Hope in a Bottle
Lynn Michaels
Excerpt
The morning sun crept inside Kylen’s room like a thief, stealing his only respite. His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned.
After the sea-hag’s last attack, he was left drained and desperate. Something had to change, but if he waited around for something to happen, he’d be waiting forever. Or until he died, whichever came first. And if Kylen was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure which one would.
He quietly rolled out of bed and changed into soft pants and a loose tunic that wouldn’t snag on his chains, determined to figure out a way to end this torment. On bare feet, he crept through the upstairs hall. He stopped at the top of the stairs and listened to the rest of the house.
Silence. The ticking of a clock.
The only clock he knew of in this house was in the library. He padded his way along the upstairs landing that overlooked the main living areas of the first floor and around the corner.
The library door was cracked open, so he walked closer and peeked inside. He couldn’t see anyone. Carefully, he pushed the heavy, mahogany door open.
The sea-hag’s large desk took up the space in front of the bay window at the far side of the room, opposite the door, but thankfully, she wasn’t sitting at it. He dared to move farther into the room. The walls on either side were lined with shelves, filled with books. They stretched three stories up to the ceiling, and each had a rolling ladder that slid in front of the shelves, so anyone hunting down a book could climb up to the top and easily reach whatever they were looking for.
What exactly am I looking for?
He crossed the thickly carpeted floor and approached the desk. Paper was scattered across it, most of it in a foreign writing that he couldn’t read. He sifted through some of it until he found a blank piece. For a moment, he doubted his ability to write. Did he know how to write? To read? Evidence said no, but he didn’t have a choice. This had to work. He knew enough. A few basic letters appeared when he closed his eyes and thought about it.
He made a plan.
Tucking the paper into the waistband of his pants, he darted out of the library, not bothering to shut the door behind him. The paper alone wasn’t enough. If he wanted to get a message out, he’d need something to write with and something to send the message out in.
There was only one place to go. And it terrified him.
First, he needed to know where the witch was. If she was awake and in the house, he’d have to wait. He backtracked to his own room but passed it. The witch slept in a room on the other side of the house. He rarely went there, except when she summoned him to her office, located right next door. She spent most of her time in these rooms, but it wasn’t beyond her to venture to other parts of the house.
Slowly, he crept closer and listened. Was she there? Both doors were closed and probably locked.
This is a bad idea.
He moved forward anyway. The chains tinkled around his neck as he slowly swayed side to side with each careful step.
Then Kylen heard her. The sea-hag moaned loudly, as if waking and taking the first stretch of the day. He raced back to his room. He couldn’t investigate her office unless she left the house. He couldn’t risk what she’d do if he were caught. What she would do to him would be worse than death.
He jumped in his bed, heart hammering in his chest, and pulled the covers up to his chin. It wouldn’t protect him from her, but he had a vague sense of security beneath the blankets. Perhaps something from childhood? As soon as he reached for the memory, it was gone, like smoke through his fingers.
The next day was about as normal as it could be. Kylen ate breakfast, consisting of bland oatmeal. He wandered the first floor of the house, looking outside at the lush vegetation and wanting to be anywhere but with his feet on polished floors. Time moved slowly. There was nothing for him to do except wait, anticipating his next summons. He kept his eyes open for something—anything—he could use, but there was nothing. He’d hid his scrap of paper under the mattress of his bed. And waited. Biding his time.
Around noon, he ventured back into the kitchen. The sea-hag had a servant who cooked and cleaned. Kylen had no idea what that servant was exactly—an aged and decrepit looking creature, clothed in rags that barely covered its skinless bones. Male or female, Kylen had no clue. The androgynous being moved slowly throughout the house, content in its chores, never speaking, never interacting with Kylen. It was a shitty cook, too.
Lunch had been placed on the buffet table. Kylen watched the servant leave through the side door, making its way into the rest of the house, probably to clean. The house was immaculate at all times, never a speck of dust around. Kylen suspected the servant wasn’t even really alive and spent every minute of every day working, keeping the hardwood floors polished, the antique furniture—that the witch never used—dusted, and other mindless chores completed.
He shook his head, making the chains chime, and ventured toward the food. The bread was stale, and the cheese dry and virtually moments away from molding. It was still nourishment that he desperately needed. He bit into a chunk of cheese, barely swallowing it down. He reached for the water pitcher, but his fingers never made the connection.
Kylen was pulled up through the ceiling and floor and into the hallway above. Every muscle in his body screamed out in agony. The hag pulled him across the floor and into her office, right through the door. At least the solid objects he traversed were minimal this time.
As she tortured him and stole his tears, Kylen paid attention to what was around him. What could he use? Bottles lined the shelves. All kinds of glass bottles. Even better, across her desk were writing pens. He could write a quick note and shove it in one of the bottles. Then what?
Before he could formulate more of a plan, the witch shook him hard, digging her nails into his shoulder. She flicked a finger across the chains that fell from his forehead and hung above the shoulder she had pinched in her claws. It burned, consuming every thought he had. The hag cackled. “One more, Kylen. One more tear.”
He tightened his eyes, praying something would leak out and satisfy her.
She put the rim of the bottle up to his cheek with another horrible laugh. Then she dropped his limp body to the floor. “Away with you.” With a flick of her wrist, Kylen flew out into the hall through the closed door. Then he fell through the floor and landed in a heap in the center of the great room. He had to end this. One way or another.
He’d tried to remove his chains in the past, but he couldn’t. He tried to wade out into the water and hopefully drown himself, but each time, he was snatched back—into her office.
It had been as if she’d called him there, but she hadn’t. She wasn’t there. It was some kind of security system that would snap him back to the office when he’d ventured too far.
He stored that knowledge away for future use. In the meantime, he needed to eat, regain his strength. But first, he stretched out and fell asleep right where he was on the floor.
When Kylen woke, his stomach growled, and his back was stiff. He pushed off the floor and looked around. The room was bombarded with color from the setting sun pouring in from the back windows. It was his favorite time of day. He spent many hours walking the beach, enjoying what little piece of life he could. Rather than run out to the beach this time, he headed to the kitchen. He needed his strength more than seeing the riot of color on display outside. If he was successful, maybe he’d have the freedom to enjoy any sunset he wished. And more.
Dinner consisted of some kind of soup. If Kylen were pressed to guess what was in it, he’d probably say seaweed and fish or crustaceans. He didn’t want to think about it. He drank down the broth and ate every bit along with that day’s stale bread.
Then he went to his room, hoping the hag would leave him alone for one night.
He occupied himself by making up a game to play. He imagined all the different possibilities he could have for his life if he were to escape the hag.
He could make candles in a little shop in a quaint village. He could paint beach scenes for tourists to buy. That one pleased him the most, since he loved the beach. The sand, the sky, and the roar of the waves gave him his only respite in this nightmare he lived.
The game gave way to a darker pastime—wondering who he was and how he had been captured by the witch. Had he been an innocent as he imagined himself? Or was this punishment for some crime he couldn’t remember? Had the hag tricked him into becoming her slave?
Kylen didn’t have any answers, but the questions kept him up late into the night. He needed answers. He got up and crept down the hall. The witch was snoring, fast asleep. This was his chance. But the door to her office was locked. There was only one way for Kylen to get in.
He crept down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door. He let himself out and headed for the beach—following the path by moonlight. He knew if he went far enough, he’d end up back in that office.
He stepped into the cold, dark water. Something inside him trembled with fear. The water tugged at the sand beneath his feet, teasing, and when he stopped moving, his feet sank in.
He didn’t know for sure what would happen. Would his chains or wet clothing drag him down and drown him before the magic pulled him back? A small part of him hoped for that, but the larger part wanted to figure out a way to be rescued.
Snap.
Like being yanked by a leash, Kylen flew out of the water, across the sands, and back into the house. His body slammed through the wall and the banister on the stairs, and right into the sea-hag’s office. He gasped as he hit the floor. He sat there, motionless, cold, and wet.
He wiped the seawater from his bald head and face and waited.
Nothing.