Page 59 of The Knucker King

She pointed to the wall. “The crystals!”

Bramble pricked his ears. What about them?

“We are taking some back with us,” she explained, dashing over to them, and pulling her herbing knife from her belt.

Her familiar trotted over to her. Why?

“I cannot explain why I think this, call it intuition, but I believe that the crystals and the waters aid each other in their efficacy.”

So, what are you doing?

Avice rose her knife high above her head and plunged it into the wall next to a lavender crystal the size of her palm. She blinked in surprise at the ease it went in, like a hot knife through butter. She wiggled the blade around, the metal squelching in the damp earth, before it finally fell out with a satisfying pop.

She caught it in her palm and grinned. The geode vibrated through her muscles and bone, sending a tingle up her pearlescent scar. Holding it out, Avice turned to show her familiar.

“See?”

He was gone.

“Bramble?”

Her breath hitched. His constant presence by her side was the only factor that kept her from falling to pieces. She shoved the gem into the bag and frantically looked around the cavern.

“BRAMBLE!”

A ripping snarl echoed through the pitch. Followed by a blood-curdling shriek.

YOU DO NOT TOUCH HER!

Rancid hot breath on the back of her neck made her arm hairs prickle. She froze, hand clutched to her pendant, flexing her fingers over the smooth crystal.

She willed herself to run. Move Avice!

The air had been robbed from her lungs, and she struggled to suck in a breath.

Black, thorn-tipped fingers traced the scars on her face, gentle as Trewoofe’s touch. But this was not her Knucker. This was something older, stranger, and twisted.

The hand, long and many-knuckled, drifted down. It caressed her chin and landed on her thudding jugular. A claw pricked at her, dimpling the skin enough to draw a drop of blood.

A gaunt arm wrapped around her waist, squeezing her belly with a harsh pinch, the claws shredding her cloak. The hand at her throat retreated and the sound of lips smacking together made her gut twist. The echoes of growls and squeals almost drowned out the roaring panic in her ears.

The Faerie pressed against her. The cold chest flush against her screaming spine. Its shadow covered her as it lowered its chin to her shoulder. In her periphery, she caught the sight of a sharp chin and aquiline nose.

“A little butterfly has flown into my web,” he drawled, “and she is delicious.”

Avice whimpered, his grasping talons bringing memories of the disgusting Mister Inman’s groping hands. Her knees buckled under the Tall One’s grip. She knew they were among the first to retreat underground when Christendom drove them from their homes. She would feel pity for them, if she did not have one holding her in his deathly grip.

She finally sucked in a breath, counting on her alliance with Trewoofe to save her. “I am not a little butterfly. I am Avice, the Well King’s little witch.”

The Tall One rubbed his marble cheek along hers, making her blood curdle. “I have heard whispers of the King and his friendship with one from above, but he is not here, is he? The filth from above poisoned us in the below, and he took that away to save us…” He licked along her neck. “…and he never came back.”

She recoiled from the freezing slime of his tongue, reminding her of the alcohol-stained breath in the ale cellar. “King Trewoofe is alive. He will be furious with you when he finds out what you are doing to me,” she bluffed. Her sleeve fell back as she lifted her arm, revealing her iridescent scar. “He cares deeply for me. He marked me and gave me a gift.”

“I will take my chances; it has been so long since I have had a human woman.”

Avice baulked at that.

“Never again,” she hissed.