“Not with the blowpipe, Joy. Take me to him, Shew,” Cerené went crazy. “Now!”
“That’s impossible. I can’t really explain right now,” Shew was going to tell her that this was a dream and that she had to wake up from it first. “How can you save him, then?”
“I know his True Name,” Cerené whispered. “He told me that I could stay in the cottage and be safe if I kept his true name a secret in me.”
“Charmwill’s name isn’t Charmwill?” Shew wondered.
“His real name is one of three elements needed for his own Art!” Cerené said. “And his Art can resurrect him.”
“You mean we can resurrect Charmwill Glimmer? That’s great news,” Shew said as the sound of an axe banging against the door horrified her.
The two girls plastered their backs against the wall, flashing their weapons in the dark, no words escaping their mouths.
The same axe came slicing through the cottage’s door again, the crack making way for a thin moonbeam into the room.
“What should we do now?” Cerené held Shew’s hand.
“Don’t worry,” Shew said. “I will take care of you,” she squeezed Cerené’s hand tighter. The hell with Bianca. I will take care of you.
A third hit sliced through the door, enough for Loki’s eyes and nose to show through the crack. He sneered at them, his hair dangling down his eyes.
“Piggy, Piggy!” His voice oozed all kinds of evil. “Come to papa!”
“Moutza!” Cerené took a step forward and waved her hand with an open palm and five stretched fingers at Loki.
Nothing happened. Loki mocked her back with glaring eyes, “Moutza Moutza!” He wiggled his eyebrows.
It seemed like he was spiraling down into madness with each passing moment as Carmilla continued to control his veins with the Fleece.
“What’s happened to you, Loki?” Shew screamed. “You were such a kind young boy!”
“I ate a frog for breakfast,” Loki raised his axe and slammed the door, spitting a frog’s legs from his mouth. “He kept telling me he was a prince, but I didn’t care. Could that be the Loki you want, piggy piggy?”
“You hate frogs!” Shew protested.
“I hate you too, princess,” Loki hit the axe. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wan to eat you alive, piggy.”
“Stop calling us piggies!” Cerené protested, ready to swing with her blowpipe.
“But why? I’m hungry as a wolf,” he yanked a big part of the door away, and stuck his whole head inside the cottage, wiggling his tongue. “If you don’t let me come in, piggies,” he impersonated the wolf in the famous fairy tale, “I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”
Cerené giggled all of a sudden. Loki’s madness amused her.
“Shut up Cerené,” Shew pulled her back.
“Who’s your little piggy friend?” Loki titled his head, flashing his fakest smile, his hair dangling down his forehead.
“She’s the one who created the dragon that kicked your little butt,” Shew answered.
“Is that so?” he said. “Two hearts and livers are always better than one.”
Shew raised her sword and swung hard at his neck. It was time to chop this annoying version of him off.
Loki pulled back immediately, and Shew ended up slicing the air, her eyes finding Cerené’s, who seemed disappointed with her.
“What?” Shew yelled.
“You know what, Joy,” Cerené frowned. “You didn’t swing hard enough at him. You could have chopped his head off if you wanted to.
“Is this what Bianca told you about? Are you in love with the Huntsman?”
“Of course, not,” Shew snapped, pulling Cerené by the hand. “Come here, I’ll prove it to you,” she ran back to one of the windows and pulled out all the logs as she listened to Loki breaking down the cottage’s door.
Shew and Cerené jumped out and ran toward Shew’s unicorn. As they mounted it, Loki had entered and already reached the window.
“Huntsmen!” he screamed from the top of his lungs, summoning them.
Shew didn’t see the dark cloaked Huntsmen with their three eyed unicorns nearby, but she could hear them approaching, shaking the earth underneath her and Cerené. She whipped at her unicorn with her hand and rode away.
37
Soulbound
“Axel,” Fable opened her eyes slowly. Her brother had been feeding her water and Bram Jam—a special and limited Belly and the Beast offer: one Bram Jam, simply a jam and butter sandwich, and a Dracola, the worst fizzy drink in Sorrow because it tasted like blood. You could get a large or medium Dracola. Hell, you can even get it blood-free, but it tastes awful.
“Are you feeling better, sis?” Axel said.
“Yes,” she held his hand to help her stand up. “Much better, thank you for slapping me,” she mocked him.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Axel said, “you were going crazy because of that stupid spell.”