Chapter 8
There are powerful lesser gods amongst us, though they go by many names. They travel the worlds through the crossroads, and they have a special talent for meddling. They are powerful, but only the greater gods are worthy of your prayers. Do not waste your time on lesser ones.
-Hecate's Guide to Arcane Philosophy
Rorick
I helped Quiet re-dress, fastening her corset, then buttoning up her blouse as she tucked the ends into the waistband of her skirt. She'd fallen silent and contemplative. I wanted to know her mind but sensed it was best to leave her to her process.
What I wanted more was to undress her completely and have her, but that'd have to wait until we weren't inside a murder castle.
Stepping around the tub at the foot of the bed, I followed her toward the door. "It's best we leave now," I said. "I don't want to be caught here when the sun rises."
"I don't either." She opened the door a crack. "Oh," she cried, snapping it shut again.
I glared at her. "What the devil was that about?"
Quiet leaned back against the frame, concealing the knob from my person. She wore the expression of a child who'd gotten caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Her lips parted to form words, then she hesitated, biting it instead.
"Quiet," I snarled, "what's behind the bloody door?"
"I feel I should remind you that I strongly believe the clowns mean us no harm. Their trials are a message. A means of teaching us things . . ."
My dead heart stirred sluggishly in my chest. A prickle of worry went cascading over my skin. "Move over."
"Rorick—"
"Step aside, Quiet, or I'll move you myself."
She raised one dark brow at me in challenge, but I remained resolute. I'd do it, damn it all.
Looking me over, her shoulders sagged. "Oh, fine. Just . . . try to be open-minded, will you?"
Removing the ward from around the knob, she shuffled over. I flung the door open. The foyer was filled with red balloons that hovered not far off the ground. These ethereal creations oozed an eerie energy that filled me with anxiety. Long cords of braided twine dangled from each of them, tied into a noose that draped drearily toward the ground. Hundreds of them were packed along the banister. I craned my neck to see even more crowding the corridor and floating down the stairs.
"Harmless, yes, I see now," I said sardonically, handing her back the charmed ward she'd given me earlier. "The noose, a well-known token of friendship. How could I have ever doubted them?"
Quiet harrumphed at me as she dropped the matching wards into her pocket. "I would prefer to complete this trial with less cantankerous commentary from you. It exhausts me, and I've had an especially long day already."
"Look at that one," I said, pointing down the stairs. We were both tall enough to see over the landing to where a large snow- white balloon bobbed. Dangling from its tied end was a noose made of heavy rope.
Quiet worked her throat. "Well . . . I still don't think they mean us harm."
"You look considerably less certain of that than you did a moment ago," I accused.
"Hold your noise, Rorick," she bossed, then she reached into her pocket and fetched out her witch's hat. Unfolding it, she pulled it down over her dark braid like it was armor, and then she unsheathed her sharp wand, wielding it like a sword.
"You look ready," I said.
She nodded. "I feel ready. So come with me. We'll figure this one out together. Partners?"
"Partners," I muttered.
Quiet crossed the threshold and stabbed at the nearest balloon with the point of her dagger. The balloon bounced into two others, then all three balloons descended on her, wrapping their twine noose around her arms.
She squawked, startled. A sliver of silver magic shot out the end of her wand. It cast a net-like spider webbing over several balloons. They responded as well, wrapping their twine around her waist and shoulders.
I grabbed at them, fighting to free her. The bulbous balloons felt like two sheets of gum rubber tied together and painted blood red. I tried to burst them between my hands, but they were bizarrely solid despite feeling weightless.
"They're ethereal illusions," Quiet said. "You won't be able to break them."
I bit the twine with my fangs and hurt my teeth. It felt like I'd bitten into cement.
"Are they harming you?" I demanded, rubbing my jaw where my teeth smarted.
Quiet shook her head. "No. They're just clinging to me." Then she grinned, putting me further at ease. "They're a lot like you when you're cold during your sun slumber."
I smirked back, relieved she wasn't hurt.
"That settles that," I said, "we now know not to touch the balloons. Not even with magic." Out near the banister, I turned in a tight circle, looking for a clue.
I found one in the old portrait of a much younger version of me—Jonathan Rorick, Duke of the Damned. It hung on the wall in the space between our room and the library doors. The mortal man with blue eyes and a stern face stared back at me.
Suddenly, my image was no longer alone in the painting. A clown stood in the frame, the one with purple hair and big puffy yellow trousers. In his gloved hands he held three metal darts, the same vibrant shade as his hair.
I slid nearer to the painting, ducking under more balloons, careful not to touch them. The clown shifted, and I started. He honked his painted nose, and the surprise nearly knocked me back into the balloons I was trying not to touch.
"I remember you," I said, fighting to keep my tone neutral. This was the specter who'd turned us into children before. I wasn't keen on repeating the process, but the darts in his hands reminded me of a carnival game I knew. "I'd like to have those, mate," I said. "How do I get them?"
The clown honked his nose again. This time it made a chime like the bell on a bicycle. After a moment, I caught on and squeezed my own nose. It made a rude flatulent sound.
Quiet giggled like a much younger woman.
"Don't encourage him," I warned. "Remember what happened before."
She sucked in her cheeks, fighting down a smile.
The clown drew in closer to the frame and stuck his gloved hand straight out of the portrait. I jerked back, careful of the balloons behind me. The fist full of darts hung out between me and the strange work of art.
I was suddenly more nervous of that hand than I was of the room full of nooses. I glanced back at Quiet, seeking reassurance.
"I think we need them," she said, and her gentle movement caused the flurry of balloons around her to bob dangerously close to another set. She pulled them in just in time.
I extended an open palm, hoping the clown would drop the darts into my hand, but the fingers remained firmly closed. Tentatively, I pulled at the darts, but the specter's grip remained steadfast.
The clown finally released them, startling me anew. They clattered together as they landed in my outstretched palm. The metal was unearthly cold, colder even than my own undead skin.
"Which one should I aim for?" I asked Quiet, turning to face the railing and the sea of red balloons above and below us. "I don't like the look of the noose on the large white one there. So maybe that one . . . ? It could be different for a reason."
"That noose is more sinister than the others for sure. But perhaps that means it's the last one we want to bother with." Quiet shuffled closer, and her balloons nudged into others. Twine wrapped around her wrist and waist. She grunted at them in frustration.
"I think we need to know what we're dealing with," I said, twisting one of the metal darts between my fingers. "But it'll mean making use of a dart, and we only have the three. Hold still," I told her. I chucked the dart at one of the balloons that had fastened itself to her wrist.
The red rubber burst into confetti, and the dart vanished into a black mist. A bright yellow daisy fluttered to the floor.
"Rorick!" Quiet breathed.
The large white balloon lifted higher into the air, climbing the stairs. Its heavy noose swung threateningly. I stepped in front of Quiet, pushing her behind me. More balloons grabbed hold of her, knocking a surprised exhale out of her.
The sinister balloon stopped midway up the stairs where the steps divided at the lower landing.
"What do you think it'll do when we run out of darts?" Quiet asked.
"I don't intend to find out," I said.
I bent low to inspect the flower on the floor. Quiet tried to do the same, and her balloons knocked into a new grouping. She gasped as more tied themselves to her, wrapping round her arms. She had so many attached to her now that they made her hands float in front of her.
"Ridiculous," she grumbled.
I chuckled at her and earned another glower. The daisy shot a stream of water up at me, splattering my face.
"Little devil," I groused, wiping the wet off my brow with the sleeve of my shirt. The rubber flower wrinkled up and died there.
Quiet cackled at the joke the clowns had played on me, bumping into more balloons. Twine shot around her mouth, gagging her.
"Are you all right?" I demanded.
The thunder in her eyes shouted curse words at me, but she nodded reassuringly.
I repressed a snort. "You've given me an idea. It's the only way I'll be able to move through all this and keep my mobility, but you're not going to like it."
I guided Quiet along ahead of me, allowing more of the balloons to attach to her so that my arms remained unimpeded. Then I reeled the balloons in closer to where I could inspect them safely. Some of them appeared to have an item inside, flowers of some kind. I knew to avoid those now.
Twine covered most of Quiet's blouse. I held her elbow so she glided beside me like a deranged sort of parade float, stormy gray eyes still cursing at me.
"Is it getting uncomfortable?" I asked, checking with her before pushing her into the next collection.
She squinted at me, lobbying another colorful word with her gaze that she couldn't currently voice. After a moment, she shook her head reassuringly.
"Good." Fighting back a smile, I shoved her into another batch of balloons that lifted her higher into the air.
I spun her around so I could inspect the new grouping more closely, holding them up to the gaslights. These new ones also appeared to have flowers inside them or were empty entirely.
"Gah-ack," Quiet said, fighting against the twine gag.
"What is it?" I asked.
She struggled to point at the balloon near the landing below us. It bobbed there next to the threatening white one.
It took me a moment to realize what she'd seen. The rubber was empty, but the cord appeared different, made of thinner braided cotton. And then it came to me. "Candlewick," I said, smirking at her. Hadn't she been gifted a candle with no wick in the last trial? "Smart girl."
I returned us to the top of the stairs. The balloon in question was placed so close to the sinister white one that I scooted toward it cautiously, sliding down a stair. I used my partner to catch more balloons, earning a grunt from her. Checking her over, she appeared irritable but well.
I readied one of the darts, aiming it with one eye closed.
Quiet grunted incoherently, floating beside my ear.
"I'm pretending you just wished me good luck," I told her, knowing full well that's not what she'd said. It was more likely she'd ordered me not to miss.
I took a steadying breath and then changed my mind. Why tempt fate with a dart throw? I could miss. I could accidentally hit the threatening one. Toting Quiet behind me, I moved down a step, then stopped, waiting to see if the larger balloon would follow.
When it didn't, I slid down another two steps, bringing me as close as I dared. Bracing myself on the railing, I stretched out with the dart, popping the candlewick balloon.
The balloon burst into confetti, and the remaining dart faded to dust in my hands. The candlewick dropped onto the stairs below me. A chorus of popping balloons sounded around us. I caught Quiet in my arms before she could fall.
Twine hung limp around her body. She unwound it from her mouth and rubbed her lips with the back of her hand. "Is it over?"
"I think so," I said, setting her on her feet.
The clown in the painting above us honked his nose loudly. I craned my neck to peer up at him.
"He doesn't look happy," Quiet said. "I bet he thinks you cheated."
The painted portrait of a younger me moved. Jonathan Rorick narrowed his blue eyes, displeased.
I squinted at the purple-haired clown. His frown was pronounced. He waved his arms and honked his nose. "I think he's trying to warn us," I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the big white balloon expand. As I turned, it lashed out at me with its thick rope.
"Rorick!" Quiet screamed and cast up a net of webbing, catching me and the balloon inside it.
The noose came round my neck and went tight. It jerked me off my feet into the air, snapping the magical cords of webbing with ease. I wrestled with the ethereal rope, wriggling my fingers beneath it. It coiled and tightened around my neck, pulling me back up the steps, digging into my flesh.
"Help him!" Quiet shouted at the clown. "Please! You have to help him!" She cast more slivers of webbing, but the balloon snapped through those like they were burnt string.
I gagged and choked, legs kicking at the air, trying to find purchase. The purple-haired clown vanished.
And then my body started to shrink. First my legs, then my hands. Before long, I'd shrunk down small enough to slip right out of the noose. I landed on my feet in boots much too big for me.
The purple-haired clown had turned us into children again.