Surely Lias meant that the gold box was his, and not the mother, not Elixibyss? But as it turned out, the box wasn’t his, either. Just as he was about to grab it, the Impress returned. She angrily pushed through the dining room doors, slamming them against the wall. They vibrated as they bounced back and were left hanging halfway open. Luckily, she was so intently focused on Nieve that she didn’t see Lias slinking back into his hiding place in the shadow of the sideboard.
Whatever Warlock had told her hadn’t been welcome news. Striding over to Nieve, she smiled at her in an effortful, fake-motherly fashion, which was scarier than some of her more grim expressions.
“Darling,” she said, white-lipped. “We’re going on a little jaunt.”
“A jaunt?”
“Indeed. We need a vacation, don’t you think? Let’s do some shopping! We could pick up some . . . Danish furniture, modernize our digs here, Danish people do make the niftiest furniture. Yes, we’ll have some quality time together, time to bond, eh, and make up for all those years we’ve been kept apart.”
“Sounds, um . . .” Revolting? Like a nightmare? “Nice.” Escape might be possible once she was out of this place. That and finding help.
“I’ve never been a big fan of ‘nice,’ but I can see you’re finally coming around.” Elixibyss reached out to pat Nieve on the head, then hastily pulled back her hand. “Good. We’ll leave right away. One quick stop at the hospital, then we’ll be off.”
“We can take Dr. Morys. Like you said.”
Elixibyss laughed, which was even more ghastly than her fake maternal beaming. “I’m afraid you’ve already fixed him, my dear. He’s done like a dinner.”
“No!” But turning to him, Nieve saw that Dr. Morys did look paler, and somehow sadder than he had before she had taken the daylight from him. His mouth was turned down slightly, and he seemed to be less present, less there in himself.
“Let’s go, we’re wasting time. Oh, and mustn’t forget this.” Elixibyss swept over to the fireplace and snatched the gold box off the mantel. “Weazen, clean up the mess on the table. And be sure to keep my baby tucked up safe in his crib. His snug rib crib!” she laughed again, clutching the box as she swept out. “Come, Nieve, right now!”
Nieve reached out to touch Dr. Morys. What had she done?
As soon as she touched him, though, grasping his open hand, she could have sworn that she saw his lips twitch ever so slightly. As if, even in death, he had found something that amused him.
She glanced up, bewildered, looking first at Weazen, who gave her an encouraging nod, then at Lias, who, pressed up against the wall, was miming for her to go, go!
Nieve reluctantly relinquished Dr. Morys’ hand and moved toward the open doors.
Unable to resist one last look before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see Weazen snatch at something in the air. A fly, she thought at first, but no, it looked more like an ear than a fly. A pointy, putty-coloured ear suspended in mid-air, scarcely higher than Weazen herself.
Riding to the hospital in the silver car wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs. Dunstan Warlock was at the wheel, and his driving skills were minimal to non-existent. But that wasn’t the main problem. The car itself was a menace. Bent out of shape after its tumble into the ditch, with a crumpled fender and a wonky tire, it wobbled along through the desolate streets of the Black City in what, for a car, was a foul mood. (Nor did it help that its vanity licence plate – ME!ME!ME31 – was also dangling from its rear and about to fall off.)
The upholstery in the back where Nieve was seated kept buckling up and pinching her, until she gave it a good hard punch. The car groaned and stopped pinching, but then the seat started bouncing her up and down trampoline-style, and tossing her back and forth, from one door to the other, until she hissed, “I get carsick, you know. How would you like that all over you?” It stopped promptly.
Next, the radio came on, full blast. The dial was set on a news channel, an extremely weird news channel, that recounted gruesome current events:
Tonight a boy named Jimmy ran away from school and was eaten by a troll. Serves him right, stupid kid! MWAA-HA-HA! Earlier this evening, a girl named Priscilla was dragged under her bed by a giant worm, you should have heard her scream! MWAA-HA-HA!! A girl named NIEVE, I repeat NIEVE, is going to the hospital to get a–
Elixibyss, who was seated in the front beside Warlock, flicked the radio off.
Mmnnph!! it went, but there was no more harassing news. Nieve had certainly heard enough.
“What am I getting at the hospital?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing much,” said Elixibyss, gazing with interest out the window at a rat the size of a spaniel that had begun chasing the car. “An inoculation. A teeny-tiny shot, you won’t feel a thing.” She smiled as the car blew the rat away with a blast of exhaust the smelled like rotten eggs. “Nothing but a precaution, my dear. So many creatures that bite out in the big world, so many diseases. You wouldn’t want to catch the plague, would you?”
Nieve didn’t respond. She knew precisely what kind of shot she was going to get: the same “inoculation” that everyone got before they were turned into a piece of furniture. Although Lias had said that Elixibyss needed her. (Poor Lias! This was his mother?) Needed her for what, though? Something to stand on, to wipe her feet on?
She stared down at her hands, which were cupped in her lap. The spot of daylight slid out of her sleeve and nestled comfortingly in the palm of her right hand. Experimentally, she tipped her hand and let the light drift onto the seat. After the radio had been silenced, the car seat had been growing colder and colder, and she was beginning to feel numb, as if she were sitting on a block of ice. She wondered if the little light might just warm things up. It did more than that. It concentrated itself into an intensely hot beam, like a ray of sunlight refracted through a magnifying glass . . . and burned a hole in the seat! The car gave a yelp, and Warlock gave a shout, losing control of the wheel. The car swerved, and barely missed hitting a man, formally dressed in top hat and tails (several), who was sauntering along the street.
Once Warlock got the car back under control and it continued along, albeit more timidly, the Impress jerked her head around and glared at Nieve. By that time, the daylight had slipped back up her sleeve, where it generated a more gentle heat that warmed her up.
“This car’s useless,” said Nieve, in answer to the glare. “It almost hit that man.”
“Yes,” observed Elixibyss, still eyeing her with suspicion. “Nothing worse than vampire splattered on the windshield.”
Nieve assumed she was kidding, but knew better than to ask.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, if one doesn’t count crashing through the entrance doors of the hospital, careering wildly down hallways, bouncing up stairs like a ball, and sending people running and shouting in a panic at every twist and turn of the way. By the time they came to a stop and parked in the OR waiting room, the silver car itself was not only a wreck, but a nervous wreck. It sat idling and shaking, with steam pouring out of its hood, as two orderlies approached, pushing a gurney.
Although the orderlies were gowned and masked, they obviously weren’t the ones Nieve had encountered earlier. They were both women, possibly nurses. Not that this made her feel any better. Since when did one get carted off to the OR for an inoculation?
“Don’t be alarmed, dear,” said Elixibyss, rolling down the window to speak with the orderlies. “You’re getting special treatment.”
“I bet.”
“I’ll be waiting here,” Elixibyss instructed them. “Have someone send me some headache tablets on a silver platter, a hundred or so will suffice, plus a Band-Aid and a cup of espresso. Otherwise, you know what to do. And make it snappy!”
The orderlies both nodded and moved around to Nieve’s side of the car. Without saying a word, one yanked open the door (Ow, ow!), while the other latched a hand onto Nieve’s arm. While they pulled her out of the car and hoisted her onto the gurney, she considered her options. Make a run for it as soon as the gurney started to roll away? Or wait a bit longer, try to summon up a blasting, stun them both, and take off?
They must have anticipated trouble, or possibly it was routine practice, because once she was on the gurney they pushed her down flat and began to secure her with straps. She wouldn’t be running anywhere. Nieve began to struggle and kick. “Don’t!” she shouted. “Leave me alone! Get your grubby hands off me!!” If they thought they were going to haul her off and turn her into a piece of lumber, they were crazy. She’d kick and bite and scratch . . . .
One of the orderlies put a hand on her chest and pushed her back down, firmly, but not unkindly. She gave Nieve a keen look, her eyes above the mask crinkling with an amused appraisal. Familiar eyes. The very same flecked hazel ones that Nieve had seen observing her much earlier that night in a rearview mirror.
It was Frances.