Chrysalis Ch22: Piercing Blue (pt2) (Patreon)

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"S-Spence…?"
         L’s antennae shoot up bolt-stiff, breath finally returning to her as she steps away from him.
         Away from it.  The… shrine.
         The closet. The cubby. The nest. Like the one she built in the Glade’s storage-  No. Nothing like what she’d made from Trystan’s supply closet. This is elaborate, controlled, deliberate. Dried herbs and flower petals wound in the heather, rosemary lavender and lemon balm. Dolls and lanterns and her, outlined in pins.

“You find it that breathtaking? Heh. Heheh. That’s good, that’s excellent!” Spencers giggles, clapping to himself. “I know this is such an important part of the Keeping! I was worried it wouldn’t be enough, that- L!”
         The nymph’s feet snag on the fallen blanket as she collapses into a shelf. She stares at the cases near her: butterflies of bright reds and greens, moths with storm-grey wings. Each frozen precisely in place.
         She feels a hand on her shoulder and she jerks, pulling away. “D-dont!”
         “Darling, relax! It’s just me!” Spencer’s asks, confused.  L looks… horrified, eyes locked on the posters. “What’s gotten into you?”
         “Gotten into me?” L swallows, her throat dry. “Spencer, w-what the fuck is this?!”
         Outside, thunder rolls.
         For a single moment, Spencer Harcourt's expression is vacant. Those piercing blue eyes of his gone dull. But then, like the rest of his face, his eyes curl and brighten.
         A single chuckle escapes his lips and fades into the room's stale air. "Hah. Hahahah. Hahahahahahahahahaha."
         L watches, her breath tight. Spencer tries to hold his laughter, but can’t.
         "You... heheheheh... did you just… hahahahahahah!"
         “Spencer?”
         “You totally had me, heheheheh,” Spencer’s  face is illuminated by a flash of lightning. “That’s pretty good, pretending you don’t know-”
         “Spence, you’re… you’re scaring me.”
         “Darling, darling! Heheheheh, you can drop the act!  I know you're joking.”
         “Joke?” L looks down.  She can’t bring herself to look at the nest. “Spencer, don’t tell me this is your idea of a joke.  Some sort of… elaborate prank on me because I’m a nymph?”
         “Of course not! Why would… is it not up to standard?” Spencer takes a step closer, “L, I’m a bloody diplomat! I’d never make a joke of your heritage, never trample on protocol as basic as hospitality-”
         Hair spring up on the back of her neck. “Okay enough already.  You need to tell me what this is about. Right. Now.”
         “Darling, we’re not playing anymore!  I get that I’m human, but this is genuinely, absolutely, one-hundred-percent the real deal! I’m making a serious offer-”
        “An offer of what?”
         “What do you mean, ‘what?’ For chrissakes, you know ‘what,’ you’re a NYMPH! This is your thing!”
         Her heart freezes in her chest. “Spencer, I didn’t ask for this”
         “You didn’t have to!” Spencer’s face is stiff and red. “I… I d-did my research after we met! I’ve been d-d-doing everything I can to make this as ac-c-curate as-”
         “Research? Spencer that looks like…  that looks like a f-fucking stalker shrine!”
         L looks hopefully to his face, desperate for some kind of understanding.  But his expression is pure confusion. “To a human, sure, but I’m not tr-trying to K-Keep a human, am I? How else would I c-c-court you? By sp-sp-sprouting leaves and branches?”
         L forces herself to meet his eyes. Wild. Filled with a light she hasn’t seen since that first time in the unseelie quarter.
         “P-P-Perhaps…” Spencer swallows, desperately trying to catch his stutter. “L, I want you to feel comfortable. I want us to do this the right way. This has all b-been an o-offer… to be your K-Keeper. Heheh. I hope it’s not strange to say ‘Congratulations.’”
         The words travel into her consciousness in warm, chirpy tones, and finally something inside her opens. Pieces fall into place.

         “It’s not weird that the dress is white, issit?”
“Why does this Hospitality stuff matter?
“They don’t actually wear this at Court, do they?”

“A beauty to watch.”

“Tradition. I’m to be your host, right? You have to accept my invitation.”
“The Dryads have few inhibitions. They don’t share our system’s limits.”
“She needs gifts, Spencer, she needs to see you’re capable, in control.”

“A beauty to love.”

“Why did you answer my call? Why are we going on a date in the first place?”
“Because you’re different.”
“I feel real with you. I can be honest without it coming back to bite me.”
“You could feel honest and safe with any girl. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Not quite. Not quite, and we both know why.”
“That bug collection won’t add to itself.”

“A beauty to Keep.”

         The sounds of raindrops drill into her ears. The blanket’s softness curls around her toes. Her face has gone pale. It feels like she’s seeing Spencer, the real Spencer, for the first time.
         “You… you want to ‘Keep’ me?”
         Spencer’s brow curls in puzzlement.“Heh, well, you make it sound so simple, but… yes. I want us to be in union. To perform the Rite.  The whole thing, as close as I can get to the real thing. I want our wills to merge into one.”
         L looks at him as if he’s sprouted modest sphinx wings and flown out the window.
         Spencer grimaces. “I-I know. The Rite’s magic… normally you could only pair with Dryads.  But…!  B-but I’ve got a way around that!”
         Her antennae bob fitfully.
         “I’ve got all the ingredients. I’ve learned all the rituals! We can have our very own Rite of Keeping, an exchange of blood and flesh, no different from the real thing!”
         L presses back against the wall. Words finally return to her
         “Spencer, what…? Please just…  please stop.   Can we j-just, go back out to the kitchen?  Or maybe outside?  I need some air I… I need to clear my head.  This is all just… it’s a lot to take in.”
         Spencer pauses, considering.   Whether or not he realizes it, he steps between her and the exit. “L, just breathe.   You’re safe here.  You don’t have to run away anymore.  I’m sure being a shorn has been difficult, but I understand.  I know you’re not like the other girls-”
         “Stop!”  She snaps and pulls away.  “Don’t… don’t say that.   I might be a bit different but I’m not some bloody-”
         “But this is what you’ve been looking for! Sure, we were playing at dating, but I know how Nymphs are biologically wired. And even if you didn’t… totally realize what you were doing, your body must have known.  It’s natural for you!  Why else would you so eagerly agree to every step of the process?”
         “I was ready to sleep with you!”  She growls, stepping forward.  But he remains unmoved.  Instead, he moves towards her.
         “It must’ve been hard, all those years in my world without anyone to be Kept by,” every step he takes backs her towards the nest.  She can’t help but stumble back. “Stuffed into hoodies and binders and dingy bars, scraping for a life in box after box-”
         “Spencer, don’t…” L stumbles until she hits a wall, painfully aware it’s plastered with posters of HER as the MP’s hand pins her in place.
         She’s cornered.
         "But that all ends here, that all ends now! No more scraping, no more hiding! We’ll be real. Ourselves. We’re going to soar, together. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.”
         “Spence-” she whispers, going rigid.
         “Isn’t this what you wanted? Didn’t you tell me to not hide? Didn’t you want to leave your box and see all the world had to offer?”
         Half a dozen stories run through L’s mind. Fairy tales of enterprising youths and clever farmers taking possession of Selkie sealskins, or swan feathers, or jackal hides.  Locking them, and the fae they belong to, away into their possession.
         The MP’s read them, too. And there’s a gnawing thought that there's some darker truth behind them, some thread of fae culture that he knows and she doesn’t…
         Her wings shoot straight and back. Her brow furrows in anger. Her tiny hands ball into fists. “You want to take me as a FAIRY BRIDE!?”
         “Yes! Exactly, you get it!” He sighs in relief. “Now, the marriage itself will have to wait. I wanted your input, and we’ll need to plan, but we can perform the Rite whenever-”
         “Were you planning to fucking ask!?” she snaps in anger.
         Spencer curls back. “Wh-why would I ask?”
         “Because otherwise this is a kidnapping!”
         Spencer giggles nervously.  “It’s not a kidnapping, it’s custom!  L I know this is new to you, but I’ve been going through all the traditions, step by step.  And knowingly or not you’ve gladly followed each and every one!”
         “How!?” She tries to push away from him, but he only presses her closer.
         “By wearing the presented dress? By taking each of my gifts? By telling me, again and again and again, that you didn’t want to take it slow, that you were absolutely ready? Christ, L, you willingly, enthusiastically, crossed my threshold! You’ve basically fucking proposed!”
Damn it. Damn it damn it goddamn it all! Of course she did. Why hadn’t she fucking asked Madeline, Trystan, anyone!? She tries to peer at his face, but her vision is a swirl of dark colours. “Heh.”
         “L,” Spencer’s smile fades. “I don’t understand your fuss. Why-”
         “Heheheh,” she swallows desperately, her body shaking. “HehehahahaHAHAH!”
         “D-darling, this isn’t a joke! I t-told you, I’m b-being serious-”
         “HAHAHAHAHAH!” She laughs, tears in her eyes, as hysterical laughter overtakes her.  She struggles to get her words out.  “Please, heheheheh, please stop, hahahahah! This is… this can’t…!”
         “No, no, n-no,” Spencer’s hands start clawing through his hair, his stutter returning. “D-d-darling, what haven’t I d-done right?”
         But she’s laughing too hard to get a word out.
         “Is it b-b-because I’m human? D-Do you have a p-pr-problem with that?”
         Something about this only makes her laugh harder.
         “Th-that’s it isn’t it?” Spencer’s entire body fidgets with twitchy energy. “B-b-but we c-can get past that I p-p-p-promise.  P-p-please st-stop laughing. I t-t-trust you, I’m showing you who I really am-”
         She forces enough control to gasp out a few words. “P-please let th-this go b-back to a normal date-”
         “What about this isn’t n-n-normal? This is what you t-t-told me you wanted!”
         “Are you C-CRAZY!?” She asks, her laughter finally subsiding. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD I WANT THIS!?”
         “L, L, L, please, p-please d-d-don’t be mad!” Spencer grabs her bare shoulder, tightly. “You’re n-n-not sup-p-posed to be upset! You’re supposed to understand, you’re supposed to be d-d-different, you’re supposed to g-give me a chance-”
         She looks up into his eyes, those blue blue eyes.   Pupils still dilated from the cocaine.   Desperate.   Looking to her to give him the go ahead.
         “I’m leaving.”  She says, and goes to push past him.
         “NO!” He cries.  He grabs her and slams her back against the wall.   His grip tightens, matted in sweat, his rings leaving indents on her skin. “P-pl-please, j-just t-t-trust me I kn-know you want this.  Y-you’re s-scared but d-d-don’t fly away-”  She’s just scared.  He knows she’s scared. He can feel her trembling.
         “I want to go home.” she rasps.
         “We’re meant to be.” He breathes raggedly. “D-d-don’t run. I… I t-t-told you everything, and if you d-don’t understand I c-c-can-”
         L blinks the tears away.   “Spencer-”
         “B-but I NEED you!   Y-y-you’re supposed to b-be different!  Y-y-you’re supposed to understand.  B-b-but if you go n-now like th-this you’ll t-t-tell everyone that…”  He screws up his face, putting his own pieces together  “You’ll scream and lie and c-cry and t-t-tell them that I’m a f-freak, that I’m c-c-c-creepy, th-that I’m a p-p-pathetic b-b-but I’m NOT.   W-w-we just need to do the ritual w-w-we just need to and you’ll-”
         “Stop!” she begs.  “Spencer j-just stop!”
         “I’m not like that!” His eyes are bright, but not directed at her. “It’s not t-true! They don’t want to see! But you’re n-not like them! You want to be K-Kept, and Kepts want to be loved! But… you w-won’t… I c-c-can’t… I…”
         She watches his face turn vacant again.  He doesn’t release her. A moment later, his terrified face bends into a playful smile.
         “Spencer?” she whimpers.
         “... Heh. Heheheheh. M-my bad, d-d-darling. I… I overreacted.” He clears his throat. “Sometimes I just get nervous…”
         L tries to pull free again. “Spencer, please, it’s okay, I just need you to-”
         “This is a nymph thing, right? The Sh-Shorns play hard to get?” He finally meets her eyes, his smile beaming. “You’re not really trying to run away! Y-You aren’t like them, it wouldn’t make sense! I’m just forgetting a part of the protocol!”
         His breath is hot from excitement, hers cold from terror. “What!? NO! Spence-”
         “Sorry, darling. My bad! Of course the offer isn’t enough! You can’t just make a nest and expect a nymph to leap into your arms! They want to feel taken. Heheh, they want to be conquered.”
         “C-conquered?” L’s voice barely comes out as a whisper.
         “We can’t do a real hunt, heheheh, not in London, but I could chase you around! Would that feel better, would that make you happy?”
         “Spencer, I just wanna go home-”
         “Yes darling, that’s the act, that’s the part! You’re supposed to fight back, to try and flee, and I’m supposed to catch you! It’s… still going to plan. It’s all going to plan, Spence.” He chuckles. “I might need a moment to grab my gear-”
         “GEAR?  Spence!” she cries, panic rising in her voice. “I’m not lying, this isn’t a game!”
         “Of course not, darling! I know how thrilling the Wilds can be! I promise, I’ll give you such a good chase, you’ll think it’s real.”
         Without missing a beat, without a chance for her reply, he slams his lips into hers.
         It all happens too quickly. Her wings ignite in frightened fluttering, her cheeks grow warm as he pushes her against the glass and wood, nails clawing into his suit. Spencer pushes deeply into her, until eventually L pushes him away, gasping for air.
         L’s heart throbs, her thoughts muddled by horror. Spencer wipes his grinning lips, his voice desperate. “See!? Aren’t we having fun!?”
         He charges at her again, a hungry blaze in his eyes.
         Instinct pushes L forward, and she ducks just out of his grip and bolts down the maze of his collection. She hears Spencer’s cry and crash into the floor.
         “L!”
         “Get away from me!” L's cries behind her, running headlong into one of the cases.   The glass cracks.
         “D-Darling! A-are you okay-?”
         She sees him coming, looks at the display case still wobbling, looks at the red welt already forming on her shoulder.   Turning she grips the case and pulls, and turns to run hearing the chorus of the shattering display behind her.
         She stops for a moment, peering through shelves of scarab beetles and fire ants. “This is a mistake! I’m a retainer of the King of the Market! She’ll see this as you trying to take her things and unlike some MPs she can’t be bought with bloody champagne!”
         She’s built enough momentum. Her wings flare out, and with a push she propels herself up and into the air of the vaulted room.  After gaining enough height she alights on a cabinet, her heart pounding through her chest as the structure wobbles.
         “Do I know!? Darling, I’m her diplomat!” Spencer’s body slides into view, eyes bright with joy, and something in his hands.  L’s heart freezes.
         The net launcher.
         “She’ll put your bloody skull on a shelf!”  L says, creeping further back from the edge of the cabine.   The structure wobbles and she holds her breath. The wood’s not made for this.
Good. That gives her a chance.
          L glares at the cabinet’s edge, waiting for him. Her hands are shaking, antennae twitching. She starts searching for other perches. The alcove is too far, the window too small, but… Fuck. She’ll only get one shot!
Wait. There’s a slender lamp above her. Not sturdy, not strong, and its metallic fixture already makes her skin prickle. But it’s enough.
         She hears his ragged breath from behind, level with hers. “Darling, do we have to play like this? You’re making a mess! Are you trying to make me mad?”
Now.
         L hops to the lamp, and kicks off the shelf. With a final, slow lurch, it tumbles to the floor with a screaming Spencer. Wood shatters, spilling placards and pins and scarabs. The light L grapples onto snaps shortly after, but she’s already in flight, hurling the fixture back towards the MP, her hands stinging with the cold.
         “No need! You’re the one who likes chasing bugs!” she howls. The nymph doesn’t waste any time, diving for the wooden double-doors they came through-
Beep.
FWOOMP! L feels thick nylon coils wrap painfully around her legs. Little spherical weights ring in her ears, immediately throwing her off course. She haphazardly crashes into the library. The momentum slams the doors shut behind her.
         “Fuck!” she curses under breath, wrapping her fingers around the coils. The storm is louder now, joining the roar of the fire, her hurried breaths.
         Spencer emerges from the debris, bleeding from some glass shard lodged into his right cheek, net launcher in hand.   His smile never wavers as he stands over her, grinning.
         “Heheheh, nothing but net! Here I thought bringing weapons would be a bit overkill, but you’re, hehehe, pretty serious about this! Sit tight, stay comfortable, I’m gonna grab something, heheheh, a bit more proper...”
         L watches him with half shock, half bafflement, as the MP winks at her, then turns and runs back into the bug collection, door swinging closed behind him.
         Shaking her head she snaps herself out of it.   Whatever he’s planning, she has no intention of sticking around to find out.  L tugs at the rope, gritting her teeth. He could come out at any moment, she doesn’t have time for this, she needs to plan. With the storm, flying’s out, and those iron gates would be a bitch to climb-
         “Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” she squeals as ropeburn singes her palms. She doesn’t have time. She needs to cut it. Her hand flings into her hair, searching for her pin. Where is it? Where is it? Did he steal-
         Her breath hitches. L clasps the butterfly brooch on her shoulder, unfurling it. Her dress peels partly away, revealing a lot of her chest, but there are much bigger issues right now. L thrusts the tiny pinprick into the snare, relieved to see rogue strands snap with each swipe.
         “C’mon…” she whispers to herself. Her leg can’t make room for the brooch’s blade, but she cuts anyway, wincing at the trickle of blood. “C’mon… come fucking on!”
Snap!
         Her breath relaxes with the ropes. She wiggles her legs free and springs to her feet, retreating in hurried steps from the door. There’s still no movement. Is she safe? Is he gone?
         The fierce wave of rainwater soothes into a strident pattern. Painted blue eyes of two dozen Harcourts stare down at her. L gulps down her dizziness, slamming the brooch back into place. She tries to take in her surroundings. Where’s the entranceway? Down the one hall to the right, and then… was it a right or a left? She’s not sure.
         Spencer’s house is so large, she might literally get lost inside.
         But the exit isn’t here. The nymph gives a final glance to the door, and jogs through the hall. She absentmindedly leaps over the discarded bronze ‘mask’, mind focused on her escape-
BWAAAAAAAAA!
         L’s antennae jolt upright, her ears ringing to the loud, painful blares of bugles and war-drums. A military march surges through the library’s speakers. She covers her ears, screaming in fright, and charges mindlessly into a shadowy figure.
         Her antennae only read the man when they collide. Wet fabric. Cigar-clogged scent. Rubber boots. The leather traces of a steering wheel.
         There’s a brief lull in the music as thick fingers curl around her head. “All alone, girl?” a deep voice asks. ‘At’s no good. Bit dangerous for a Kept.”
         She stares into Reg’s face as he grasps her and pulls her into the shelves.
She forgot the driver.
         "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!-"
“WIE OFT SIND WIR GESCHRITTEN!”
         The German chant blares so loud that the windows rattle and books shake and fall around them. L claws desperately behind her, knocking heavy volumes askew with hapless kicks. She’s blinking back tears, panicking against the pressure of his grip.
“AUF SCHMALEM NEGERPFAD!”
         Reg growls as he squeezes tighter. He pushes harder when she grabs for the shelf. He shouts something at her, but it’s lost in the mind-destroying music.
         “WOHL DURCH DER WÜSTE MITTEN!”
         She starts grabbing books and throwing them with abandon. They bounce mindlessly off his shoulder until she finds one that’s very large and very thick. Yes. She turns and aims.
         “LET ME-”
         “WENN FRÜH DEN MORGEN NAHT!”
         “GO!”
         The spine slams right into Reg’s throat. L pries loose from his grip and springs from his chest, but he recovers too quickly. A hand curls around her ankle. She crashes to the ground.
         “WIE LAUSCHTEN WIR DEM KLANGE!”
         L swallows the copper taste in her throat. She can already feel Reg pulling her back. She scrambles for a weapon, leverage, anything at all.
         Her hand closes around cold, heavy bronze.
“DEM ALTVERTRAUTEN SANGE!”
         She slams the copper mask into Reg’s face with a fierce, metallic clang. Red splatters her white dress as the driver lurches into a shelf. The helm drops heavily at his feet as ancient colonial ledgers fall over him.
         No catching her breath this time. L bolts ahead. Her stomach twists, her mind dwindles, her ears still rock in pain from the music. It’s almost loud enough to drown out the crack as the far library door is kicked open. Almost loud enough to hold back the roaring laughter.
         “DER TRÄGER UND ASKARI!”
         L looks back, and nearly loses her stomach.
         Spencer is taking ragged breaths, trembling with excitement. The suit, the cravat, the suede; all gone, replaced by dusty khakis and a dull beige uniform. He’s fixed a large conical hat just above a deep red cut on his forehead.
         His eyes catch hers, gleaming no less brightly than the steel barrel in his hands.
         The barrel of a massive, scoped rifle.
         With a smile on his lips, Spencer heaves the gun forward and shouts with the song: “HEIA! HEIA SAFARI!”
         He opens fire to the drum’s final beat.
         L pounces away as a high-calibre bullet demolishes the wood behind her. She jumps over Reg’s bleeding, unconscious body and starts whirring through the shelves, screaming in utter panic.

“You were playing so rough, darling!” Spencer bursts into laughter. “I had to match!”
         “SPENCER! OH MY GOD!!” She flits forward, sobbing. her head swimming. The gunshot still rings in her eardrums. “Oh my God, please stop. PLEASE STOP!!”
         “Keep screaming, darling! You’re doing great!” Spencer shouts in the distance, loading another cartridge. “I know it’s pretend, but I can’t even tell! HAHAHAHAH!!”
         L runs and runs and runs. Tears fall freely down her cheeks. KPOW! The bullet ricochets off the wall, joined by Spencer’s hoot and hollers.
         L staggers left, turns right, her mind going dizzy, her world swirling- The windows. There's still the windows, their heavy glass panes dotted with raindrops. She dashes for the wall, her fingers digging at the frame.
         “Hnnnnhhh come on come on comeoncomeonnnn-”
         "Little moooooooth! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" He doesn’t sound like a socialite. He doesn’t sound like a politician. He sounds like a child, a delighted boy. “We’re playing chase, little fairy, not hide-and-seek! Now’s not the time for making shoes and sipping wiiiiiiine~”
         L ignores his taunts, her focus sinking into her arms. She grunts and wheezes over the window, wings fluttering against her back, until she spots the bronze lock nestled just above her head. Of fucking course-
         She grins as she pulls it askew, the pane lurching upwards with a heave. She breathes in the cold, rain filled air, her face lifting in excitement. Quickly, she reaches a hand through-
         Her antennae prickle. She hears the beep of the remote, the click of hidden winches, the crackle of unseen gears. A sharp scent pierces right through her heart.
         It is so, so familiar.
         L leaps back from the window just before the iron bars slam into the sill where her fingers laid seconds before.  The clang is joined by a throng of others as one by one, each of the windows bar her escape.
         Another click. She dives in a screaming burst, her senses flooded with the scent of gunpowder as plaster rains over her head. She swerves into a bookshelf, wings spurring light paperbacks across the floor.
         “L, please, fly straight!” Spencer giggles. “I don’t want to hit you by accident!”
         "DON'T DO THIS!" She swoops around, searching the room. Even the skylights are barred.
         “Ohhhh, yes, darling, do you like the windows!? I just had them installed!”
         “I wanna leave! Let me go home!”  She lands on the floor, goosebumps crawling over her skin. Iron’s chill stinging her throat.
         Spencer bounds across the carpet after her. “Isn’t this a great game!? Aren’t I giving you a good scare? You seem so terrified, you must be having so much fun!”
         "Please!" L huddles away from him, backing towards the fireplace, wrapping her arms around herself. There's another stab of cold beneath the fire’s heat. L twitches her arm away from the source - an iron poker, hanging by the grate. She looks up, watching Spencer with the intensity of a cornered animal. His grin is wider than ever before.
         “Spence, no games, please, please, please! Just let me go back! I-I won’t tell anyone, I won’t run away! I’ll go on another date, I’ll give you a chance!”
         “Oh, it’s great to hear you say that!” He doesn’t point the rifle at her. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d be so much more at ease if we made sure!”
         “I’ll come right back!” she begs. “I just need a week, a day, an hour to get ready! Then I’ll do anything you want! Please!”
         “Oh, heh, darling, I already know that. But we’ve gotta do the Rite first, don’t we?”
         Her antennae twitch. She’s bought enough time.
         “No need to grab something from home, little moth, I’ve got everything we need prepared-”
         Before the last word leaves his mouth, she's moving. L grabs hold of the burning log and hurls it across the room.   The hot ember seers her flesh like the coldest iron but it’s enough, it explodes and breaks apart sending burning flames amongst the archaic bookshelves.
         “L, NO! DON’T TOUCH - AH!” KPOW! Rogue embers scatter across Spencer’s sleeves, his hat, his skin, and he fires the gun in a panic. More glass shatters around them.
         L pulls in her wings as she throws herself back into the shelves. She’s bought herself time, a couple seconds, but she’ll need more. She can already hear him reloading the gun.
         “Darling! Don’t be waving that stuff around! Someone could get hurt!”
         The nymph starts scrambling up shelves like ladders. She can already see some of the shelving catch.  She winces through the stinging blisters already on her palms and scans the ceiling. Her eyes freeze on the speaker just above her head, still blaring that sweeping German chorus.
         L flies forward and slams her foot through. Once. Twice. It gives a horrific blurt of static before going relievingly silent. She breathes, allows herself a moment to think…
         “L! STOP!” L clambers up the speaker’s frame, baring down at eyes of piercing blue. “That’s expensive stuff, you can’t freak out on it! Do I have to call a timeout-”
         A new whine interrupts his words, only a hair less piercing than the roaring trumpets. BEEPbeepBEEPbeepBEEPbeepBEEPbeepBEEP.
The smoke alarms.
         Spencer’s face curls, a mix of shock and pain. L falls to the ground while he’s distracted and bursts into the hallway. She tucks her head down and sprints. Past thick leather couches, past black marble counters, past the ornate mahogany tables. Sprinting for the front door she finds, right ahead. The rain, the cold air, her freedom, it’s all so close, just a few more steps, she’s almost-
         Her feet stop. Her arms hang taut in the air. She stares in fright at the open door-frame. She can feel the stormy air, taste the wet concrete, so close that she could simply reach out.
So why can’t she move her arm? Why aren’t her feet propelling her forward?
         Why is she standing exactly at the door frame, her body frozen in place?
         L retreats, collapsing into the foyer as gravity returns. She scrambles to her knees, stretches a hand forward, watches as the muscles pause and atrophy. It feels less like the static wall of the salt barrier, more like wading through an impossibly thick tar. She strains forward with all her might, frustrated tears streaming down her face.
         It doesn’t work. She cannot cross his threshold.
         The fire alarm falls silent.
         No. No, no, no. This is not happening, this cannot be real, was this the fucking ‘Hospitality’ Spencer was so excited about!? L tries to force her way through, meeting the same murky, stilling resistance. She pulls back with a cry.
         How is she supposed to leave? What the fuck is she supposed to do? Panic wrenches her stomach, clouds her antennae. She needs to think, but she can’t. She needs to run, but it won’t-
         The MP thunders down the hallway, skidding into a wall. He’s almost here. There's no time. She can't get out. There's no fucking time.
         With a thin, panicked whine, L ducks back into the living room, cowering behind the massive wine rack. Wings fold over her head and arms.
         “Little moth? What did I tell you about hiding away?” Footsteps follow a few seconds later. Spencer is out of breath when he finally shuts off the music. His voice carries across the walls. “Don’t worry about the speaker. I’m too in love to be mad!”
         L clamps a hand over her mouth, squeezing her teary eyes shut.
         “Are you ready for our future? I’ll admit, I’ve been dreaming of it for a while. My very own Nymph, my very own Kept, who could resist!? For years I thought it was just a fantasy. I still can’t believe you answered my call, accepted my invitation! Think about it, darling! Just think.”
         L has been thinking about it. Thinking and thinking and thinking. It makes her want to scream.
         “We’ll live a life you could only dream of! No more gaping at auction house artefacts! I’ll make sure you have the best of everything. You’ll be the happiest nymph in the whole world!”
         Spencer pulls the rifle’s lever.
         “You’ll give me a chance. You’ll see how much I love you! You’ll understand. And then we can be ourselves! No sad Spence, no boxed-in L! We’ll soar higher with each passing day! Two spirits in a single, perfect union!”
         Her antennae can taste the salt of the tears streaming down her cheeks.
         “I’m not going to treat you like those tyrants in Fhásach Dorcha! You’ll be taken care of! Wanna sing? I’ll have you on Royal Albert, fucking Broadway! Wanna fly? I can take you to the Alps, South Africa, Maui! You can fly above the best of Earth’s beauty! Wouldn’t you like that?”
         There’s a halt in his steps, a pause in her breath.
         “... Wouldn’t you like that?”
BLAM!
         She can’t hold back the scream. Spencer’s shot shatters through the rack. Rivers of merlot and chardonnay spray the walls and stain her dress.
         “There you are!” Spencer sprints after her and clutches hold of her wrist.
         “Let me go!” she shouts, uselessly pulling to break free.   Frustrated, she bites down into his arm.
         With a hiss he releases her, but kicks her so she slams into the corner.  “Hey! Hey!” He shoves his rifle forward, slamming her into the wall. “It’s just a game, it’s no excuse to go all ‘Wilds’ on me!”
         “This is wrong!” She cries, rivulets of tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.  “This is-”
         “RAGH!” Spencer uses the gun to pin her place. A long line of steel is only inches away. “Darling, could you hold back on the whole ‘this isn’t right,’ angle? It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.”
         “S-Spence!!” She says, wincing and standing stiffly upright, her skin prickling at the iron only centimeters away.
         “Like, I know you’re, heh, thinking on the fly, pun intended, but I’m starting to worry that you actually think I’m a villain.”
         She stares at him in bewilderment. “Spencer!” She chokes out a sob. “I’m.. I’m scared!”
         “Awww, thank you! I’m glad to impress!”
         L breaks into more heaving sobs “I don’t want to be your bride. I’m not ready to-”
         “Oh, shhh, it’s okay, darling. I’d be scared, too. But you are ready, I promise!” He giggles, rolling his eyes. “Most nymphs are already Kept by your age, that’s why I had such a hard time finding one,”
         “It’s kidnapping.” she whimpers.
         “To an Annwyner, sure. Those Groves and dryads seem like nightmares. But I don’t want nightmares. I want happiness! So I’ll treat you right, I’ll be the best Keeper you could ever hope to find!”
         L can only sob as she pushes deeper into the wall. Spencer leans closer, his lips brushing softly against her cheek. He whispers into her ear.
         “I won’t ask for a thing, I promise. We’ll move at your pace, no pressure at all! I love you, L. I’m so happy you agreed to come, I’m so happy we can-”
knock! Knock knock KNOCK!
         There's banging down the hall - a gilded lion's head door-handle being thrust into thick brazilwood. A beleaguered sigh escapes Spencer's lips before he shouts.
         “REG! You left the bloody gate open! Again!” He stamps his foot. “Whoever’s out there, read the DAMN SIGN! ‘No Solicitors!’”
         “POLICE!” A muffled woman’s voice roars back, followed by more bangs. “LOWER YOUR WEAPONS AND COME TO THE DOOR!”
         The world around L seems to freeze. She dares to open her eyes. Spencer’s cheery face quickly wilts into one of wide-eyed dread.
         A smile curls on her lips.  Until the gun is pressed against her throat.
         “Oh, bollocks. Right, timeout, darling.” Spencer hooks the rifle into the curtain-holders, leaving the steel a few inches from her face. “I'll deal with this, and then we can get back to the whole… je ne sais quoi? Just sit tight for a couple minutes, okay?” He points a little finger gun at her.
         L watches in silence as he wipes away his blood with a handkerchief, uses his fingers to comb through his hair. He looks into the television to check his reflection.
         “How do I look? Good enough? Great! See you soon!” Spencer makes it two steps down the carpet before pausing, clearly lost in thought. With a shrug, he bounds back and pecks the nymph on the cheek. She’s too stunned to recoil away.
         And then, with a mock salute and a skip in his step, he’s gone.


continue reading -> 

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Hey, it's Heart this time!  And speaking of the time, it's time for Spencer to finally show his full hand.   I suppose this wouldn't be a heartworks story if half the cast weren't sociopaths and kidnappers.

Silly L,trying to escape this game they're playing.   Will she find a way?   Maybe the cops will save the day!   Find out by joining us for the conclusion of   Chapter 22: Piercing Blue on Friday, February 3rd.