"Ready?" Packer's voice would have startled Mabel had she not been feeling so relaxed. Whatever was in that paste was excellent, because she felt well-rested and calm, and there was no sign of that stupid cold.
To convey this, she sent him a cheery smile and a thumbs-up.
"Good. Come with me; we have to get out of this room." He snatched up her hand with one of his own, waving the other over the door handle and pushing it open without difficulty.
"Huh. I wish I could do that," Mabel mumbled, leaning so far to the side she would have fallen if not for Packer's pull on her hand.
"Head up, Mabel. Can't go to sleep yet."
"God, you're so bossy," Mabel whined as Packer turned her down another hall, pulling her into the darkness of a tiny room.
"And you're obviously enjoying that little creation of mine. Let's go, Mabel." He plucked up both her hands this time, standing directly opposite her and closing his eyes. The same language from earlier came from Packer's mouth, and together they faded away.
***
"Here we are," Packer announced once they had materialized in a completely different location. "We will stay the night here, since the warlocks will be monitoring all use of magic carefully. Here, Mabel," he reached into a leather knapsack that Mabel hadn't noticed before and pulled out a large green blanket.
Mabel grinned brightly at the sight, snatching the fabric up gleefully. She rolled it around her body quickly, a slow, relaxed exhaled sliding from her lips as the warmth encased her. "This is nice," she told him conversationally. "Thanks very much, Packer."
He didn't say anything in reply, instead continuing to rifle through the sack.
The silence bothered Mabel, and she began to tap her fingers along her thighs, matching her feet to the same imaginary tune when she decided it was catchy.
Packer heaved a drawn-out sigh, setting down the sack and turning to her. "What is it?"
All tapping ceased, and they stared at each other for a long minute. "Well," Mabel broached slowly, "I'm wondering why you're helping me."
Packer shook his head with a derisive snort. "I don't want your Aleron to kill me. I'm not stupid; I know he'll win this battle."
A plausible reason, but not a genuine one, Mabel knew. Feeling especially brave with the help of Packer's nasty paste, she leaned forward curiously. "That's a lie. Why are you doing this, really?"
Packer faltered, his expressionless mask slipping just long enough for Mabel to catch the broken, utterly heart-wrenching hopelessness in his eyes.
The conclusion hit her with the force of a car.
"Oh, my God," she breathed in astonishment, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. "You loved a human, didn't you? You loved a human, and they killed her?"
Her mind brought back the words that had been spoken earlier by the warlocks: "The last one did not . . . we cannot risk another failure."
"They killed her, right? They killed her, and it didn't work, so they came after me, but you felt guilty. Oh, Packer, I'm so sorry." She reached forward to comfort him, but he stood abruptly.
"Go to sleep, Mabel," his voice was so empty that it made Mabel want to cry on his behalf. "We will leave in the morning."
Those words alone spoke volumes:
Yes. They killed her before I could save her, and yes, I am trying to save you now to make up for my own failure.
A few tears slipped down Mabel's cheeks as she tried to fall asleep, but she knew it was nothing compared to the pain Packer still felt.
Her tears only fell faster when she heard the muffled sobs of a man grieving over his lost love.
***
"We can get to Death's castle from here, but I regret to say that I actually will need some of your blood for the transport to work." Packer said the next day, all traces of sorrow gone from his features. Mabel would have tried to bring it out of him once more, if not for how odd she'd been feeling. Gone was the feeling of calm that the paste had brought, and in its place was a dizziness that refused to leave.
She squinted at him suspiciously, swaying back and forth. "As if. You'll probably just sell it to a vicious beast for loads of money. I already got sold once, you know, and if you cut me open I probably won't be worth as much."
Packer stared at her inanely for several beats, and then declared, "You have an odd sense of humor. Would it help if I told you that I have to donate some of my blood, as well? It is only so the transportation spell works. With a distance this long, we can't take any risks."
Mabel huffed, but conceded nonetheless. "Fine. Be quick about it, though, please. I wanna nap."
"When we are in the safety of the castle," Packer muttered as he rifled through his sack, "you may nap as long as you want. Ah, here we are." He straightened and beckoned for her to hold out her hand.
She obeyed, wincing when he slid a knife over her palm, leaving a thin trail of blood; he repeated the movement on his own hand, and then threw the knife back into the knapsack. Hefting the pack onto his back, Packer shifted closer to her and reached out, clasping their bloodied hands together.
More ancient words, but this time Mabel felt a sharp tug in her chest, and her surroundings became a blur as her body became weightless.
Unfortunately, the swift movement, combined with her achy head, didn't give her the ability to notice that several drops of their mixed blood fell onto the dark ground, where they were soaked up within seconds.
***
They landed harshly against the cool brick floors of Death's castle, and Mabel stumbled out of Packer's grasp only to land against the wall and slide down to the floor in an exhausted heap. "Wow," she murmured in awe, soaking in the familiar palace. "That's a pretty cool magic trick, Packer."
"Thank you," he retorted dryly, stepping forward to help her up. She reached to grab his outstretched hand, only to freeze when the tip of a gleaming sword landed against his throat, promising to cut his skin should he so much as swallow.
Packer took a step back, his hands held up in surrender, and Mabel burst into tears at the man standing beside him.
"Al!" His name was mangled by a sob and she tried to get up, only to slide back down the wall and cry even harder when she realized she was too weak.
Not that it mattered. Shoving Packer out of the way with enough force to send the warlock to the ground, Aleron dropped his sword and collapsed in front of her, pulling her into his crushing embrace.
"My Little One," he exhaled into the crook of her neck, his dry lips pressing a gentle kiss there. "I was so worried about you."
Mabel pulled away. "Not as worried as I was," she cried, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. "What happened? Are you okay? Is Colby here?"
Aleron ran his fingers through her hair, his mouth dusting kisses over every single patch of skin he could reach. "Do not worry about it right now, Little One. We will speak of it later."
Her body relaxed into his, beyond ready for a nap. "Sure, Al. Later."
***
Several hours later found Mabel sprawled on a large bed, her head tilted to the side so she could see Aleron as he held an oxygen mask against her face with one hand, his other cupping the back of her head securely.
Apparently, all the portals she'd gone through had sped up the affect Hell had on her puny human body, which explained the weakness, dizziness, and general feelings of ugh, help me. And, although she would recover better on Earth, it turned out that the warlocks had managed to cut off all forms of communication and transport both inside and outside Hell, soon after Pele had 'delivered' her.
Which explained why the summoning bond she shared with Aleron hadn't worked, and why she was nestled in his suspiciously comfortable bed (for a being that never slept, he had good taste in sheets) while an oxygen tube filtered good old-fashioned air into her lungs.
She reached up a hand, pulling the mask off just enough to ask, "Is it 'later,' Al?" Aleron snapped the mask back into place with deft fingers and a warning glare.
"Do not touch that," he snapped irritably, and a small smile quirked Mabel's lips. It was nice to have her protector back, even if he was on edge. She mustered up her best Please, tell me, Al look, complete with a pout, and Aleron blew out a defeated sigh.
"Colby deemed it a good idea to go without me and speak to the warlocks. When I found out, I went after him." His jaw tightened at the memory, and Mabel reached up, rubbing her fingers over his skin to soften it.
"It wasn't my best decision," came Colby's voice from the doorway, and Mabel let her eyes dart to him. Next to him stood a happily grinning Thora, but there was no sign of Zephyrine or Packer (Mabel had an inkling that Zephyrine had been placed on 'Packer-watch,' since no one else seemed to trust the warlock).
"No," Aleron agreed stonily, "it certainly was not."
Mabel exchanged a wary glance with Thora, but it quickly turned into a soft grin when the youngest ala floated to Mabel's side and grabbed one of her free hands. "What happened?" Thora asked, concerned. "We've been looking all over for you! Zephyrine panicked when she showed up to your apartment and you weren't there."
It was only then that Mabel was reminded of her recent, less-than-stellar adventures, and she went to pull the mask off to answer, but Aleron stopped her again, shooting Thora a withering glare. "She cannot speak yet!" He snarled like an overprotective bear defending its mate. "Leave her be!"
"Okay," Thora cowered back, "I'm sorry. How about we tell you what happened to us?" Mabel nodded eagerly for the serpent-woman to continue; she was quite curious about that. "Well, as you can see, Aleron and Colby are actually fine. Turns out they never even made it to the warlock's territory—they just got lost. The warlocks must have found out and planted the ransom note to try and get us to cave."
Mabel's eyes widened, and then narrowed, and she yanked off the mask. "Are you serious?! I was worried that you were dead, and you were just lost?! You have got to be kidding me!" she would have kept ranting, if not for the vicious coughs that rose up, shaking her body with their force and robbing her of air.
"Calm down, my Mabel," Aleron urged frantically, replacing the mask and moving from his chair to sit beside her on the bed. "Do not make it worse. I am sorry for worrying you, but we are alright." He bent forward and placed a soft kiss against her forehead, passing her a reassuring smile.
"Yeah," Colby rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish for the first time since Mabel had met him. "It was my fault. I should have . . . uh, maybe listened to Aleron."
A sarcastic sneer took over Aleron's lips. "I am glad to see you came to that conclusion long after you should have. We could have avoided this entire disaster if not for your foolishness! Mabel is harmed because of you, and . . ." he trailed off, his chest heaving, and Mabel snatched up his hand, squeezing it once and rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.
Pulling off the mask and sending Aleron a Don't-even-think-about-it look when he started to reach for it, Mabel struggled to sit up. "Let's talk now," she pleaded, "I want to know everything."
Aleron mumbled a begrudging, "Fine," and Thora took the word as her cue.
"Aleron and Colby got into a fight with a couple of demented creatures, but they came back two nights ago, so Zephyrine and I went to get you, but we couldn't find you, and Aleron got pissed, and we've been looking for you ever since." It was all said in one quick breath, and Thora had to pause and suck in a long, slow stream of air once she'd finished.
Mabel nodded stiltedly as she processed the information, realizing that she needed to tell them her own story when they all eyed her expectantly. Summarizing the events as best she could, she wasn't surprised when Aleron stood up abruptly once she had finished. He pointed a single figner at her sternly, daring her to disobey. "You will put the mask back on, and you will leave it there." And then he stormed from the room, pushing open the door with so much force that it fell from its hinges, the loud bang as it hit the floor reverberating through the room and down the hall.
Colby sighed, running a hand through his usually perfectly coiffed hair. "He's pissed. Can you tell?"
Mabel managed a smile. "Just a bit." She sobered, her eyes darting down to where her fingers were clutching the oxygen mask in her lap. "What is he not telling me?"
Colby collapsed into the chair Aleron had vacated, and Thora slid into the bed on Mabel's other side.
"Well, you know we can't get out of Hell," Colby explained, waving his hands for emphasis. "The real problem is that the warlocks are approaching the castle as we speak. I guess that, after they failed to get the books for ransom and you managed to escape, they decided they didn't need a human's blood after all. But they still want their spell books, and they're even more pissed than Aleron."
Thora snorted at that. "Funny, I didn't think anyone could be more pissed than Aleron." She shot Mabel a wink, causing her to giggle.
A giggle that quickly died in her throat when she thought back to how Packer had gotten them to the castle.
Blood. Soil. Warlock's territory.
Oh, no.
Would it be that easy?
She struggled to swing her legs over the side of the bed, startling her companions. "Whoa, hotshot," Colby held his hands up, as if to stop her, but she swatted them away.
"Where's Packer?" she demanded, ignoring the way her chest constricted from lack of fresh air.
Thora and Colby exchanged a bewildered glance. "In the dungeons with Zephyrine . . ." Thora trailed off uncertainly, but Mabel was already pushing past the pair, stumbling out the door and jogging unsteadily down the hall.
***
A/N: *gasps* Yikes!
Hey, wanna read Chapter 11? (It's a fun one, in my own personal, completely unbiased opinion. :D)
It's up on my personal website, ardewler.com (direct link in profile), and no, there is no account required, 'cause ain't nobody got time for such nonsense.
Any-who, check it out if you so desire. Or don't - you do you, sugar boo.
Stay sweet, parakeets (lol),
A.R.