Chapter 8
And here we are, chapter 8. Go check the last chapter, because I added some things to it that were originally going to be in this chapter. I actually sort of like this chapter. We take a sidequest with the more secondary characters.
Edit: I totally accidentally uploaded this as chapter 9. I FEEL SMART.
The impossibly large hands unfolded from the shadowy cloak and reached out to me, but did not go into my skin like before. He simply grabbed and held me. His hands were each easily as wide as one of my arms. They were so completely wrapped around me that I could not move.
“Neesha!” I screamed.
She stood there. She did not move, smile, blink, breathe, just stood. The sickening rustling sound as his tongue unfurled and came tumbling down next to me, just barely touching my cheek—vomiting sounded so wonderful right about then.
“Good, Neesha. I knew you’d come to your ssenssssessssss.”
“Neesha?” I said timidly. “W-What is he talking about?”
She did not look at me, or at Mr. Ichabod, for that matter. “I’ve done my duty. Not much else I can do, without my name.”
I couldn’t speak. I thought the tea—had she been trying to kill me after all?
Mr. Ichabod didn’t seem to know about that, and only smiled wider. “We shall have their world, Neesha. You could rule by my ssssside.”
“I’ll have to think on it,” she said. There was no emotion in her voice. Her impish smile was nowhere to be seen. It was over. She had succumbed to his will, and all was lost.
He tightened his grip on me and sighed. “If you musssst. I will have my ansssssswer ssssoon enough. There will be little choissse.”
“What does he mean, Neesha?” I burst. “What have you done?”
She reached out and pulled her cloak from nowhere, donning it once again and putting her hood up. She gave me one unreadable glance before turning and walking away, leaving me empty.
Mr. Ichabod snickered quietly. “What she did wassssssss the right thing, child.”
With that, his chest opened. Thick tendrils of shadow unfolded, wrapped around me. They choked me, they pulled me in. Just like the sound had reeled me in with its seductive mystery, the wisps drew me inside him.
I died.
To walk had never been difficult: one foot, the other, one foot, the other, in continuous repetition until I decided to stop. It was always my decision, it moved me from one place to another that was hopefully a little better, but this time, it was different.
It hurt to walk away from her. I heard her scream high and loud behind me as I got further and further away. I knew what happened next. He would swallow her. He would use her to make his plan reality. My Wil would never exist again.
I was starting to remember what had happened to me. I had…I had been a maid, I thought. I had been content with my life for the most part. Nothing was so wrong that I would have traded it for this nonsense.
I put my arms around myself and kept walking. I knew what was going on. It had happened to me, too. I had been taken before he perfected his methods, before it was nice and easy like the illness he put in Wil. He’d made me think that was how I was turned. He made me think I was not me.
I had to do something. He had taken everything from me, my life, my dreams, and now, the last thing he could truly hold over my head. I had to find Jack. We would have to stop him on our own.
But I had no idea where Jack could be. I kept walking. I sped up a little. It wouldn’t take much time once he had her. It would be easier to find him before that happened. Who knew what would happen once his name, his identity, everything was gone.
I heard distant shouting off in the distance. I guessed he was using some poor souls to complete the conversion. It would take a lot of power to change an entire world like this. I saw the little color that had spread through begin to bleed away again. I had to hurry and find that silly dolt.
The shouting got louder. He must’ve been taking more of them than I thought. Louder, louder, louder—bam. I fell to the ground, coughing. The air left me. I looked up, half expecting to see Mr. Ichabod, knowing that I planned to betray him, knowing that I would stop him once and for all. I may have dreamed, but I could not cry, no matter how I wanted to. My only option was to avenge her.
Whoomf, and a body was laying on top of me, one considerably less spindly than that of Mr. Ichabod. I saw the dusty sienna-haired boy and wondered why it wasn’t always this easy. Then I wondered why he was screaming, and why he still looked like he was supposed to. Curious, all.
“Jack, get off of me, you oaf,” I said, shoving him off. He started to scream again, but quieted down once he saw me.
“Oh, it’s just you. I was afraid it was more girls,” he said, standing. He offered a hand to me, but I felt the need to kick him in the shin rather than accept it. He glowered at me as a stood.
“Listen, Jack—”
“Where’s Wil?”
The dreaded question. “That’s what I was about to try and tell you.”
“Oh no. Trying has the worst connotation. What happened?”
He seemed ready for anything. I wondered what horrors he’d been subjected to. “He got her. The big, bad wolf got her.”
He looked at me funny. “You know, I think you’ve read one too many fairy tales. Go back. Who’s the wolf now?”
“Him, Mr. Ichabod, the one that’s going to turn your world like ours, the one we need to stop—”
“So where’s Wil again?”
It was going to be a long trip.
It took Jack a while to really focus. He kept going back and asking stupid questions, like how it happened, how it could happen, and why hadn’t I stopped it? I must’ve smacked him seven times trying to get him to shut his Wynnish trap. They always did talk too much.
Finally, he seemed to actually get it. He walked along beside me, appearing as though he was thinking, even if I did think he was brainless. “So what’s the plan, then?” he said eventually. “I mean, now we’re all clear on the facts thus far—” –you’re the one that’s clear, nitwit– “—but now we need to actually go and do something.” I thought he was taking his friend’s death fairly well. Not that I was reacting much differently than he was, but there were extenuating circumstances on my part.
“Well, as far as a plan goes—I don’t have one,” I said. He looked at me like funny again. “Look,” I went on,
“there isn’t much we can do. He’s got Wil. He’s…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he said. “Wil won’t be dead, that much I can assure you. She’s too stubborn to die. That’s why I’m not upset, see?”
Looking closer, I saw his pain. He hid it very well, but looking closer, I could tell. I hadn’t liked Jack at first, mostly because I was afraid of what he saw in Wil and why, but it was getting easier to see that they were only very close friends. In fact, they seemed the type that all they really had was one another. Well, aside from me.
Hopefully.
“Look, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Is there a way we can get back to my world?”
Mr. Ichabod felt full. It had been a long time since he last ate anything good. In fact, the last time he could remember feeling this good and full was before he’d ever become…this way.
He made his way into his home, where he watched the zaftigs loll about on the beds and on the floor. They were back to their round, attractive selves, but none of it mattered to him. They were objects, created by him, created for him, and useful in his plans, especially this time. They kept Wil’s attention and helped keep her interested in the Missing, and now, they were keeping her idiot friend stored away. He was probably drunk with ecstasy, up to his eyeballs with them, stuck there with no escape—
“Mr. Ichabod.”
“Mr. Ichabod.”
He sighed and reached up inside his hood to touch his face. He faced away from them. “What do you want, silly creatures?”
“He left,” one said, her voice soft and cottony as her hair. She sidled up beside him and pressing her curvature against his lanky frame. “We couldn’t stop him.”
“What?” He turned and smacked her hard, sending her sprawling across the floor. “How could he have? I put the best of you in there. The best.”
“He seemed…uninterested,” another chimed in as a few helped the fallen one to her feet.
“Hmph.” He turned to the window once more, now nervously scratching at his face. “You still should have been able to keep him there, lazy hussies…”
This wasn’t good. The boy was dull, this was true, but he could get things done. He’d have to call Neesha in to apprehend him. Or, better yet, maybe it was time to reconnect with his family.
Jack and I found the Door fairly easily. Much to my surprise, it hadn’t changed at all. It was still ominous, still looming, still a reminder that I was the one that brought her here, I was the one who—
“Quit it,” Jack said suddenly.
I looked at him, frowning. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You two are perfect for each other. You’re both so bloody unwilling to admit that you have any sort of feelings. Afraid to be girls, and you are girls, I swear.” He looked at me, brows furrowed comically. “You’re blamin’ it all on yourself, aren’t you?”
I blinked. “I-I am not, I—”
“You are, you are, and you know how I know? Because I already did that. Except I also already got over it. Even if it was either of our faults, there is nothing we can do now but know that she is alive and that we can and will save her. All right?”
I sat there a moment, utterly stunned. “You know Jack,” I started slowly, “you’re not half bad. You’re also not quite as stupid as I thought, either.”
He sighed and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
It was noticeable that Jack did not throw up this time, though he was certainly a little worse for wear as he reentered his home dimension. We were inside the Wilkes’ basement, as usual. It had become a home away from home in my time here, despite how short it may have been—to their knowledge, anyway. Before I’d ever contacted Wil, I’d hidden in here, watching her, studying her. Yes, looking back, it was creepy, and that was I why’d resigned to never tell her—or anyone she knew—about it.
“So what are you planning?” I asked.
He looked around and found the door to the rest of the house. Thinking on it now, I’d only ever observed her house in my mind’s eye, never actually been through itphysically. It felt odd to do so without her here. Or alive.
“Elizabelle,” he said. “She and Wil have been fighting, but she still loves her sister. She’ll help.”
“She’s just a girl,” I said, “not that being a girl has anything to do with it. But she’s young, and, well, not exactly what I’d call sharp. What can she do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she can reach Wil?”
“Not back to that again. Wil is dead, Jack.”
“Think what you’d like, but I know she’s alive. The girl would never let herself just be absorbed like you say. You may be in love with her or whatever, but I’ve known her literally her entire life, and most of my own.” He paused a moment before continuing. “I know her. I can feel her. She’s still alive.”
I conveniently bypassed his comment about my feelings for Wil. So it was true. I’d never admit it. “How can you feel her? What on Terra do you mean by that?”
“I’m Wynnish, right? It’s considered archaic by a lot of my people, but my family passed down the traditional gypsy magicks and teachings, and things like this.” He handed me a pendant on a red leather cord that looked older than either of us.
“What’s this supposed to be?” I asked.
“That is a small sample of the proof that the old ways still work,” he said. A crooked half smile was present on his face. “That little necklace there saved me today. Maybe that means some others magicks work, too. For that, we need to find my father.”
I nodded. I knew vaguely what Elizabelle looked like, so I could watch for her, but Jack’s father was a complete unknown for me.
We crept along in the halls until we came to the foyer. Jack snuck over to the large clock ticking over in the corner, counting down until this world fell. When he came back, he looked to be thinking, a hobby that I was sure he hadn’t had time to partake in for quite a while.
“It’s about six in the evening here,” he whispered. “Eliza will be in class, I think, and—”
“Why are you whispering?” I asked in a normal tone.
“Are you crazy?” he said, his voice low. “Wil and I were last seen running out of the Duke’s house and into the woods—that poor boy—and now I’m in here with a girl made of shadows trying to go get Eliza and take her back to the place that my best friend vanished into!”
I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Jack, you really have to come to terms with this—Wil is dead.”
Before I knew it, there were stars in from of my eyes and my face hurt. I fell over, partially from shock, partially from the fist to the cheek I’d received from my dear departed’s so called best friend.
I looked at him. I couldn’t believe it. He was always so wishy-washy about everything. “You…you hit me.”
He looked sort of smug about it, but it was ruined by the way he rubbed his fast. “Yes. Yes I did.” He reached down and grabbed my hand to pull me to my feet. “Listen, Wil is going to be all right. We are going to bloody save her and get her back here and everything will be okay, and you know why? I can’t have her be dead. She is my best friend—no, that girl is my only friend, and she is not dead.” He stubbornly wiped a few tears from his eye, muttering something about dust, and I think I understood. And it actually made sense.
“All right,” I said. “I believe you. She is alive. Now how is being here going to help any?”
He sniffled. “I’ll go n’ see my father, he ought to have something to help. You go find Eliza, she’ll recognize you, even if she doesn’t think you exist. Convince her to come with us. This seems like the sort of thing that ‘strength in numbers’ applies to.”
I nodded. “You said she was in class. Where would I find her?”
“Upstairs, down the second hallway on your left, first door on the right. Should be time for etiquette, if I remember correctly. Not sure how the teacher will take to you.”
“I can change shape?” I offered. “What do you think will be acceptable?”
“A maid, perhaps?” he said. “Something less terrifying than I girl made of shadows wearing a shadowy cloak, right?”
“Ha, very funny. Just go to it, then.” I shoved him off and slid along the floor and up the steps. Time to start recruiting for the resistance.
Jack made a mad dash for the dining hall, where his father often was at this hour, supervising the cleanup of the night’s dinner. He opened the giant mahogany doors to find it empty, though. Funny, he thought, he’s almost always here. The table didn’t even look like it had been eaten on. He started to fear the worst, that they thought he and Wil were dead, and they were so distraught that they weren’t even taking meals at the table anymore, and—
Stop that, a voice in his head said. It was actually his voice, except stronger and more sensible. His conscience was such a wonderful thing.
“Got it.” He thought of the next reasonable place he would be. The kitchen sounded like a start.
He ran down the hallway, back into the foyer, and threw open the kitchen doors, standing between them and trying to catch his breath. Those inside the kitchen would later remark that he looked rather dashing at that moment, showing up out of the blue after three solid days of complete and utter absence, bathed in the light from the chandeliers and almost hulking in the doorway. He did not know this, however, and looked around, a somewhat mad expression on his face.
“Oh, bloody hell, does anyone know where my father is?”? he shouted.
A few baffled kitchen workers muttered something about Madame Wilkes, and without any further thought (which he’d later regret not having) he ran off to find them.
He slammed the doors open to Madame Wilkes’ room, not even thinking why they would be in there. He started in boldly, saying, “Father, Wil needs your help—”
He stopped as soon as he looked.
“Augh, I—oh, ugh, please, put some clothes on!” he pleaded pathetically, covering his face with his hands. He backed away from the horrific sight of his father making love to the Madame—who he still had yet to get into his mind was his mother—but ended up tripping over their clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor.
“Jack!” shouted Jervis, who all at once forgot his longtime lover and jumped (or rather rolled, for his bulk could in no way jump) to his feet to run to his beloved son.
“Yes, hello Father, please put clothes on before you touch me,” Jack begged, hands still covering his eyes. Jervis laughed, his cheeks turning red(der) and quickly threw on some clothes—then again, quickly was a not a way to describe all the effort that went into pulling the material over his many rolls and general pear-shaped figure.
“Jack, we weren’t sure what happened to you two,” he said after he was clothed, kneeling before his son. Tears shone in his eyes, but Jack was used to it. He’d gotten a similar reaction the day he cut his hair.
“Father, I will give you every single minute detail, but first, I need some help.” He sighed and helped his father back up to his feet, looking him deep in the eyes. “Father, I need you to—” He paused when he saw the Madame moving over on the bed. “Er, could we speak on this…privately?”
Jervis, always one to believe his son wholeheartedly and without any sense in his mind, nodded eagerly. He could never find it in him to be suspicious of Jack, and rarely asked any questions (excepting, of course, the rumors of his romance with Wil, considering the implications). They walked outside the room, leaving the Madame quite naked and just a little angry.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Jervis asked.
Jack paused before speaking. “Magicks. The old kind.”
Jervis’ eyes lit up. In most cases, he was a painfully common man, somewhat slow, and his skill set was fairly limited to cooking and how to please a woman that simply would not be pleased. However, one field in which the large, balding man was particularly knowledgeable was Wynnish lore and magic.
“Yes, yes, dear boy, anything. Oh, you’ve finally taken a real interest, I’m so glad!” This was truly a momentous day. At long last, he had something to connect with his dear son over.
Jack, however, looked less than thrilled. “Ah, yes. That’s what it is.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead, a habit he’d first picked up from the man he now faced. “Listen, Wil is in trouble. I think this might help.”
“Wil in trouble? Oh, Jack, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that you need—”
“She’s in another world. A…a magical one, we’ll call it,” Jack said.
Jervis nodded, looking solemn for once. He nodded and started to walk away. “Come, come, I’ve got just what you need.”
I found it easy to maneuver in some of the hallways of the Wilkes Manse, where the lights flickered on and off, casting deep shadows on the walls and carpet. I hid in them each time a maid passed until I realized that, well, I did need a disguise.
As a young girl walked by, I watched her and slowly absorbed her form. Before she got too far, I snuck up behind her, and much like Mr. Ichabod had done to Wil, thick, curling vines of shadow lashed out and grabbed her around the waist, one covering her mouth so I woudn’t be discovered. “Yes,” I said, unable to resist a smile. “You’ll do rather nicely.”
After she’d fainted, I stored her in a small closet with some brooms, thinking the stick-thin girl would feel rather at home when she awoke. I stripped her as quickly as I could and studied her a bit further, so the change would be smooth. I was long since used to the sensation; my shadow skin stretched from my rounder cheeks to the longer, pale face of the maid, thinning out, becoming her dour, boring figure. I looked myself over and compared to the original, smirking. It felt strange with her face. I assumed she didn’t smile very often at all. Content with my transformation, I donned her clothes and covered her with my cloak, sticking her under some shelves so others might not see her. Now for the face. I had to get that right before I could go trying to convince anyone that I was who I appeared to be.
Stop smiling.
My face fell into a blank expression, with just a hint of sadness and bitter anger boiling together beneath the surface.
Straighten up. Don’t slouch.
I stood tall, frowning as my spine cracked ever so slightly. Silly high class maids and needing to look so ‘proper’.
I carefully tucked ‘my’ hair up into the little bonnet, hoping no one noticed that it wasn’t braided like hers. I wasn’t all that great at shifting shapes yet. The way things were looking, I wouldn’t have the time to learn how, anyway.
I practiced for a few seconds, then opened the door and made my way primly to the room Jack had directed me to. As I entered quietly, I saw the powder-blue room in all its tiny glory. It worked when teaching only one girl, but I wondered what they did if Wil and Eliza needed to take lessons together. Three people just didn’t seem to fit very well. Neither of the two other occupants of the room looked up when I stepped inside; I only vaguely recognized Wil’s little sister. Honestly, I had rarely looked at her, even when I had talked to her. Wil had just kept my attentions better, it seemed. The teacher didn’t pause in his droning. He might’ve been dead for all I knew, and just kept on teaching these boring lessons even into death, and the will to keep drilling napkin folding and correct utensil placement was the only thing keeping him moving. Eliza kept tossing small balls of paper at him, and he didn’t quite notice that, either. She sighed and turned, squeaking slightly when she saw me.
“The proper reaction to surprise would be to faint,” the teacher wheezed then. I couldn’t tell if he had been paying attention or if that was just part of his speech.
“Oh, stuff it!” Eliza said grumpily. I’d recalled her being a bit more lively, even when arguing with her sister over my existence. Perhaps I’d gotten the wrong impression? “Yes, Darlene?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Something I can help you with?”
I hadn’t thought about that. “Um, yes,” I started, knowing very well that the stuffy little maid would never mumble such an utterance. “Your mother,” I said, feeling suddenly inspired. “She needs to see you right away. It’s very urgent.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” she replied eagerly, nearly leaping from her desk to her feet and taking my (or rather, Darlene’s) arm in hers. I couldn’t blame her. I’d have been more than willing to get out of that class, too. She pulled me out of the room and closed the door, and I swore I could still hear the old teacher going on about how to faint and not hurt oneself.
“So?” she asked on the way. “What’s going on? Is it news on Wil?”
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “In a way.”
“’In a way’?” she repeated crossly. “’In a way’? Darlene, my sister is missing. This had better be important.”
The irony of her word choice was not lost on me. Missing. Chances were, she was Missing now, even if she hadn’t been before. I noted that I honestly didn’t quite think she was dead anymore. Funny how things like that happen.
As we passed the closet in which the real Darlene was stashed, I quickly threw my arm around her and pulled her inside, covering her mouth. The ease with which I did it might make one think I’d done it before.
Eliza barely fought, instead paralyzed by fear. I changed my face back and gave her a smile, once again unable to resist. Then she started to fight me, but her utter lack of muscle made her subjugation simple. She went limp, crying softly. I felt the tears run warm down my hand. I enjoyed it too much. I had spent too many years under his tutelage, and now I was infected by a lust for violence and pain. Even if we got Wil back, I knew I couldn’t be with her. She deserved better.
I released Eliza, but grabbed her cheeks to keep her quiet. “Listen, and don’t dally. You need to hear this.” I shed Darlene’s skin, and quite literally. The skin peeled away like a paraffin casing, resting on the ground in a warm heap. Eliza’s eyes had been wide since I grabbed her, and remained as wide and round like wheels as she watched it fall off.
I moved her face back up to look at me. “No, no, eyes up here, girl. Listen. Wil needs your help.”
“Y-Yshoor ghreel!”
That wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. “What?”
She pulled back away from my hands. “You’re real!”
I sighed and shook my head. “Yes, I am, very real. Do you want to help your sister or not?”
She swallowed and nodded wordlessly, drawing up to the door. I reached out—she flinched—and grabbed the door handle.
“Don’t run off. You aren’t mad. Just listen.”
She sighed and sank, sitting on the floor and drawing her knees to her chest. For all her wanting to be a lady, she didn’t seem to care that she was flashing her bloomers at me.
“All right, now that I’ve got your attention,” I said, running a hand through my hair (which was much softer than Darlene’s). “We need you to help Wil. Jack’s got this plan…”
