The Goblin King (4 page)

“Make it stop.” She twisted away, not wanting Ben to touch her.

The goblin-man shrugged. “Maybe I could, if I were real. If I’m not, then I can’t. If I’m a dream, you should have power over me. If I exist, then I have the power to make every day a living nightmare.” He uncrossed his arms with the grace of a warrior readying for battle. “So, Eliza, do I exist?”

Her lips moved without sound. Did she really want to know what had happened that night? Would she be able to look the man who’d saved her in the eye, knowing he’d killed for her?

She glanced at the man who looked nothing like a goblin and stared into his unforgiving blue eyes, daring him to admit the truth.

“Did you kill Ben?” Was it her fault he had died?

“No,” he answered without pausing for thought.

“Swear you didn’t kill him.”

“If you don’t believe I exist, what do I swear by?”

Ben reached for her hand, the same way he had when she was sixteen. She knew what would happen next. The first kiss had been fun, the next not really. The scent of beer on breath still made her stomach turn.

“You win. You exist.”
Goblins exist.
“Just make it stop.”

Ben disintegrated into nothing more than dust settling on the flat barren landscape.

“I didn’t kill Ben. And I didn’t bring you back to the Shadowlands that night because you didn’t know what you were wishing. But I warned you. You should’ve known better this time.” His words were soft as he picked up a handful of dust. “Listen carefully, Eliza. Everything here is real. And everything here can kill you.” He blew the dust into her face.

Her muscles went lax.

His hands caught her.

“Everything.”

Chapter 3

The words had barely left her lips when the house was silenced. The next moment a howl of laughter rang off the walls and through Eliza’s bones, curdling the marrow at their core. She clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. The bitter beer in her stomach threatened to escape out her mouth. The room tilted and turned as if she was trapped in a spinning top.

She tried to make herself smaller in her torn shirt, as if she could be invisible against the locked bathroom door where she’d hidden from Matt’s friend Ben. He’d laughed when she’d said no. Laughed as she’d run. Then followed. Not as old as she looked, she was just a scared child with no fairy tale prince to ride to her rescue. Ben calling her name, searching for her, had forced the words. She wanted to be anywhere but here. So she’d wished for him. The Goblin King.

And her wish had been answered. Now the house shuddered with the footsteps of the goblins she’d called. A click above her head made her lift her chin. Holding her breath, she watched the handle turn. It was him on the other side. The Goblin King. But she hadn’t meant it. She’d just wanted the party to be over. Wanted the boys to leave.

“Please don’t take me.” The words were silent. Her voice had been stolen along with the party music. Tears tracked down her cheeks, spoiling the makeup she usually never wore.

From the other side of the door came the faintest chiming, a scattering of notes breaking up the dark. For a heartbeat she thought she saw someone with her in the bathroom in the shadows. Then for a moment she’d been somewhere else. A field with a black-clad warrior.

She’d woken with an amber bead in her hand and Matt calling her name. She didn’t tell him what she’d done. She wasn’t sure what had happened and no one would believe her, a sixteen-year-old made up to look older, more drunk than tipsy, and ranting about goblins.

Eliza sniffed and lay still, holding back the tears. Her head ached as if she had a hangover. It had been a long time since she’d relived that night. Her brother’s first and last party without their parents being home had ended in disaster.

Ben’s car accident, the police, the questions. The party was forgotten until Ben was buried. At the funeral, with Matt’s eyes on her and her new gold bangle with the amber bead shining in the sun, the guilt had first risen. Matt had touched the gold around her wrist and said four words.

What have you done?

Her belief in the stories told by their mother had always been a source of teasing. Now her brother was serious and distant as if he blamed her for the strange magic that had ended his party. Had he seen the goblins tear through the house, terrifying his friends?

The amber bead was the only evidence of what had happened. Evidence that the Goblin King had been in her home and that she wasn’t crazy and hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.

Her fingers traced the familiar grooves in the amber. The bead was both a comfort and a reminder of the terror, as well as a warning never to try her luck again with the Goblin King, no matter how dark the day.

Eliza rolled over and tried to return to sleep. The sheets were cool and smooth against her cheek and the mattress soft. She eased into it, then stilled. Her body stiffened as consciousness gripped her, and she shook off the dream. This wasn’t her mattress. It was too soft. She forced slow breaths. Her fingers brushed the sheets. Not cotton.

What she’d thought was music became voices. Male voices in a language she couldn’t understand.
Goblinese
. She was still here. Sleep hadn’t sent her home. Her waking nightmare was still running, demanding her presence.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes, half expecting the warrior to be lying in wait again. The bed was empty. A small mercy. And she was dressed. A second mercy. She ran her hand over her hips and felt the reassuring line of her panties. Fully dressed and unharmed. A thankful sigh escaped. How long she would be safe from his interest was anyone’s guess, since his intent had been clear.

The need for water prevented her from swallowing. She reached for a glass on the bedside table. The glass was cold, the water clear. She brought it to her lips, then paused, unable to drink. It could be drugged. Had she already been drugged? Why else would she have slept? She pressed the glass to her lips and inhaled the fresh mineral scent as if it could quench her thirst. Then Eliza forced her hand to place the glass back. She couldn’t chance drinking and falling back asleep.

How long had she slept for?

The hands on her watch twirled as if a madman played with the cogs. The long hand ran forward, minutes streaming past like seconds; the other plodded backward, counting hours like minutes. The second hand was frozen. Eliza tapped the face, frowning. The watch was new, a birthday present. She listened for a reassuring tick, but the timepiece was silent, giving no clue as to its malfunction.

How long had she been in the Shadowlands?

Her bladder cramped, demanding attention. She needed a toilet and fresh water. Food too. If she didn’t take care of herself, she wouldn’t have any chance of escape. She shivered, remembering the empty sky and tortured landscape. She wouldn’t be able to get home on her own. Somehow she’d have to convince the Goblin King to return her to her world.

She slid out of the bed and left the bedroom. In niches carved into the tunnel wall, candles burned without melting. Their smokeless green-tinged flames were in an endless struggle to repel the dark. Shadows stretched toward her, to claim her, to make her join them forever. She fisted and flexed her fingers as she fought for calm.

Eliza looked right and then left—to the voices or away? She pressed her legs together. She didn’t have the luxury of trial and error, and the quickest way to find the bathroom was to ask. Maybe she could just ask to go home. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, ready to face her captor again.

The same men she’d already seen sat around a round table talking and gesturing. The Goblin King rubbed a dreadlock between his fingers as he spoke. He turned, beads and dreads swaying like glittering snakes, aware of her presence before he had seen her. The one with his long black hair tied back looked at her with curiosity, and the other—his beard threaded with gold—with empty eyes. All three wore torques like Celtic warriors of old, but only the Goblin King’s was gold.

They waited for her to speak. Her request to be taken home became one word under their stares. “Bathroom?”

“Second cavern on the left,” the king said in perfect English. He said something else in Goblinese to the others.

Long Hair nodded and tossed a silver coin across the table to the Goblin King. Empty Eyes stared at her. The nothing in his gaze seared and chilled her as if an ice shard was lodged in her stomach. The man was already dead. He just didn’t know it.

Eliza backed down the tunnel. Going home would have to wait until she had a moment alone with the king. Her heart hiccupped and her whirling thoughts spun out another set of problems. Could she face him alone? The memory of his weight over her, holding her down, was imprinted on her body.

He’d let her go once. Would he be so generous a second time?

The bathroom had a door but no lock. Eliza blinked at the décor—
Vogue
meets Stone Age. Pristine white fitting with gold taps and trim sat on a rock floor. Toilet, bath, shower, sink. The human-like goblins obviously needed to wash. The sink appeared to have plumbing, its pipes vanishing into the rock wall. Thick white towels were folded on a shelf, and toilet paper hung ready for use with the end folded into a hotel-style point. Eliza sat, grateful for some semblance of normalcy.

When she finished she flushed and watched black oily water swirl, froth, and drain away.

Normal wasn’t even skin deep here.

Her gaze caught her reflection in an ornate gold-framed mirror. She paused and studied herself. Crumpled and bruised. Messy. There was a cut near her hairline, but green spread to her eyebrow in a garish addition to her smudged mascara. The grunge hostage look was sure to be a hit this summer. She examined the bump under the bruise but had no idea how it got there.

She’d danced on the suits in the bath, tipped wine from a bottle on them as she’d cursed Steve. Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to force the rest of the memory to surface. But whatever had happened was lost. She turned on the tap to wash her hands, hopeful that the water would be clean and clear. It wasn’t.

Even though she knew she should have expected the dark liquid that came out, she couldn’t help the stifled scream or the tears of frustration that pooled in her eyes. She would die in this cold corner of hell.

The door opened.

“I can’t wash in this.”

The king walked in and scooped up some black water in one hand. In his palm it became clear. “Take some.”

She hesitated. Once her hand was coated in the stuff how would it get clean? How did they wash in this ooze? How could the bathroom be so pristine, so white, so…new?

Gritting her teeth, she cupped her hands together. Warm and slimy, the water stuck to her skin, thicker than oil. Yet in his hands it had become clear.

“Do you believe the water is brackish and toxic or that it is clean and pure?” he asked.

Eliza looked at the foul liquid in her hands. “It looks toxic.”

“Mine isn’t.” To prove the point, he drank the water from his large calloused hand. “Your turn.”

Her stomach heaved, but she was so thirsty she was crazy enough to go along with his trickery.

So she imagined clean, fresh spring water. The water began to chill her palms. When she glanced down, her hands cupped clear water.

“Now drink.” His words weren’t an invitation.

As she brought the water to her lips, it darkened. She threw it into the sink. “Goblin magic.”

What was real and what was false?

“The stuff nightmares are made of.”

She lifted her chin to look him in the eye. “Do you actually look like that, or is that another illusion?”

He pulled her to him. “Do I feel like an illusion?”

No, he felt real, and very much a man.

In the pale, clear, desert blue of his eyes, she watched his hair-trigger control tighten. He was seeking an excuse to snap. He could twist reality to his will, make water drinkable and nightmares real. Whatever he was, he was dangerous.

Dangerous and something more…something that made her feel like a teenager again, caught in his spell, fascinated by the man with a heart made of gold…something she had no intention of exploring.

What mattered was that she was alive because he wanted her alive, nothing else. She was trapped until he said otherwise since, as king, his word was law. In his domain she was just another subject.

The king released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her. “Dinner is almost ready,” he said. Then he stalked out of the bathroom as if he didn’t care if she followed.

Eliza turned off the tap. She rested her hands on the sink and tried to stop the shaking that coursed through her muscles and threatened to send her sprawling to the floor.

Whatever it took, she had to get home.

She smoothed her hair as best she could, after wiping her greasy hands on a towel in preparation for dinner. She wouldn’t let him see any fear in her eyes. But the leashed power in his made her shiver. She didn’t want to see him when he let his control slide.

When Eliza entered the cavern set out as a dining room, she was calm, poised, and everything she should’ve been at her birthday. She could fake like nothing was amiss, and dine with men who called themselves goblins.