Page 3 of The Rat King
“She doesn’t have magic,” he said, observing correctly. He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length dusty brown hair.
Was this my soon-to-be husband? If so, I could work with that. Though his charcoal cloak hung off him like a blanket, the glimpses I caught of the body beneath was powerful as he’d prowled toward us. Muscled, but not too bulky. Strong features, and a displeasure which seeped into his guarded posture. For a man who lacked magic himself, his disapproval seemed rude. Who was I kidding? The dude was hot if you could ignore the judgemental look on his face.
“No,” Esmerelda replied. “But the gene is latent in her and will be passed on to her and His Majesty’s heirs.” She shrugged. “Avery was selected because of that fact, and we agreed the witch we would send was to be of our choosing. The deal was sealed in blood.”
I whipped my head toward my aunt. “Blood?” I asked. That was new.
And apparently this man was not the king.
She ran her hands up and down my arms, from my shoulder to my elbow. “King Xavier Helicanus is a kind man. He will treat you well,” my aunt said, breezing past my question.
Her features were impassive, resolved. A shiver tracked up the length of my spine. I got the distinct feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me.
“If you’re not him, then who are you?” I asked the man, lowering the heavy pack from my shoulders to the forest floor. Dew gathered on the carpet of pine needles, and I started to lift my bag so the worn black leather wouldn’t soak up the moisture when it disappeared in a flash. “My things,” I cried, raising my hand to cover my gaping mouth.
“I’m Nighval Helicanus, warlock at your service. Your bag is there.” He nodded to the back of the carriage, and a self-satisfied smile split his face at my slack-jawed expression. I’d seen magic my whole life, but not used so casually. “Welcome to Ras alhague,” he said, his words dripping with superiority and something else. Agitation? Doubt? Regardless, he clearly thought my aunt and I were beneath him.
Long live the patriarchy. Apparently, it was alive and well in this plane. I didn’t even try to stop my nose from wrinkling at the man. But I was to be his ruler, so I shoved down the undignified responses that were bubbling up and extended my hand.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Avery Plath, like the poet.” Nighval’s brow wrinkled like he had no idea what I was speaking of.
“Umm…” Aunt Esmerelda hesitated. “They may not have heard of her, dear. Remember, some things are different here than in our plane. Like, for example, warlocks like to flaunt their pow—”
“I think it would be best if you let me explain the ways of our world to Ms. Plath. Don’t you think, Esmerelda?”
My aunt gave the warlock a mock-innocent smile. “Of course. Oh…” she said, trailing off. “They are drawing me back home. I must go, my dearest Avery. Raising you has been my greatest honor.” She pulled me into her arms. “I know if anyone can save us, darling, it is you.” When she pulled away, my eyes widened, and hers filled with tears.
“Wait, I thoughtcoming herewould save you,” I said, as Aunt Esmerelda’s form flickered.
“Let your heart be your guide.” Her voice trembled in a hopeful, yet decidedly melancholy way.
Hold on. I was fairly certain that line was from a Disney movie. Or maybe it was, let yourconsciencebe your guide. Either way, what did my heart have anything to do with it? “Aunt, please. I have questions. Can’t you hold them off for a few more minutes?” My stomach turned queasy. I shifted on my feet as I reached for my retreating aunt. Her form flickered again.
She said, sniffling, “I love you, dear,” and was gone. Gone.
I was panting as a mild panic gripped me. My aunt was gone, and I was in this sparse forest with this weird warlock man named Nighval, who I could feel waiting impatiently at my back. I scanned my periphery, instinctively mapping out an escape route. But I knew there was no way she’d have left me here with this man if there was any chance he’d hurt me, so I took a deep breath attempting to be rational.
Not a single building in sight. Only the two tracks of well-traveled dirt road running through the forest in either direction, which looked more like what I envisioned the Oregon trail to be than an actual road. The forest itself seemed to be a repeat of the same five pines and the occasional cedar, over and over. The tree species and brisk temperature told me while the plane may be parallel, they weren’t overlapping. A shiver shuddered through me, and I hugged myself trying to still my racing heart.
Say I changed my mind… I would totally be screwed. I could follow the road, but who knew how long it would take to reach the nearest city and there appeared to be no other way out. I’d be lost in the forest. I had to rely on the annoyed man stalking back to the carriage. That dependance alone made my skin crawl. Perhaps I hadn’t thought this through sufficiently. I sighed. Too late to turn back now. Best to keep my eye on the prize.
As if sensing my tumultuous thoughts, Nighval asked, “Did they not prepare you?”
I turned toward where he was casually leaning against the carriage, which I only now noticed had no horses attached to its front. I guess initially I hadn’t noticed since cars didn’t have horses, but this thing didn’t appear to have an engine compartment either. Warlock magic. Show offs indeed.
“I am completely prepared,” I said, feigning confidence I didn’t feel. The carriage was suspended between four large rubber wheels, and in the center, there was an open leather bench with a burgundy convertible top-like umbrella arching up over it from behind. The vehicle appeared to be some combination of a vintage horse-drawn buggy and a Ford Model T. In the back, just in front of the two largest wheels, sat my backpack and what looked to be a picnic basket.
He saw me eyeing it, then gave me another assessing look like he was trying to determine how much fuel a woman my size required. “Hungry?” he asked.
I scowled. I was taller than average, had T&A, as we called it in my witchy plane, and I could rock a sequin catsuit like no other. I knew this because a black one was a part of my sexy cat Halloween costume last year, and I raked in more numbers than any of my girlfriends by a long shot.
“I’m not hungry, thank you.” When he didn’t reply, I said, “Don’t you have a king to be escorting me to?” I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin, trying to seem queenly.
A subtle smile played at the edges of his lips as if he sensed queenly was the furthest possibility of how I actually felt. The expression dissolved as quickly as it appeared. He pushed off the carriage, holding out a hand to me, which I begrudgingly took. I tried to hoist myself into it using his hand and the railing, but the damn thing was really high, and unless I hiked up the dress in a very unladylike way, I was going to need more help. Nighval released my hand, gripping my waist with his long fingers and practically shoved me up into the carriage. Momentum tipped me forward, and I stumbled onto the bench, quickly righting myself. How embarrassing. Queens were supposed to be graceful, but I wasn’t off to a great start.
Nighval chuckled as he easily stepped up and seated himself beside me. “You have a waist under all that fabric after all.” He eyed my cream linen shift dress. The eyelet design around the neckline and hem, and the delicate ruffle at the sleeve made it understated in a demure way. Elegant and comfortable—that’s what I was going for. Perhaps, along with exciting makeup choices, the women here also wore wild outfits.
“What is under my clothing is of no concern to you, warlock.” I threaded my fingers on my lap, then turned my head away from him in as haughty a motion as I could muster.
