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More waves crashed below.
“This is Donatella Dragna, the heir’s fiancée!”
Her breath went short as her unanswered knocks turned aggressive.
“Careful, or you might hurt yourself doing that.”
Tella slowly turned around, half expecting Jacks to be there, gracefully biting into an apple.
Instead, there were three others.
25
They prowled toward Tella like wraiths, clad in thin, dull silver cloaks that looked as if they’d lost their shine long ago. One was tall. One was curvy. One was fidgety. And they all smelled of too much old perfume, flowering and nauseating.
It was wrong for an unforgiving night like this.
Though impractical, their capes made it difficult for Tella to steal more than a glimpse of their faces, which were either incredibly still or covered in masks.
The trio slithered closer.
Despite the cold, sweat pooled inside of Tella’s gloves as her suspicions about the masks were confirmed. The three were disguised as Fates: the Undead Queen and Her Handmaidens.
Tella recognized the Undead Queen’s jeweled patch and painted blue lips. Her Handmaidens were equally unmistakable; both had lips sewn shut with crimson thread. In Decks of Destiny their cards represented power and undying loyalty. But in that icy moment Tella saw their combined appearance as three very bad omens. No one wore masks unless they were celebrating something, or committing a crime.
“You’re a little early for the costumes,” Tella said. “Didn’t anyone tell you, Elantine’s Eve isn’t until the night after tomorrow. Or are you pretending to celebrate early because you’re all too ugly to show your faces?”
“By the end of tonight the only unsightly one will be you,” said the imposter Undead Queen. “Unless you give us what we want.”
Tella turned away and knocked another aggressive rap on the door.
“That won’t do you any good,” said the Undead Queen. “He isn’t here.”
As she spoke, all three figures glided closer, replacing the cool night air with their stench. The freckled maid must have sent Tella on a false course, so that these three could rob her, and Tella had been foolish enough to fall for it. She might have been able to run away, despite her failing heart, but they were blocking her from the bridge. Her only clear escape, unless she wished to jump into the waters below.
She swore she heard the voice of Death, urging her to take the leap, but Tella wasn’t about to listen. The inky moat looked deep and smooth but upon second glance Tella saw the rocks, poking out like nasty surprises.
She pulled out her coin purse. “If you’re here to beg for money because your perfume stinks and your gaudy cloaks are long out of fashion, then here.” Tella tossed the purse onto the small patch of land to her left. Since she imagined this was what they were after, she hoped at least one of them might fetch after it like a dog and give her a chance to escape. But dogs were clearly smarter creatures than these three. Instead of chasing for the purse they each took another step toward her.
The scent of their overripe perfume grew, sharpening to the scent of decayed flowers and twisted obsession. Tella gagged. But they didn’t even notice.
“We don’t want your filthy coins,” said the Undead Queen. “We want to return to our full glory. We want the cards your mother stole, the cards you plan to give to Legend so that he can destroy us and take what remains of our once magnificent powers.”
“God’s teeth.” Whoever these women were, they were taking the game too far. “You’re all madder than poisoned fish!”
The odd insult seemed to stun them for a moment, but it wasn’t long enough for Tella to escape. She still could have made a run for the bridge, but it was more likely she’d fall off one of the sides than make it to the other end before they caught her.
A gust of wind rushed past, but Tella thought it sounded like Death laughing.
“Tell us where the cards are and we will only scar one half of your face.”
The Undead Queen flicked both wrists and immediately her maidens removed their hands from the pockets of their cloaks. Their skin was specter-white, glowing against the moonlight as they flashed thick black fingernails, long, tapered, and as barbed as claws. This was not a traditional part of the costume.
Fortunately, Tella had claws as well. She pressed the black pearls on her gloves, and sent a silent thank-you to Dante as ten sharp razorblades shot out.
But Her Handmaidens were undeterred.
The Undead Queen gave another flick of her wrist and Her Handmaidens stalked forward like murderous marionettes, hissing through their sewn lips.
