Chapter Twenty-One

It was Cora, Vivienne at her side. They were in night clothes, just as Neal and Martin were. As mother and daughter stepped inside, they were followed by Isaac, who wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and shoes. Did he sleep fully clothed? Neal wondered. Or had he still been up when the Eldred sent their summons? A robot-headed creature entered last, but after everything Neal had seen tonight, the thing barely made an impression on him. While the door was momentarily open, Neal caught a glimpse of bizarre-looking creatures outside, conglomerate things cobbled together from different human body parts. He thought they might enter, but they remained outside.

They’re guarding the door, he thought. So we can’t make a break for it.

Cora took Vivienne’s hand and walked straight over to Martin. Isaac took his time, ambling over, looking around and taking everything in. From the disapproving expression on his face, he wasn’t particularly impressed with the place. The robot-headed man trailed behind him, its glowing green eyes fixed straight ahead – on the Werewife.

Despite Cora’s angry tone, Martin embraced her and gave her a kiss. Then he crouched down and gave Vivienne a hug. When he straightened, he said, “How’d you get here?”

“It’s a long story,” Cora said.

Isaac hooked a thumb in the door’s direction. “We were herded here by a group of Frankenstein’s rejects.”

Martin ignored him and kept his attention on his wife and child. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

Cora’s expression became sorrowful. “We’re the only ones who made it.”

Her words struck Neal with almost physical force.

“Was Kandice with you?” he asked.

Cora looked him in the eye. “Yes. She was.”

That last word – was – told him all he needed to know.

The Werewife seemed amused by Neal’s reaction. “I’m afraid your group has suffered several casualties this evening.” She gestured and all the TV screens in the casino changed to one of three different scenes. Lola’s charred body lying among soot and ashes, eyes burnt to dust, mouth open in a silent eternal scream. Spencer’s naked body lying on a round bed amidst trellises covered with vines and fruit, a long length of sheet protruding from his mouth. And finally, Kandice, lying broken on a picnic table as a family of blood-covered corpses – the Raines family, Neal guessed – tore into her like a pack of starving animals while strange, skullheaded birds circled in the air above her, cawing raucously.

Neal thought of how the last few months had been for them, how he’d struggled to accept Kandice’s bisexuality. He knew now that his difficulty had come solely from his own insecurity, and not because he had any real reason to doubt her love for him. Now she was gone, and he would never get the chance to tell her how sorry he was.

He tried to look away from the horrible scene of his wife’s televised death, but everywhere he looked, there was a screen upon which it was playing.

So far, Neal had barely managed to hold on to his sanity in this terrible place, but the revelation of Kandice’s death – an extremely horrible one if the video footage was true – should’ve caused him to break down into a sobbing, gibbering mess. He felt shock and sorrow, but they were muted, as if he’d become numb to the horrors of the Eldred. That was good. Numbness would allow him to keep going, keep fighting. There would be plenty of time to mourn his wife later – assuming he lived through all this madness.

He fixed his gaze on the Werewife.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said.

The Werewife burst into delighted laughter. “I so admire your species’ bravado. You’re such fun!”

Isaac looked at Martin.

“Alex?”

“She was with us,” Martin said, “but we got separated right before we came here. She was okay the last time we saw her.”

Isaac nodded wearily, as if he understood what Martin wasn’t saying, that he had no idea if Alex had survived the dangers of the forest.

The Werewife looked at Cora, Vivienne, and Isaac. She inhaled through her nose, then frowned.

“I smell malum fruit on you. Not surprising, as it’s one of the Nonsister’s favorite tactics. But there’s something odd about the scent. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, though.” She inhaled again, her frown deepening. Finally she released her breath in a sigh. “Nevermind.” She smiled. “Must be getting old.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Cora said to Martin, “but you don’t have to play their game.” She glared at the Werewife. “Tell her to go fuck herself.”

The Werewife smiled, but her eyes – now the feral yellow of a tiger – were cold and deadly.

“I’m not doing this for me,” Martin said. “I’m doing it for all of us – especially you and Vivienne. If I win, she’ll answer questions. Maybe she’ll tell us something that will help us get out of this fucking place.”

“You’re assuming she’ll tell the truth,” Cora said. “And what happens if you lose?’

Martin didn’t tell her. Instead, he said, “If I do, make sure Vivienne doesn’t see what happens, okay?”

Neal thought Cora would protest further, but Martin didn’t give her a chance.

“I get to handle the cards,” he told the Werewife.

“Of course.” She handed the deck to him.

Isaac and Vivienne stepped to the edge of the table so they could watch the action. Even the robot-headed man came, shuffling due to what seemed to be an injured leg.

Martin flipped through the cards quickly, examining them. Neal wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Was he trying to determine if they were marked? Or was he trying to familiarize himself with the unfamiliar suits? Maybe both, Neal decided. Satisfied, Martin started shuffling the cards. When he was finished, he laid the cards face-down on the table. He cut the deck in the middle, reassembled it, and turned to the Werewife.

“Ladies first,” he said.

The Werewife smiled. She selected the top card, turned it over, and dropped it on the table for everyone to see. The card was green, and on it was a drawing of a young man dressed in a simple tunic. Neal thought it might be the equivalent of a jack, but he had no way of knowing for sure.

“Your turn,” the Werewife said to Martin.

Martin selected the next card on the stack and flipped it onto the table. It was a purple suit, with a hieroglyph that looked a bit like a hashtag symbol. Neal had no idea what the suit was called, but the number on it was clear enough. Ten.

The Werewife looked at Martin and made a purring sound deep in her throat. “Acolyte beats ten. Your hand, please.”

Martin kept his gaze on the Werewife as he spoke to Cora.

“Cover Vivienne’s eyes.”

Cora, frightened, nodded and did as he asked. She didn’t look away, though.

Martin held his left hand out to the Werewife. It shook some, but Neal was impressed that he was able to hold it as steady as he was. And Martin was right-handed. It was smart to offer his left, Neal thought. He was beginning to think he’d misjudged the man all this time. Martin might not be educated, and he held some ignorant, bigoted views, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.

The Werewife opened her mouth, her jaw distending like that of a snake. Her neck grew rubbery and began to stretch. And then she struck, her head darting forward. She clamped her crocodile teeth down on Martin’s thumb and severed it with a single bite. Martin screamed – as did Cora and, even though she hadn’t seen what happened, Vivienne. Martin jerked his bleeding hand to his chest and clamped his right hand over the wound to try and slow the bleeding. The Werewife chewed noisily as her head retracted and her jaw and neck resumed their normal shape. There was blood on the table, and on the cards as well.

The Werewife swallowed. She wiped some blood from her lower lip with an index finger, then licked it clean.

“The meat was a little stringy, but overall, not bad.”

Cora put her arms around Martin, and Vivienne – her vision no longer obstructed by her mother’s hand – looked at the blood on the table with wide, frightened eyes.

Neal stepped forward and put his hands on Vivienne’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said, then he repeated it, as if saying it twice somehow made it more likely to be true.

Cora shot the Werewife a venomous look.

“You bitch!”

“I appreciate the compliment,” the Werewife said, “but unless you’d like me to kill you all right now, I suggest you keep your fucking cunt mouth shut from now on.”

Neal thought Cora was going to lunge across the table and attack the Werewife, but with a visible effort, she restrained herself. Neal was relieved. Whatever kind of creature the Werewife was, he was certain she couldn’t be harmed by ordinary means. Maybe she couldn’t be harmed at all.

“Do you wish to continue playing, Martin? You do have nine fingers left. Who knows? You might get lucky.”

Isaac leaned in close to speak to Martin.

“Don’t do it. I don’t know how much of this place is real and how much illusion, but I’m sure of one thing. You can’t trust Lacresha or her family.”

The Werewife appeared to take no offense at Isaac’s words. She merely waited for Martin’s response.

“Go on,” Martin said.

The Werewife smiled, and once again selected a card off the top of the deck and laid it on the table face-up. It was purple, and the number on it was three.

Gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound, Martin removed his right hand from his left. His right was covered with blood, and it dripped onto the table as he reached for a new card.

Vivienne turned away, pressed herself against Neal’s side, and let out a sob. Neal put a hand on her back for whatever small comfort it might give her. Images of Kandice’s death – along with Lola’s and Spencer’s – continued playing on the casino’s TV screens. Neal forced himself to watch Martin and the Werewife, tried not to think about the pair of slender birthday candles that had been jammed into Kandice’s eyes. God, her eyes….

Martin chose a card and dropped it on the table.

A green suit with an image of a skull with red gems replacing its teeth. Neal wasn’t sure what its equivalent was. An ace, maybe?

“Death’s Sweet Lie wins. Ask your question,” the Werewife said, seeming mildly annoyed at having lost this round.

“Don’t ask yet,” Isaac said. “We need to discuss this as a group and determine which question is—”

Martin ignored him.

“How do we get out of this alive?” he asked.

The Werewife’s smile was terrible to behold.

“You can’t.”

“You idiot!” Isaac said. “You didn’t specify what this was. She could’ve interpreted the word any way she liked, making her answer meaningless. She could’ve decided it meant life, and all things have to die sometime.”

“There are some exceptions to the rule,” the Werewife said.

“Fuck you,” Martin said to Isaac, but his heart wasn’t in it. Once more, he clamped his right hand over the wound where his left thumb had been.

Isaac went on. “If we’re going to keep doing this, we have to be smart about it, figure out questions precise enough to get us the information we need.”

“You do it then,” Cora said. “You draw a card and risk losing a finger.”

Isaac said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” Cora said.

“I’ll do it,” Neal said. “With Kandice dead, I don’t care what happens to me.”

Before anyone could object, he reached for a card. But before he could draw one, the creatures standing guard outside started growling and snarling. There was a sound of frantic movement, as if the things were attacking something. This was quickly followed by cries of pain. A moment later, there came the sound of feet pounding the ground, then silence.

The door opened and Alex – blood streaking her face and hands and soaking her clothes – stepped inside. In her right hand she clutched her knife, its blade smeared with crimson. In her left hand she held a bloody scrap of skin.

Everyone – the Werewife, the humans, the assembled gamblers and staff – watched as Alex trudged to the table where Martin had been playing the Werewife’s horrible game.

She tossed the grisly hunk of flesh onto the table. It landed on top of the deck of cards, covering them. The skin’s surface was smooth and unblemished.

“Mr. Bumblefoot wanted my face, so I took his,” Alex said.

* * *

The Werewife picked up the section of skin and examined it. Isaac had no idea who or what Mr. Bumblefoot was, but he was glad to see his daughter was safe. She was covered in so much blood, though, he had no idea if she was unharmed. From her stiff walk, and the way she’d winced when she’d tossed the skin onto the table, he assumed she was injured, though how badly was difficult to say.

He went to her and hugged her – not too hard – not giving a damn that he was getting a good portion of all that blood on himself. Alex smiled wearily and hugged him back.

The Werewife continued looking at Bumblefoot’s faceless face, frowning.

“A common knife can’t damage a glamour.”

She blew on the skin, and it became black smoke which she inhaled. She then looked at Alex.

“Did you use that knife to drive off my pets outside? Of course, you did.” For the first time since Isaac and the remainder of his group had arrived, the Werewife addressed Machine Head. “Do you know anything about this girl’s knife?”

“No,” Machine Head said.

The Werewife was beginning to get angry. And was there a little fear in those inhuman eyes of hers as well? Maybe, Isaac thought. The table also became black smoke, which she inhaled, then she stepped forward to stand before Isaac and Alex. Isaac had a protective arm around his daughter, but the Werewife acted as if he didn’t exist.

“Where did you get that knife?” she asked. When Alex said nothing, she grabbed a fistful of the girl’s blood-soaked T-shirt and lifted her onto her tiptoes. “Answer me, damn you!”

“Let her go!” Isaac shouted. He took hold of the Werewife’s wrist, intending to force her to release Alex. But before he could exert any force, the Werewife released an ear-splitting shriek of pain. She yanked her arm out of Isaac’s grasp and retreated several steps. She raised her arm to examine it, and Isaac saw that the flesh on her wrist was gone, as if his touch had caused it to evaporate, leaving nothing but bone.

The Werewife definitely looked afraid now.

“How did you do that? You’re a human! You can’t—”

Alex’s knife shimmered and its silvery blade became a flat black. The Werewife’s eyes went wide as she saw the transformation.

“No,” she breathed. She shook her head, took a step backward, and said it again. “No….”

Alex smiled grimly, and to Isaac’s shock, his daughter rushed forward and buried the dark blade in the Werewife’s chest. Her cry of pain when the skin and muscle on her wrist disintegrated had been loud, but it had been a baby’s soft sigh compared to the sound that now issued from the Werewife’s throat. This sound wasn’t only physical – there was a psychic component as well. So while all the humans clapped their hands over their ears, including Martin, whose wounded left hand splattered blood onto his head and neck, there was nothing they could do to shut out the Werewife’s mental scream of agony. It tore through their minds, momentarily causing them to forget who they were, that they even existed at all. They had only the most rudimentary sense of self-awareness, slightly more than fish in an aquarium. They could no longer think, could only feel. And what they felt was the terror and rage of a being that had lived for untold millennia and who’d had every expectation of existing until the end of time, when the very last particle of reality was finally swallowed by the Gyre. This was a tragedy, a blasphemy, but worst of all….

…it was cheating.

And then the Werewife collapsed into black smoke and began to dissipate.

While the Werewife had been in her death throes, the bald-headed, sharp-toothed gamblers and staff echoed her pain, screaming at the top of their lungs and tearing at their faces with clawed hands. Except for two. They watched intently as the Werewife died, and when she became black smoke, they rushed forward and began inhaling it into their bodies. The rest of the sharp-tooths became smoke, as did the casino itself, and the two surviving sharp-tooths inhaled all of this as well.

When it was over, the humans lay on the grass in a moonlit clearing, bodies trembling as if they were experiencing seizures, blood trickling from their ears and noses. The two remaining sharp-tooths watched the humans and waited. After several moments, the humans fell still, and soon after that Isaac remembered who he was and that he was. He sat up too fast, and was struck by a wave of vertigo so intense that he thought he was going to vomit. He didn’t, though, and the dizziness quickly faded, leaving in its place a pounding headache. He would’ve rather kept the vertigo.

Slowly, painfully, the humans began to rise to their feet. Alex was able to stand before Isaac could, so she helped him up. He was a little wobbly on his legs at first, and she steadied him until he felt he’d recovered enough to stand on his own.

He took a quick headcount. Besides him and Alex, there was Martin – minus a thumb – Cora, Vivienne, Neal, Machine Head, and two of those weirdos with the bald heads and sharp teeth.

“Is everyone okay?” Neal asked, partially slurring his words. He wasn’t a hundred percent yet, but Isaac understood him. It might take a while for them to fully recover – if they ever did.

The others were well enough, considering what they’d been through. The pair of sharp-tooths said nothing, just continued watching them, lips twitching as if they were trying to keep from smiling – or laughing.

Vivienne, crying, pulled away from her parents and ran to Machine Head. The creature bent down and picked her up, and she pressed her head against his chest and began sobbing loudly. Martin and Cora exchanged looks that were a mixture of surprise and sadness. And then they trained their gazes on Machine Head, and from the dark fury in their eyes, Isaac half-expected them to physically attack Machine Head in tandem to retrieve their child. But they did nothing. If Isaac had been in the same position, if Alex had been a child who’d forged some bizarre connection with a soulless devil, Isaac would’ve done everything he could to get her away from that monster and kill it, regardless of the final cost to himself. At least, that’s what he hoped he’d do.

When the survivors were satisfied that none of them were going to die anytime soon, they all turned their attention to the pair of sharp-tooths.

“Why didn’t you go up in smoke like everything else?” Martin asked.

In response, the sharp-tooths’ forms blurred, changed, then came back into focus. One of them – a young man wearing a long-sleeved black pullover – had bone spikes jutting from his head. And the other – a girl in a red see-through gown and long black gloves – had shadows where her eyes should be, tears of blood running from her empty sockets.

“The Low Prince,” Martin said, sneering.

“The Nonsister,” Cora said, her tone cold. She gave Isaac a meaningful look, but he pretended not to notice.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Neal demanded.

The Low Prince and the Nonsister turned to each other and smiled. Then they faced the humans once more.

“We have a proposition for you,” the Low Prince said.

“One we think you’re going to like,” the Nonsister added.