Snow Heart (8 page)

Alric made no effort to respond—he wouldn’t let Bartolemé know he cared.

“Well,” Bartolemé began to say while lighting the tip of the cig. “Danzig did not in fact die from old age as we assumed. He had been definitely poisoned by someone.”

Alric tilted his head; he liked the idea of someone poisoning Danzig but he didn’t like the idea of Bartolemé accusing him of the crime. Alric did like to enjoy poison as a weapon for his victims but Danzig had been a different case. Danzig was one of the cursed and members of the cursed were not allowed to be killed by Alric.

Thus the purpose of Bartolemé—the cop, the mediator, the judge. He was the one who had to stop Alric’s rage when it was inflicted upon his Court of Cursed-Ones. Bartolemé didn’t like stepping in but it was a part of his existence. It was instincts that pushed him forward into the dealings of Alric. The file seemed endless—broken bones, ruptured ligaments, bruises, concussions. You named it; there was most likely a case that started with the name Alric.

“I want to see the girl,” he said without putting any more effort in Alric’s suspicion. “She will tell me the truth when I ask her.” That was a sign in itself: Bartolemé didn’t trust Wilhelm’s word in fear that he may lie to help Alric.

Alric turned his head to the side, giving Bartolemé a profile of his face, as if insulted by the mere idea. “You wish to interrupt my life with these insolent ideals that I would dare murder my own Court. Now, furthermore, you wish to enter my home?”

Bartolemé closed his eyes. “It’s my job. You know that.”

“Bastard,” Alric said while heading towards the house. “You’ll be the first I kill when that night comes. Prepare for it.”

CHAPTER 9

Nieves stared at Alric at the entrance of the room. She sat calmly at the edge of the bed trying to understand what was going on. A man, draped in an overly large brown overcoat was standing in front of her talking in a gruff voice. She was drowning out his words, not really caring about anything he was saying.

She wanted to know what Alric did with Wilhelm.

“…which shouldn’t be too difficult,” the man said to finish his explanation.

Nieves glowered at Alric. Alric, glowering just as coldly back, lifted the corners of his lips into a faint smile. She knew he was enjoying her fretting.

“Ma’am.” The man stepped forward then kneeled down. “I just need you to tell me where you’ve been all day and what you’ve been doing.”

Nieves finally looked at him—her eyes seemingly dead. “What? You idiot. I’m chained to the bed. Where do you expect me to go?”

His eyes widened—eyes hidden behind his pepper gray eyebrows. He looked to be in his forties as the wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “Chained?” As his eyes wondered around, she lifted her ankle and showed him the thick shackle.

“Alric?” blurted the man kneeling before her.

Alric simply replied in a monotone, “Bartolemé?”

The man named Bartolemé, as Nieves discovered, seemed slightly surprised by the shackle and chain. He hadn’t thought Alric would actually chain a girl to his bed in order to have her close by.

What did this mean, Bartolemé thought to himself.

“Is there a reason she’s chained like this?” asked Bartolemé in his usual gruff, inspector’s voice.

Alric leaned back against the wall, staring at the roof with a bored look upon his face. “She is not a cursed one. I can do with her as I like, Bartolemé. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to kill her just yet.”

Nieves didn’t even flinch. She felt slightly sorry for Alric but she was more concerned about Wilhelm’s condition. “Where is he?” she blurted to Alric, not pulling her eyes away from him. “Where’s Wilhelm?”

“Dead?” questioned Bartolemé. “You wouldn’t dare kill one of your cursed and be so bold as to admit it in front of me, Alric. Where is he really?”

Alric pushed himself off the wall; he hated that Bartolemé had to ruin his fun. “Why the hell would I know that? I do not keep tabs on his presence everywhere that he may decide to go.”

“Alric?” grumbled Bartolemé.

Alric didn’t like being told what to do. “Do you really want to piss me off tonight, Bartolemé? With Danzig gone I’m a little stronger than what I used to be.”

Bartolemé raised his head, tightened his jaw and lifted to his feet. “I don’t know if you poisoned Danzig or not Alric but when I’m through with my investigation be prepared to hear my accusations.”

Alric let a corner of his lip rise into a smile. “I’ll be different by then. I’m sure the snow will have fallen by the time you find your pathetic results.”

Bartolemé gave a light huff. “I really do hope so.” Without further word he headed for the door with his leather brimmed hat in hand. His boots banged across the wooden floors and down the hallway into nothing but a whisper.

“You’re such trouble,” Alric stated. “Turning all of them against me. I had them so easily trained that if I were to bat an eyelash they’d come running to help me. Now, they are all against me. Even the children.”

“Children?”

Alric glowered at her. “Yes. It seems Eliza and Jacob think you’re a princess come to save them. Bitch. How dare you tell them that?”

Nieves shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” she replied, gulping down her fear as he took a step forward. “I do not know who they are. I have never met them. Ask Wilhelm! He was in here when I woke up. Ask him! Take me to him!”

A sudden sharp pain entered Alric’s chest. He took down a breath of air, feeling the sudden energy jolt through his body. “No,” he thought with agony. “No, not another attack. Let me be!”

“Alric?”

He clenched his fists with hatred. She was watching him like it was nothing at all. He hated her because she was perfectly healthy and un-cursed while he suffered from outlandish attacks of pain that left him unconscious for days—months and perhaps even years. He wanted to kill her with all his heart of hearts.

†

Alric took in his first breath for what felt like hours—he couldn’t recall how good air felt until that moment. It burned his lungs like acid but it felt soothing to know he was still alive. The sharp acidic pain melted along his lungs until there was nothing left. Death’s grip finally loosened its hold until he was no longer stranded in the damp darkness. It was the sound of a page turning that pried his eyes open.

“Silly dragon,” Eliza whispered to Alric.

He glowered at her from the corner of his eye. “What are you doing here?”

“A servant heard Nieves scream for help and came running.” Eliza placed her head down onto her folded arms. Jacob, sitting next to her, was engrossed by his book. A book, Alric noted, was something he banned from the grounds of the Macter Land.

Eliza giggled. “Oh, yeah.” She got to her feet, revealing the sleeping Nieves on the floor. She had a thin blanket covering her frail figure. “We couldn’t find the key to let her go.”

Alric sat up, letting the covers roll around his waist. “How did I get here?” He hadn’t expected to be lying in bed. Normally they left him where he fell. His death was their happiness. It would mean the curse would pass on to the next generation.

Jacob looked up from his book and placed it on the floor. Without any effort to make conversation, as usual in front of Alric or anyone else not Eliza, Jacob headed toward the Shoji doors.

Alric gave a glance to Nieves with disgust. That girl, he thought, actually touched him. She had placed her hands on his skin and that action alone made him sick to his stomach. How dare she be so bold as to touch The Head of The Macter Family?

He slid out of bed and padded across the floor to where her sleeping body laid. So many wicked ideas crossed his mind but he didn’t act upon them. He was not entirely in the mood for torture—perhaps later. His body felt drained from the cursed-attack and he’d need time to recover.

“How long are you planning on staring at her?” asked a voice that even sent chills up Alric’s spine. A man more wicked than Alric could ever be—in fact, he was his teacher of the wicked arts in torture.

CHAPTER 10

Zeit held a charming appearance that would lure any unsuspecting victim into his grasp. His empty black eyes had seen more death than any person alive—even more than God himself. Zeit, though he appeared normal on the outside, was something all together evil and demonic. It was why Alric had summoned him as a young teen to teach him the wicked ways of life. Alric wanted to know all the tricks of the trade.

“I’m disappointed,” Zeit muttered under his breath.

Alric sat across the table looking bored as he usually did. “How so?”

Zeit gave his typical smirk and placed his back against the wall. He was never the one to leave his back open for attack. He liked being against a wall—facing the door. Of course, no soul could ever “sneak” up on him. It would just be damn near impossible.

“You were always my favorite student,” Zeit said with a jeering smile. “The only one who was able to take his torture beyond its limits.”

Alric did not give any gesture of reply—his face remained dim and unlighted.

Zeit gave a sigh, leaning back and turning his head to the side. “I guess this is the part where I say, ‘I’ll miss you’ but I’ve never been the type for sappy good-byes. I will admit that I enjoyed laughing at your pain.”

Alric’s lips twitched at the corner just a fraction—a strange sign of a smile arriving. “Is that so?”

Zeit nodded and looked at his accomplished pupil. “Do you feel pain now, Alric? Does your body ache at the thought of advent death that so lurks deeply beside you? Or has this woman in your room taken that feeling away?”

Woman, Alric thought briefly. “Don’t be absurd. She’s my last victim.”

Zeit gave a smile that showed off a row of white teeth. “Good. I want to join you in this adventure of yours. I wish to help you inflict her with sorrow.”

“With all due respect, Zeit, I do not want your help with anything.” Alric rose to his feet, performing the ultimate show of rudeness to Zeit. To think that the Head of The Macter Family left his guest to sit alone was downright disagreeable. That alone was a sign to show he was displeased. It was then the guest’s job to make up for whatever it was that unsettled Alric.

“Leaving,” whispered Zeit, who didn’t care too much for customs.

Alric couldn’t care less about his teacher’s cold wonderings—in fact there wasn’t a bone in his body that felt any emotion at all. Alric was numb to the marrow. “Yes. I am leaving.”

Zeit tried not to laugh—it was too humorous to watch Alric play silent. He said softly, “You were always an entertaining subject. You always try to hide what you feel but I see everything quite clear.”

Alric turned his head. “Then you must know that I wish to kill you.”

“Because I can see the pain in your eyes?” asked Zeit.

He gave a lovely smile—one that was smothered in hate but appeared kind and gentle. “No dear, teacher, I do not know what pain is. I believe you are the one who is really afraid.”

Zeit lost his smile and glittering eyes. “What?”

“Your wife died,” Alric replied. Then, in that moment of silence, he left without another word. The shoji door slid shut behind him as he smirked with the pleasurable thought of Zeit’s inner pain.

†

Alric opened the doors of his room and leaned against the door’s framing. He felt drained by the attack and the visit from his teacher. On top of it all, the snow was coming quite soon and so too was his twenty-first birthday.

“Alric,” Nieves muttered—strangely with relief. She walked to the door as far as the chain would let her go. “I was so worried. Are you feeling alright?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, completely revolted by her “considerate concern”. Alric huffed, walking past her to the shoji doors adjacent to where he had stood. Sleep ached inside his bones but Alric would never give in. There wasn’t a chance he’d let someone think of him as weak. Cold-hearted, yes, but never weak.

Nieves stood awkwardly in the room. It wasn’t until Alric commanded her to close the front door that she found herself useful. She wanted to ask questions about what had occurred but she feared it might have upset Alric.

“Do you know what day it is?” asked Alric in monotone.

Nieves had to think deeply about it. She tried to remember the day she moved to the Macter Land and how long she’d been there. “I think… it’s Monday the twenty-fifth.”