Chapter 9: The Fiendish Mr. Woodhouse

His car was a sleek little red thing with only two seats. Its lights showed very little of the narrow lane as we raced along, so he gripped the wheel firmly, his eyes fixed ahead. I slumped down beside him and glimpsed – lit so briefly – the trees, signs, and ditches rushing by. I couldn't relax.

"Are we going to the hospital?"

He answered without taking his eyes from the road. "No. We're going to my house. I removed Renee from the hospital as soon as I realized that her problem wasn't medical."

"I see. How far will it be?"

"Just a bit. Ten more minutes, perhaps."

He slowed suddenly, pressing the brake pedal and moving the shifting lever in complex ways. We swerved onto a narrow side lane, the force driving me toward him, my hips pulling hard on the belt that strapped me in. Then the car's tires squealed and its engine whirred. It shot forward, jerking me back into the seat. Again, the lights lit a patch of almost nothing in the darkness. Again, I got only the briefest glances at the little bits of the world that whipped by.

Soon, we slowed and turned onto another lane, this one with a fence and gate. We drove up that lane slowly past well-tended trees and hedges and parked before his house. It was very large.

We climbed a low, sprawling set of white steps to reach the door, which opened for us. A man waited within, an old man with a weathered face, crooked fingers, and fierce eyes.

"Is this her?" the man asked.

"Yes. Is her room prepared?"

"It is."

Mr. Woodhouse stepped over the threshold into a warmly lit foyer and onto a marble floor with complex curved patterns. I followed, choosing my steps carefully, for it was clear that the patterns and their arrangements were no accident, and that where one might go in the house, and even one's mortal fate, might be determined by where on the floor one stepped. Mr. Woodhouse and his friend noticed my caution. They smiled.

"You needn't fear the floor, Tyballa. As long as you're entering with me, it's no threat to you."

I smiled and nodded, but I still cautiously picked my steps.

"Can we see Renee now?" I asked.

Mr. Woodhouse answered, "I don't see why not. Follow me, and mind your step!" He winked when he said the last part.

I followed him to a curved staircase on the far side of the foyer. When I stepped onto its soft carpet, I relaxed. He chuckled.

"Actually, I charge the floor with a fairly weak spell, despite the focus of the patterns. It's just too obvious. These stairs, on the other hand, are possessed of a deep warding. Were you not with me, Tyballa –"

He didn't finish. He cast a knowing glance then climbed.

When we reached the top, he said, "This way." We turned right and proceeded down a long passage with soft burgundy carpet, tasteful lighting, and many, many doors.

She lay in bed with a thick blue fleece pulled up to her neck. There were no tubes or wires, nor was there a beeping and hissing machine. Her hair had been brushed and was arranged neatly around her face. Her eyes were closed. Through pursed and cracked lips, I could hear her steady breathing.

Just as when we were in the hospital, we stood on either side of the bed and watched her.

"Is she safe? Is there no danger without all the medical equipment?"

"She's quite safe. The spell that holds her will not take her life."

He took a little tube from the table beside her bed and squeezed out some clear substance onto his finger. Squatting down, he reached and applied it to her lips, smearing and rubbing it in. Then he leaned and kissed her cheek. While he kissed her, he stared up at me.

I wanted to kiss and touch her too. He knew that, I think.

"So, how can I help her? What is it with my blood?"

"Your royal fairy blood? She tried to cast a binding spell on you, and no mortal can bind you, Tyballa. Did you know that?"

"No."

"I didn't expect so. She should have. But then, did she even know what you were?"

"No. I mean – she might have suspected something 'cause of the knife, but I didn't say anything."

"I see. So, Tyballa, that makes you somewhat responsible. You agree?"

I nodded. "What can we do?"

"I'll need some of your blood."

I held out my hand. He smiled.

"No, Tyballa, I'll need more than that. Follow me downstairs."

I followed him downstairs.

Behind the foyer, beneath the main set of stairs, and concealed behind a panel was another set of stairs going down. The steps were hard, rough cement, and when we entered, I could see a faint yellow shaft of light below.

"Go on down. I'll be behind you."

I crept down the stairs grasping the handrail. At the bottom was a heavy wooden door with bands of iron. It stood open, and beyond was a chamber with dressed stone walls and a low ceiling. From the ceiling hung a small light which cast its dim glow across the flagstone floor. Deeper into the chamber, its far reaches were bathed in shadow, and I saw the vague outlines of objects: tables, equipment, doorways – perhaps? – perhaps something moved. Along the edges of the lit area, sketched in white chalk, was a circle of runes, and in its center, just beneath the light, sat a wooden chair with a high back and stout arms. The room was quiet and cool.

"Go on in. Take a seat."

I entered the room, but I didn't cross the circle to reach the chair.

"Why is there a circle?"

"To focus the magic. Your blood will become metastable when I've drawn it from you. The circle will hold the magical forces at bay until I can make it inert."

"Then what?"

"Then I brew an elixir for Renee."

"How much blood?"

"A fair amount. Maybe a pint or two, nothing a fairy princess can't handle, although you will feel rather weak for a bit, I expect. Now go ahead, sit in the chair."

I went and sat in the chair. He smiled and produced two leather straps.

"To hold you down during the procedure," he said.

Just as he reached for one of my arms, I glimpsed a darting shadow. I tried to rise from the chair, but gnarled hands grabbed me from behind and pinned me – his friend was behind me. While I struggled, Mr. Woodhouse held my left arm and fumbled with a strap. But my right arm was free. With that, I grabbed the friend's fingers and bent them, snapped them. I was so strong. Then I shot from the chair, knocking Mr. Woodhouse aside while his friend bellowed and shook his broken hand. I ran full-tilt toward the door.

I heard Mr. Woodhouse shout a spell, and a bolt of magical energy struck me from behind. It was strong, but still, it was mortal magic, and I a fairy of rank. Glancing off me, it sputtered and fizzled out. He cast again. Dark tendrils shot past me and hit the door just as I reached it, mere inches beyond my outstretched hand. It slammed shut. Its lock clicked fast.

My shoulder struck the door with a hollow thump. After rebounding then steadying myself, I punched it as hard as it could. There was a crack, boards splintered, but the door held together. I punched again. This time there were two snaps, the board cracking, but my fist shattered too. My fingers were a ruin and my knuckles dripped blood.

I heard Mr. Woodhouse begin a slow cant. Deep magical energies flowed into the room.

I punched again, and a rivet burst free from one of the iron bands that held the door together. Specks of my own blood splashed and hit my face. It seemed near to failing, the heavy door. A few more strikes, I thought.

I punched again, but the door held, and instead my forearm shattered. Bone jutted from flesh. I went down.

Then Mr. Woodhouse shouted the final words of his spell, and I felt a tremendous impact tear through my defenses, striking deep.

Darkness.

When I woke, I was bound firmly to the chair with many straps and a pair of thick chains. My arm was beginning to heal, but it remained a horrid sight. My other arm was strapped down firmly, and a tube ran from a bag filled with clear liquid to a needle jabbed into that arm. I assumed that the clear dripping liquid was flowing into me.

"You're awake."

It was the friend's voice, and with fierce eyes and a bandaged hand, he entered my field of view. He studied me for a few seconds, his gaze passing over me, my skin crawling. Then he turned and went across the chamber to the door, which now hung loosely on bent hinges. He climbed until only the hints of his feet were visible in the shadow.

"Sir! She's awake!"

He came back into the chamber and waited. Nothing happened for a while. Then I heard the scrape of Mr. Woodhouse's hard soled shoes on the steps, and I saw his figure emerge from the murky stairway. He came over and examined my arm.

"It's really quite amazing, how fast you heal. I drew some blood before, but it was – how to say – off balance because of your wound. So, now we wait for you to heal completely."

He smiled and waited for me to speak.

"How long will you keep me here?"

"Well, my dear, that's up to you. The faster you heal, the faster I get my blood."