar that she could sound as authoritative as she did. But then again, she had never found herself in such circumstances. She smoothed his hair and he refocused his eyes. “First things first.”

  Briar grasped the key pendant dangling from her neck. It was protection, or so Ash said. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. But she had no choice but to trust in the impossible. “We have to go—together.” She pushed open the squeaky car door with her foot. “Go?” he asked. He braced himself against his door at first, but knew they couldn’t stay safe with the door open. He gave a short nod—at least giving the form that he understood, but his wild eyes told another story. He grabbed the door handle. “On three,” he said. They counted down together and then rushed out from the car to the front porch.

  Briar shoved open the front door and together they spilled in. Then they scrambled to slam and bolt it behind them.

  “Well, well,” Matilda said, uncrossing her fuzzy-slippered feet and tossing aside a double-layer box of chocolates. She was sitting just beyond in the living room, watching old television re-runs, her puffy, coiffed hair wrapped in sheets of toilet paper. “Look who’s decided to grace us.” Her words slurred together; when she stood, she lost her balance, sloshing the contents of her glass. She never noticed that it dribbled down to the shag carpet. Matilda sized up Briar’s costume. “It’s Lady Godiva. Or—who are you, anyway?”