“You do not understand,” she said, following me.
“No?” I spun around and threw my hands out to my side. “Enlighten me.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She stared at me.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to get ready for dinner.” I left her in the hall and went to my room. At this rate, I would get answers faster from Astaroth than I would from her or anyone else. I couldn’t trust he would tell me the complete truth, though. I didn’t trust any of them.
When I arrived at my room, all I wanted was to lie down before I prepared for dinner. But when I went to enter, I heard something crash against the floor. If Astaroth was in therethrowing a fit because I left the castle, we were going to fight. The grain of the wood was rough against my ear as I held my breath and laid my head against it to listen. Was that shuffling, or was it my heartbeat whooshing in my ears? The knob felt like sandpaper in my grip as I worked up the courage to turn it.
One. Two. Three.
A thump sounded against the stones as I cracked it open. The edge of the door caught on something and refused to go farther. I sucked in a breath and stepped back when it twitched as if someone bumped it.
Leave, my brain screamed, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I waited to see if it would happen again, straining my ears to hear even a minuscule movement. When I didn’t, I pushed harder against the door until it opened. My eyes widened. My entire room was in disarray. The closet door was open, items and clothes strewn about. My mattress hung off one side of the frame as if someone was searching for something under it. On the floor in front of the closet sat my jewelry box, open and upside down, with jewelry scattered all over.
I glanced around the room and out at the balcony, but I saw no one.
“What the hell?” I mumbled.
“Uh.”
I stumbled backward, arms windmilling as I tripped over the mess on the floor when the mattress wobbled. A head popped up. One I would recognize anywhere.
“You!” I yelled as the tiny man pushed his redcap out of his surprised eyes.
He used the mattress as a shield. His gaze darted around the room for an escape.
“Who are you?” I demanded, skirting the room to the toppled over chair. The leg was broken and lying beside it. My fingerscircled the stick of wood, and I kept it hidden behind me. “Why are you here?”
He regarded my neck and looked around the room. “I came to get what’s mine.”
“Yours?”
He huffed and raised up higher so I could see his entire face. “We made a deal, you and me.”
“We did no such thing. There were no words exchanged.”
With his face contorted in anger, he spat at the ground. “You killed what was mine. Therefore, I take what is yours. Deal is sealed.”
“I knew there was pixie in there!” I laughed at him and crept forward. “You tried to kill me. I’d say we are even.”
“I wants it!” He launched out from behind the mattress, a small axe in his hand. The chipped edges were coated in a dark, dry grime that matched the patches on his hat. “Give it to me!”
I pointed the swordlike tip of the chair leg at his chest to hold him back. His arms flailed as he attempted to strike me around the length, but he couldn’t reach.
The tip dug in when I pushed against him. “Stay back, troll!”
Laughter hissed from my side where the mountain of clothes lay on the floor. I jumped away when it started moving, the clothes flinging off the top of it. A flat, grey face with large eyes appeared. I did a doubletake, recognizing the goblin who dropped the shit pot.
“If I can’t have the necklace, I’ll take you in its place. I could earn a pretty penny for your pretty face.”
His bushy brow flicked up and a beat later my back hit the floor. Tiny goblins gripped my arms and legs, fighting to hold me down. They didn’t have to fight too hard with the exhaustion I battled from the lingering effects of the Bluebell dust. Saliva glistened their bloodhungry mouths as the redcap stepped between my legs and stared down at me. The blunt edge of theaxe slapped against his empty, calloused palm. Dried red flakes floated over me with every tap.
Bending down, he licked a stained finger and ran the wet, offensive tip over my throat. “Would be for not to miss and mar your face.”
