Chrysalis Ch13: Those Who Pursue (pt2) (Patreon)

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           As time wears on to what would be the turning of late night to early dawn, the coloured incandescence of the market fades to the deep dark. One by one, the vendors pack their wares and leave, fading away into the shadows or wandering towards the quiet glow of the Spectral Suites.
           Madeline holds open the doors to the Glade. The last few patrons depart, including Grady with a devastatingly inebriated Cadogan.  They are followed by a pair of trolls, a huddle of nixies, and last and perhaps least… a small Glaistig girl with her stag companion.
           "I’ve got a room out at the hotel,” says the stag.  “Penthouse.  Great view of the sunrise.  Full amenities.  Dryad springs.  The whole monty.”  He leans forward with an impish smile and tugs lightly at her diminutive antlers,  causing her head to bob.  “You should see it.”
           Deirdre let out a bright little laugh, reaching up to wave him off.   “Eff off,”  she says in a tone that mocks injury.  “Keep your mitts to your own antlers boyo.”
           “But yours are so much cuter than mine.”  He says, reaching up and tugging on his own.
           Deirdre smiles at her feet, twisting her hair in her right hand. She hopes her ears don’t look as pink as they feel.  Tiernan and she had fallen in with each other lately.   He insisted on taking her to the Glade of all places, on a VIP night.   Footed the bill, which she hated but couldn’t have afforded even if she wanted.
           “Can’t.  Gotta get on.”  She says, patting her satchel.  “These Mandrakes need to be back in Southwark before the bodega opens at sun up.”
           “Fine thing like yourself?  Leggin all over London?”  Tiernan smirks.
           “Better than some high end tosser lazin about the suites.”
           The two smile at one another.
           Same time tomorrow?”   Tiernan asks in his willowy tenor.   His eyes glitter with merriment and whiskey.
           “Same time tomorrow”  she answers.
           He leans in, kisses her on the cheek, and the heat picks up in her ears again.   With a stupid grin, she tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear and lightly touches the spot where he kissed her.   He gives her a wave back, and she watches as he goes.
           She sighs and looks in her empty bag.   She hadn’t wanted to lie, but…
           “Not yet.”  She affirms to herself.   “Soon, but not yet.  When I’m ready.”  The heat spreads from her ears to her freckled cheeks.

           With that she sets out, a skip to her step as she heads down the dimly-lit passageway. Turning down the nearest corridor, she follows the labyrinth into the market.  Maybe there’s still time to pick up some mandrakes after all.

           As she goes, stray alp-luachra scuttle and rummage among the cobbles in search of scraps.   She stops to watch them, playing and circling one another, a few hungrily gnawing at a bone picked clean.   As she goes to continue, a few cut directly across her path and she nearly falls to avoid stepping on them.
           “OY!” She cries, and clicks her tongue at them. “WOTCH IT.”  To her surprise the little vermin stop and look her way, then raise to their full height as if threatened.   “Don’t get cheeky with me.”  She says in her high voice, then tucks low and says in a soothing tone “Look now. I dinna want you gettin’ caught underhoof.”
           She knew their individual intelligence was specious at best, but hoped the lilting tone of her voice would set them at ease.  It worked with the pigeons at her family’s store.  Surely it would work with them.
           But it doesn’t, and they remain transfixed.  It’s offputting.  She clicks her tongue at them again, and like breaking a spell they chirp and wriggle away, disappearing into the moss cracks and gutters of the alleyway.
           She shakes her head as all goes quiet.  “Daft joint eaters - “

           There’s a footstep.
           Something about it sends a jolt of unease up the knape of her neck.  She turns and looks, but there doesn’t appear to be anything there.   She scans for a bit.  Rubs at her eyes.
           Nothing.
           She pulls her hood down and her ears swivel.   Something felt off… but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.   Her tail tucked up, and her pupils shift and contract, twisting into horizontal bars.
           "Is - is someone there?" She calls, "If some pookah’s hatchin to have a laugh at the green girl of Lambeth, try it.  I'll kick your arse north of Enfield!"

Silence.

           The woman stares for a moment longer, then pulls her hood back up, muttering a curse under her breath.

“Deirdre.”
The woman yelps and recoils, spinning away - and slams face-first into thin air.
           "AH!" Deirdre cries, stumbling back and clutching her nose. Her hoof slips across a particularly slick stone, and she loses her footing.  She falls to the ground hard on her hip.
           Groaning, she picks herself up.
           She casts about furtively. Still no one.  Carefully she approaches the invisible wall she’d run into.  Staring down in confusion, she recognizes a thin line of white crystals glimmering among the moss.  Kneeling down she tries to touch it, but her fingers press firm against the invisible barrier.
           "Salt…?  In the market?”
           Behind her, someone begins to whistle a melody. Sprightly tune, jaunty as it echoes through the abandoned alley.
           Deidre snatches up a loose brick from the edge of the alley, clutching it to her chest and standing to her full height. "Show yourself!" She yells, a slight quiver in her voice. "Or I cin give ye a brick to chew on!"
           The whistling takes on a mocking edge. Deidre wants to be brave, but she instinctively backs away, until she feels her back press against the salt barrier blocking her in.  Her heart picking up, she spins back and heaves the brick at the vague blur.
           Something moves and the brick breaks against the wall.

The whistling stops.

           “Not very good aim for a glaistig.” The speaker says, his voice rich and dark with amusement. “Shame. I was hoping for a more spirited hunt.”
           There’s a clatter against the brickwork, and a moment later a thin, polished rowan cane materializes, set against the wall.  Near to it, a figure clarifies like condensation fading from a window, growing taller and wider, blossoming into a bulky shape swathed in a heavy black cloak. The sheer size of him is enough to block out all remaining light.
           He bows deeply to her, then steps aside, gesturing to the other entrance of the alley.  The figure nods encouragingly back the way she came.  “Why don’t you run along, little beast? Go on.“ He says cajolingly.
           Deidre draws back, her eyes wide and frightened, her back pressed against the invisible barrier.   Then she bursts into sudden, blurred dash. Her robe flies as she darts for the mouth of the alleyway.
          As she passes, she can’t stop herself.  She steals a look at the man’s face.   It’s deep in shadow, except for his mouth, two rows of white glittering teeth. Smirking.  His leg cuts across her path, her delicate legs colliding, her body flying.   She is momentarily airborn, only to come crashing down across the cobbles.   Her cheek scrapes over the stones.
           Groaning she presses herself up. The figure is standing over her, holding something thin and glittering in his heavily-gloved hands. She can just see the faintest hint of a cold, cruel smile.
           “Best keep your eyes and wits about you, clumsy thing that you are.”
           He tosses the object at her, and without thinking Deidre catches it.  The moment it touches her skin, a gust of cold wind peels her hood back and sets her hair fluttering. The world shivers and groans as the gale strips away its color. It passes and the world settles.  Objects grow wispy, walls ripple, everything warps just enough to appear off.
           Deidre lets out a soft, pained whine, looks down at what she's holding.  It’s a shard of glass, jagged and crisscrossed with a spiderweb of cracks.  She drops it as if it were burning, and bolts down the street.  Despite no longer holding the glass, the color does not return to the world.
           Moving with deliberate patience, the cloaked man peels his gloves off, picks up his cane, and reaches down for the shard of glass.

The whistling starts up again.

           Deirdre makes it back to the Glade, and her heart soars as she sees Madeline on the doorstep. The brownie’s face is drawn and distant in its usual way as she sweeps at the worn stone steps. Deirdre races toward her.
           “Madeline!”  Deirdre calls out to her “Madeline I think someone’s coming for me!   P-Please let me hide inside for-”
           But Madeline doesn’t look up. Instead, she shoulders her broom and crosses the threshold, closing the door just as Deirdre reaches it.
           Gripping the handle she tries to open it, but the door won’t budge.   Won’t move at all, as though it’s frozen in place.   Panicked, she chances a glance behind her.   No sign of the man, but a telltale shimmer glitters on her periphery.  She hammers frantically at the doors, but her blows feel distorted and distant, like she’s hearing them from a long way off. She steps back, looking up at the Glade in horror.  Colorless,  it moves like she’s looking at it through slowly-moving water.
           But the whistling, that she can hear loud and clear.
           “LET ME IN!” Deirdre cries desperately, striking the doors one last time with her fist.

           “She can’t hear you, dear heart. She can’t even touch you.  We’re already halfway to my doorstep.”

           The voice chuckles as Deidre spins around. Wood clatters over the stones, the sound of a cane being trailed carelessly along in someone’s wake. A faint blur passes over the flickering torches.  Deidre growls, then leaps over the railing by the Glade entryway and bounds down the street.
         The whistling chases her through the halls. Never far enough away, always within reach of her. She passes straggling customers and vendors closing for the night. None of them turn to look at her as she flees. No one even notices. The closest ones ripple as she tears past, watery reflections disturbed by a strong wind. Deirdre sobs for breath.  The exit from to the Spectral Suites was a long way off, but maybe...

           She can hide. She can wait for the hunter to pass, find her way out of the Market, undo -
           Her leg catches in something.

           She topples with a horrified scream, clutching at her ankle as a blazing pain shoots up her ankle. A snare.  She’s caught in a snare.  
          Reaching down she frantically scrabbles to try and free herself, but her fingers smoke and burn, and she sobs as she claws at the knot. It glitters in the dim light.   Someone’s woven shimmering iron threads through the rope. She looks up through her own tears desperate for help.  A robed creature pushing a wheelbarrow unconsciously sidesteps her as she thrashes on the ground.

           The whistling grows louder as she tries and fails to escape, trying to stand but stumbling and falling again, desperate to get away from this man.   She just can’t get a good grip on the rope.   Tears stream down her cheeks, and she breaks out into a little hiccupping sob as she looks desperately around for something to cut herself free.

           Nearby, the whistling dissolves into a voice thick with mirth.  "My, my. Trying to leave just as you’ve reached my threshold? And when I’ve invited you in so kindly?  Where are your fae manners?" The cane clatters out of nowhere, rolling along the cobbles to stop a few feet away from her. The hunter emerges from the colourless mists, drawing inexorably closer until he crouches down and takes up the cord at her feet. He regards it, appreciating the craftsmanship, before casually wrapping it around his wrist.

           His bare wrist.

           Deidre freezes, her eyes widening through the pain and fear. "...y-you're not..."
           “Not what?” The hunter chuckles, “a delicious little beastie like yourself?”  He reaches into his pocket and comes out with a handful of glass shards.  “No, I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”
           He casts the shards against the wall. They twist and scrape together, coalescing into a sharp-edged shimmering oval. Satisfied, he turns to her and bows with a flourish.  “Alastor. O’Reilly, at your service.  Let me invite you in for a while.  That cheek needs tending to.”
           Deidre’s paralysis breaks, and she twists, clutching at the cobbles as he starts to drag her closer. The corridor is slowly emptying out, the last few shopkeepers going their separate ways. Deirdre screams as loud as she can, tears streaming down her face, stinging the wound on her cheek.  "W-wait! NO! PLEASE - "
           She feels something cold press against the back of her neck, flat and spherical, like a coin.   Then it clicks, and something metallic snaps and vines around her face, obscuring the lower half and silencing her.
           “Mmmph!!”
           "Don't you worry, little one. You look spirited. I expect you’ll last much longer than my previous guest.”   Alastor says, grabbing her up and slinging her writhing body over his shoulder.  "You’ll be a lovely warm-up for the main event, as it were."
           “Nmmm!!!”
           He hesitates just a moment, crossing his good fortune across his chest.  Then, with struggling girl in hand, leans down to snatch up his cane, and steps through. The silvery portal swallows them both up with barely a ripple. Then, having accepted them in, the bright surface flickers and winks out, mirror tumbling to the ground in a pile of dull shards.

Like it was never there.


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Be sure to check in Friday May 6th to read
Ch14: Glass Cages (pt1)