Faetality |✓|

4.2 //The Girl Who Knew Too Much//

I blinked again, staggering to catch my balance.

Two seconds ago I stood in the lake-house. Now there were waves of blue grass under my feet and warm skies of blood-orange overhead. A cool breeze whipped our hair and I lifted my nose, inhaling a scent as strong as perfume and sweet as vanilla. I opened my eyes and held my breath, hypnotized by a universe I couldn't begin to recognize. There were too many stars in the sky and too many planets to count. It was glorious, and none of it made sense.

"Dorothy went to the Land of Oz. Where the hell am I?" I turned in a circle. This place was so new and wonderful I could barely breathe.

Blue Eyes was more grim then he'd ever been. "We're in the Otherworld. The last place we ought to be." He stepped forward, looking past me, sword pointed once again. "We were in sanctioned territory. You had no right to bring us here."

Slowly, with bated breath, I turned and faced the creature that had sent us to heaven.

A pale, hairless monster with a taste for shiny Oxford shoes and expensive suits, his business apparel disguised his grotesqueness about as well as his pocket handkerchief would stem a gaping wound. The creature was tall, an unnatural height, his suit custom-tailored to his abnormally long limbs. One arm was folded behind his back, the other folded across his front, like a gentleman-in-waiting. The hand I could see was pale as dead fish, equipped with extra digits all missing their fingernails. It also had no eyes and was brow-less, its empty sockets scooped-out craters in a large face missing all the usual features. Two ugly slits served as a nose; its mouth was a horrible disfigurement - little more than a gruesome slash across its face. If it's purpose was to kill, its looks alone achieved the goal.

I would never sleep again.

<< My reach extends beyond the bounds of men. Think of the girl; tread wisely, Sorcerer of Deceit. >>

Each word was slow and deliberate, though his mouth never moved. Its voice was low and alien, echoing in itself like a million voices in one. I heard them all, individually, and together, ringing in my mind like whispers in my ear.

Unwilling to leave my fate in anyone else's hands but my own, I lunged for the sorcerer's sword. The power of magic on his side, his hand glowed blue as he motioned; the swipe of his hand sent me flying backward.

I hit the ground and couldn't breathe, rolling on my side to catch my breath. But the sorcerer kicked me down again, his sword at my throat.

"Explain." His teeth were gritted, his voice an angry growl.

"Face your demons... You told me that!"

He lowered his sword. "Not this one. Not ever."

The sorcerer turned his back on me and I stood, brushing sparkling dirt from my clothes.

"What is it?" I said, peering over his shoulder, my heart hammering in my chest as the beast stared calmly ahead.

The sorcerer turned back to me, his jaw clenched. "He's a Slaugh--a Host of the Undead. They carry Fae souls to their damnation. They create Plasmaliks; where Slaughs go, Plasmaliks follow."

Shuddering, I wondered if this Slaugh was in my room the fateful night this all began.

"Why is it here? What does it want?"

The sorcerer rounded on me with anger, bearing down until I was forced to step back. "You want to be very careful with the words you say. Understand? Refer to him as an 'it' again and if he doesn't kill you, I will.

Mouth cemented shout, I nodded quickly.

"Good." The sorcerer took me by the shoulders, leaning close. "The Slaugh are polite to a fault. They're intolerant of slights and insults. So the fact that you still have all your limbs is a miracle. But while we figure this out, let's assume his patience is running thin, shall we?"