Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (48 page)

There,
Nettle cried to herself, latching on to hope,
that’s what they
want!
“If a
heart is what you want, take mine.”

Claudine turned to Nettle with a chilling smile and blue
eyes blazing with wickedness. Her eyes were
mesmerizing
.
They’d shifted from a bright sparkling sapphire to a deep ocean
blue with flecks of gold wavering around her expanding pupils like
firelight reflected in a pane of glass. Nettle couldn’t tear her
gaze from Claudine’s. The room began to darken as her head grew
muzzy, her thoughts as sluggish as her limbs, until it seemed there
was only her and Claudine left in the darkness.

Claudine
approached, cocking her head to the side. “What did you say, little
chit?”

Her tongue
felt thick and sluggish. “Take me instead.”

Claudine had come so close, there was only an arm’s
distance between them. Nettle couldn’t will herself to move, she’d
lost all command over her limbs. She felt an immense pressure
against her body. It was getting hard to even breath.
What is she doing
to me?

Claudine
looked genuinely impressed. “Would you take his place at All
Hallows’ Eve? You’d willingly give yourself so that your father
would live?”

“
Y-Yes.” It was hard to move her lips to even say
that.

Claudine
leaned down and pressed her head against Nettle’s chest, listening
to the skittering beat of her heart, the breathless way she
inhaled. “Your heart is not like your fathers, so pure and full of
devoted love.” She straightened to look directly at Nettle, her
mouth tugging with amusement. “I’m afraid you won’t do at all. No,
not with the way your heart is splintered with loathing and despair
for your mother.” She turned dismissively to walk a few steps away.
“Your father is unique. Like the twelve others we have acquired, he
has an all-consuming love and he will do anything for it. Even
sacrifice himself.”

“You’re
wrong...” Nettle insisted, clinging desperately to the hope that
her father could save himself. As her vision began to waver, the
oxygen thinning so there was nothing left in her lungs, the hope
leeched from her. She wasn’t going to be able to save her father or
even herself from the Balfreys; she was about to die.

Something made
a noise as it rattled across the floor beneath the low table and
reached her feet. A rolling pin, dusted with flour.

She’d
forgotten all about Jack.

“
Take it!” He cried.

Claudine spun
toward him and shrieked in outrage. “YOU!! You meddling little
brat!”

With the
arrival of the rolling pin, Nettle felt a sudden surge of
adrenalin, snapping the pressure that had been constricting her
body, like chains breaking in two, destroying the spell that
Claudine had woven about her. She took a welcome breath, gasping
like a diver breaking the surface. She sank to the ground to grab
the rolling pin.

Sink saw
what she was up to before Claudine, and lunged. She slammed the pin
at the colossal creature, catching him on the same knee she’d hit
earlier. As he went down, she hit him again on the side of the
head. He keeled over, stunned, uttering a sad cry as he hit the
ground.

Claudine had
spun away from Jack, her haggard features gouged with outrage. She
dug into her pocket for a small blue vial and flung it.

Nettle ran
around Sink. She had made it half way across the kitchen when the
vial hit her shoulder and for a brief moment she felt elated that
nothing insidious had happened. But then the vial bounced from her,
fell to the ground and smashed.

The blue
liquid splattered at her right boot and ignited into a fireball. It
caught the material of her leggings. The flames ripped up her leg,
spreading across her waist like it was a living thing.

Nettle
screamed in horror, trying to bat out the flames, but they spread
until she was engulfed in a fireball of bright blue heat. She threw
herself to the ground, rolling back and forth, remembering the
lessons her father had taught her - stop, drop and roll. But
nothing was working. She couldn’t extinguish the flames. Every
nerve in her body painfully burnt as the first wave of flames
seared her flesh.

Utter terror
took hold of her. She stopped rolling to writhe and shriek and
wail. Her skin began to bubble and blister, crackling as it burned,
fissures erupting across her charring flesh.

The stench was
overpowering, the agony unbearable and she fell mercifully into
blackness.

The flames
died away.

She
didn’t know how much time had passed when she came to. Light
breached her closed eyelids, turning everything a warm red. She
became aware of how bone-cold she felt. Like a blanket of snow had
fallen over her where she lay. But she knew that was impossible,
and wondered if it was just her mind protecting her from the pain.
She prised open her eyes, softly whimpering, terrified of what she
might find.

Nettle gingerly flexed a hand, expecting to see the skin
burned clean off, leaving only white bone behind. But her fingers
were all there, unscorched. At first, she couldn’t quite
comprehend.
It’s impossible…

She was
utterly and entirely unscathed.

Nettle
pushed herself to her knees, marvelling at how she’d survived the
fireball. It was a moment later when she noticed how silent the
kitchen seemed. Claudine was openly gaping. Stunned and
bewildered.

It was Jack
who spoke first, his voice a baffled whisper. “Run.”

Nettle lurched
to her feet, just as the red door blew open. Dolcie stood in the
doorframe, her hand holding a vibrating wooden spoon. “What’s going
on?!”

Nettle
took one frightened look over her shoulder and fled. She threw
herself through the swing-doors that led to the stairwell. She
could have taken the door to the beauty annex and kept running for
home but there was no way she was going to leave Jazz behind. She
had to rescue her cousin and had a fair idea she’d find her
upstairs in the sisters’ private quarters. They just might be able
to get out through a window and climb their way out of
this.

Nettle ran,
stumbling up the flight of stairs, her heart hammering.

Inside the
sisters’ quarters, she slammed the door shut, but there was no
bolt. She frantically looked about the kitchen. What else? Her gaze
lit upon the dining table. She ran over and dragged a chair back to
the door to lean awkwardly on two legs to prop under the door
handle. It might hold them for a bit.

She took a couple of small steps backward, she could hear
clattering footfalls coming up the stairs.
They’re here!

Nettle hurried through the living room to the hallway,
pushing open Claudine’s bedroom, a feeling of excited anticipation
came upon her at finally finding Jazz, quickly dropping away to
confusion. There was no one in the bedroom, just the dressmakers
dummy with Jazz’s outfit. The other bedrooms proved empty too. A
moment of horrifying uncertainty came over Nettle, she felt leaden
under its weight.
What if I can’t find her in time?

She heard a sudden noise, dulled by the distance from the
kitchen, something big had hit the front door. Nettle’s heart
jolted and her mouth went dry.
What will they do to me?

A weird sound of scratching and clicking came from behind
the walls. The noise sounded as if it was travelling upward,
scuttling past her overhead. It was the same sort of noise Nettle
had heard when she’d visited Jazz in Claudine’s bedroom a few days
ago. Whatever it was, it seemed to be
heading in the direction of the end
of the hallway where the fifth door stood. A wave of overwhelming
gratitude washed through her being. Renewed hope buoyed her
spirits.

The
Atelier!

Jazz has to be
in there!

The door swung
open with a creak.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The
Atelier

The
place where Nettle presumed the Atelier was actually
revealed itself to be another stairwell, with books lining the
walls, that led up to the third floor. She barred the door, drawing
the bolt. She wouldn’t have very much time, the sisters would check
the quarters first before looking for her up here. She quietly
stole up the staircase, hoping not to be heard - she knew Margot
had to be lurking somewhere inside.

The Atelier took up the entire third floor with a gaping
hole in the centre of the roof. Sunlight streaked through the
hole.
That’s
weird,
she
thought,
surely the elements would damage everything in here.
Rainwater would
make a damp soggy mess of everything, even the wind might stir up
what was inside. But everything seemed to be in pristine
condition.

It was a large
room, divided up like a rabbit warren with tall shelves and
bookcases and tall things covered in dust sheets. Nettle walked
softly, edging toward what she hoped was the far side of the room
where she might find Jazz and a means of escape through a window.
The Atelier was cluttered with all manner of things: shelves filled
with candles, various skulls – animal and human and faerie; vials
with crushed insects and odd slimy creatures still alive, liquids
and powders and gases; toe and finger joints; daggers and knives
and swords; ancient tomes; goblets; sawn off horns and bowls of
teeth.

What was this place? Claudine had said it was where they
tested things for their tea house but it looked nothing like a test
kitchen. It looked more like… a
witches lair…

There came a horrible snapping sound directly behind her.
The fine hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She went to
turn around, slowly, when whatever it was caught hold of her
jacket. Nettle nearly screamed. She caught herself in time. She
tugged at the sleeve of her jacket, but whatever it was held tight.
It was some sort of crustaceous arm – black with thick bristles and
a pincher - poking out from between the bars of a cage. It was
fierce and strong and it pulled at her, tugging her close. To her
growing horror, Nettle saw it was a hideous creature, a large
tick-like thing the size of a small dog, snapping
and biting at her.
Its thorax was a sack, shrivelled like a deflated balloon. The
fabric of her jacket tore and Nettle wrenched herself free. The
tick’s pincher snapped around the material and dragged it back
inside the cage and Nettle had a sense that it was mad with
starvation, as it stuffed the material into its mouth. She pressed
herself away from the cage, careful to keep her distance from the
tick thing. She scuttled away.

The next area held a heavy oak table, nicked and worn,
encrusted with candle-wax. On top sat several scrolls, a miniature
cauldron, scales, and
a chopping block with vicious knives scattered
about. Nettle drifted close to inspect a scroll. Something crunched
underfoot. She glanced down, and drew back her foot. There were
trimmings of something spiky and brown on the floor. Nettle
realized, with a sickening feeling, that it was bits of broken
shell with grey rotten flesh still attached.

She steeled
herself and inched forward to look over a scroll. Someone had drawn
a night sky, indicating celestial bodies. Beside the scroll there
was a note written in a heavy hand. It was pinned on the table with
an ornate candle holder so most of the note was hidden, but a few
lines were revealed.

When the dead
dance upon the earth

Find the bones
of those you seek

A vessel
named

Nettle’s stomach grew ice cold.
What is this? A spell?

Then she saw something on the table – white and quite
envelop-ish.
Didn’t Barber Tuttlebee have something for Claudine in a
white envelope?
The end was slightly open and she could see something
stuffed inside that looked distinctively red.
Is that Jazz’s hair?

Nettle was just about to call out for her cousin when she
heard a muffled voice –
Margot!

Nettle
edged closer to a tall bookcase that blocked her view of the other
side, and very slyly peered around. Margot stood in front of the
only window in the room, the morning sunlight cast her figure into
a blinding silhouette, brightening her hair to a fiery copper.
Thankfully Margot hadn’t noticed she’d entered the Atelier, she was
too busy addressing somebody that Nettle couldn’t see. She was
saying, “Welcome, welcome my Lady. Welcome.”

A
flurry of black beetles swarmed into the Atelier through
cracks in the walls, congregating into an enormous sinuous ball
before the sister. As the beetles swarmed together in a
concentrated, synchronized manner, always moving, flowing around
one another, the way they rubbed against one another allowed them
to mimic a spoken voice. The voice sounded grating but audible. “Do
you have all in order?”

Nettle shrank back, puzzled.
What was going on?

Margot sunk into a curtsey. “We have possession of the
blood sacrifice.”
Nettle’s blood ran cold.
Dad?!
Margot was still speaking. “The mining has
almost reached the Heart and we are confident of obtaining it
before All Hallows’ Eve.”

The ball of beetles grew bigger as more insects joined the
horde, an incandescent shimmering sphere of blacks and greens and
blues. Its voice reverberated around the Atelier. “Unearthing the
Heart is a delicate procedure. G
radlow will oversee it. We cannot afford
the Heart to be disturbed or awakened in any way.”