Pinocchio Antiquariato

VI. Second Footman's To-do List

To Do List:

- Cut the grass

- Kill 2 deers

- Pick at least a dozen apples from the orchard

- Find another demon to kill and eat

... ... ...

Marcel yawned. The poor chap was tired and hadn't slept a wink since he and Froilan sensed the dark energy the night before. The trip left him hungry for blood and eager to shift into another form other than some measly crow. It was one of the inconveniences of being a hamrammr, needing to feed on creatures in order to shift into their forms. He'd been craving berserkers, werewolves, pucas... and even contemplated eating Froilan at one point just to know what valravyns tasted like.

After the lord returned from his trip to London that morning (or so he'd heard), the energy felt even more potent. His stomach rumbled. He was as hungry as the French who killed the Queen of France back in the day. His stomach grumbled again.

Marcel placed a hand to his stomach in a poor attempt to quiet its gurgling. He wondered what the Madam Déficit would've tasted like, had he been there during the revolution.

Sometimes he envied the mortal Anika as all she did was let the Black Lady possess her body and she could be anything she ever wanted. And despite being undead, Katherine still retained a lot of her human traits—like a tolerance for human food, for example. To Marcel, human food was filling but tasted horrible. It was saddening that he could not enjoy mortal confectioneries the way they could.

He spent the afternoon cutting grass, hunting deer, and picking apples for Chef Servan's Tarte de Pommes a la Normande (it took him ten times before he got the name right—so much effort for saying a dessert's name that was basically apple pie.), and despite being fewer than his regular duties, they left the poor chap feeling drained like a... what was the phrase?

"Like a dried leek," he muttered to himself.

That afternoon he was assigned as the gatekeeper to the estate. Usually it was relatively quiet, with the chirping of birds echoing through the trees and the whistle of the breeze skating over the grass. However, it was unnervingly quiet that day. Marcel swore all he could hear was his own breathing. It was about a minute to three in the afternoon when he spotted a dapper looking car in the distance, driving towards the manor. Knowing it'd be the Lady Godwin's carriage, he ran to the center and unlocked the gates, using his strength to pry the rusty doors open.

Soon enough, the Lady Godwin's car passed by the gate house. A man with pasty white skin and a black monocle tipped his hat off towards him—probably the lady's manservant driver. Marcel could barely see the inside of the car because of the trees' shade, but he could still make out the silhouette of two women hunched over something as if they were reading. Most likely the lady and her maidservant. He bowed as a customary greeting towards the driver and allowed them passage.

"Another day," he murmured, "another client to swindle."

Marcel snickered. He couldn't wait to send home another snot-nosed noble weeping over losing a priced heirloom. The lady is probably here to have the lord murder another one of her husband's mistresses.

His gaze followed the car as it neared the manor's front yard. He couldn't help but feel something was off about the lady and her servants. Marcel squinted his eyes, using his keen senses to assess the car with Nightmares in tow—"

Wait....

Marcel blinked, following the herd of five-eyed, black steeds trailing behind the lady's car.

"Bollocks!" He cursed. He ran to the gate house and took an elixir of Katherine's making from one of its cabinets. He ran out and threw the vial into the ground, releasing a tall and thick cloud of black smoke that reached to the skies.

"I..." Marcel trailed off. He knew he was going to get the flogging of his life once Mr. Matthews realizes he allowed demons passage into the Faelore estate. He adjusted his collar and gulped, knowing that there's nothing he could do once the deed was done. "I guess the best course of action is to kill 'em, I suppose."

He shifted his stance, poised as if he were about to start off in a race. Then he ran, letting his freshly shined shoes get dusty, letting the wind whip through his vest and coat and chill his skin.

Marcel managed to reach the rear of the herd, using his legs-turned-talons to strike the first horse. There were more steeds than Marcel had counted, with five staying to fight him and the rest following the Lady Godwin—or who could possibly be an impostor—to the manor. One horse charged at him from his left, fire lighting its hooves as it built up speed. Marcel used his magic and sprouted wings from his back, flapping them once to drive the horse and its flames backward.

Bollocks, he was definitely getting a flogging from Mr. Matthews.

"Styrkur gegn einum!"

He extended his arms, muscles forming on once lanky limbs. Marcel punched a crack against the ground, causing several of the horses to lose their footing. One of the Nightmares neighed, releasing purple fire from its nostrils and burning the side of his shoulder. The fire would have burned him whole if he had not dodged in time.

"Giiiiiive usssss the misssssiiiing piiiieeeeeece," hissed one of the horses.

Marcel lifted a brow. "I'm sorry, I could not understand you with all the hissing!"

Marcel should have known Nightmares were quite single-minded creatures. They did not bother responding as one of them attacked him from the back, burning his cloak with its iron-hot hooves.

He watched the black smoke continue to rise from the corner of his eye, nervously hoping people from the manor had seen already.

He felt sweat drip down from his forehead and used the back of his glove to wipe it dry. Returning his attention to the black horses trotting around him, he shifted to a defensive stance, channeling magic through his limbs once more.

"Alright, nothing to worry," he mumbled to himself. "There is five of them, and one of me..."

And while the others were being alerted to the coming of an impostor, Marcel grinned. His smile is both crooked and wicked, because Odin be damned, he was going to get himself a Nightmare for supper if it's the last thing he did.