An explosive whistle came from the mask and the arm dropped. The left came around to grab Shireen’s blade and tug at it, which left it open. Jocasta stepped in, drove her dagger into the things throat with her left and grabbed the one she threw with her right, tugging it free.
There was no blood on it, nor did any flow from the wound.
Now the figure staggered backward, that annoying whistle becoming raspy.
Jocasta smirked at Shireen. The other woman sneered, then stepped forward again, swinging her sword hard and nearly took the thing’s head off.
The whistle was cut short and the thing dropped stiffly to the floor.
There was still no blood.
Behind them, they heard Jamshir’s voice raised in anger.
“What did you do?! Why?!”
Both women ignored him.
“What is that thing?” Jocasta said, again.
Shireen shrugged, examined her blade, resheathed it and squatted down near it. Jocasta followed suit, annoyed that she always seemed to be one step behind the other woman.
To take the lead, she reached out and twisted the head back, opening the cut that Shireen had given it. Inside, it was pale and solid. There were no veins, muscle, bone, or blood.
Maybe it really was a statue.
She exchanged glances with Shireen, then both of them looked at the mask.
“After you,” Shireen said.
Jocasta noticed that Shireen’s face was pale and her breath rapid. But she didn’t want to be the one to pull off that mask. There was something wrong here, beyond Jamshir’s madness. She could feel it beating at her mind, like some invisible force pounding inside her head.
Enough of that. If Shireen was too cowardly, she would do it.
She reached forward, expecting the mask to easily come off. Instead, it was stuck fast.
She worked her fingers under it, encountering something that felt slimy. She jerked her hands back in surprise.
Shireen didn’t appear to notice. Instead, her gaze was fixed in a kind of fascinated horror on the white mask.
Jocasta wiped her fingers on her pants and tried again. It was still stuck to the thing’s skull, so she pulled harder and it started to give.
The green thing started to buck, ripping the mask from her grasp.
“Hold it down!” she snapped.
Almost in slow motion, Shireen grabbed the thing’s shoulders and forced it down, leaning on it to hold it steady.
Jocasta grabbed the mask, braced herself and with one sudden pull, yanked it free. It released with a wet, sucking sound, and the figure went completely still.
Under was slimy, black mud with things moving in it. Things that came to the surface, pale and shining, then sank back under.
The pounding in her head seemed to increase, but she shook it off.
“What the hell is…”
But Shireen was up and moving. In a staggering run, she pushed past Jamshir, who was standing in the hallway with tears on his face, and disappeared down the stairs.
Jocasta turned back to the thing at her feet. The mud was starting to harden and as it did the beating in her head started to lessen.
Chapter 58
It was all Shireen could do not to take off running as soon as the green thing appeared. She wasn’t going to let Jocasta know that, however, even though she could feel the evil, the wrong, that emanated from it in waves. What was worse was that she responded to it. It called to her, telling her that it was fine to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Everyone else was out to get her anyway, so she might as well strike first.
Here, in Jamshir’s corrupted home, it was easy to believe. Her hand crept back to her sword hilt. Jamshir was easy; she could kill him in one quick shot. This Jocasta however …she was a different story.
She was tough and could move, and presumably could fight. If Shireen struck first, and quickly, she could end it before the other woman had a chance to…
No. This wasn’t her. She fought back against the thoughts that had been there already and intensified when this thing…whatever it was…appeared. Eliminate that, and she’d be back to a more even footing.
As she moved toward it, and then stood in front of it, she fought to keep control of herself. It would be so easy to pull her sword now, kill this thing, and then anyone else around. The figure in green stood there, taunting her, daring her to do it.
Then, Jocasta did something predictably useless and threw one of her toy daggers. It stuck out of the thing’s shoulder, having no effect. Why would it? Something like that would hardly bother a real soldier, to say nothing of something like this thing.
She sneered, pulled her sword and hit it, hard. Her hands rang with the force of her blow and the sudden stop. She’d expected it to cut deeper. All well and good. Her next one would do more.
Jocasta stuck a dagger in the thing’s throat. That seemed to be more effective. At least that insipid whistling changed. She yanked her sword free, sent it whistling around and showed Jocasta what a real blow should look like.
There was no blood, from anywhere. Not on her sword, Jocasta’s dagger, or coming from the wounds. When Jocasta opened the wound in its neck further, it was easy to see why.
Then, Shireen looked at the mask, knowing it needed to come off. Her vision blurred and her chest started to ache, like she couldn’t draw a deep enough breath.
“Do it!” Her voice echoed in her head, but it felt like someone else talking. Someone who wasn’t right there.
Jocasta reached for the white
