“Miss Patricia?”
Visions of eights and nines and forty twos dance, skim, and swirl like magical fairies. I giggle at the image of an eight leaping over a twenty four as though playing leapfrog, a magical dance of a million, a thousand, a hundred. The four grabs the five to twirl her around like a dancing lady, and the three fans herself in the corner, a plump noblewoman gorged on attention, wealth, and expensive wine.
“Miss Patricia, please.”
The five is giggling away, flirting with both the four and thirteen at once. I know she won’t take either of them home, however. She’s been in love with nine for far too long, despite the inevitable disaster that would result from their union.
“Miss Patricia!”
I snap out of the living dream to fix hazy blue eyes upon the governess sitting across the table from me. Her silver hair, pulled into a strict bun, somehow causes her whole face to appear to be sneering from behind horn-rimmed glasses. The high collared white dress turns her form into a shapeless blob, only barely revealing her wrinkled ankles. Somehow the taut hairstyle also obscures any lines I know must criss-cross her face, turning her from an old woman to an ageless demon.
“Yes, Madam Louisa?”
“Miss Patricia, if you do not answer my question, I will be forced to repeat it. You know I dislike repeating myself.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I am feeling quite well today, thank you.” I speak in a monotone, never making eye contact with the witch. Eye contact is dangerous, you know.
“Very good. Now, did you complete your assignments last night?”
“Yes, Madam Louisa. I did all but my math.”
Although I don’t look up to check, I can feel her dark brown eyes fix on me with a piercing intensity, “excuse me, Miss Patricia? And whyever not?”
My shoulders rise in a forced, hard gesture, my back scraping against the chair behind me, “I’m not sure, Madam. I attempted to do the problems, but…” The numbers laughed and jeered, calling my name, taunting me. It seemed the only time my friends were united was when they had a target. Last night, I was the target, “…I just didn’t understand, I suppose.”
I glance up to see the steely gray gaze boring two holes into me, hardness morphing into an obviously false quizzical, concerned guise, “Are you sure?”
I nod quickly, too quickly, as she purses her lips, “are you sure it wasn’t your… condition?”
“I’m sure, Madam.” I lean forward so my hair falls to conceal my face. I know she would read the truth lurking in my eyes if she managed to see them, so I keep my head down as I continue with a whisper, “my condition has been addressed. N-numbers… numbers don’t dance.”
Five giggles as nine shakes his head disapprovingly. Three’s smirk swims into sight, concealed behind a flapping fan and a thick face of crumbs and powder. She lets out a sharp cackle, one taken up by thirteen in his never-ceasing drive to fit in with the others, ever the oddball. Their amusement and disapproval burn through me, fierce and heavy and solid as they taunt and delight, forever dancing and dancing and dancing and dancing and dancing…
“Good.” The cover of the book slams on the ornate table, a loud bang banishing the numbers to the corner of my vision. Madam Louisa blew a deep sigh over the musty page, turning the air into a thick fog with the dust stirred up. “Let’s begin your lesson.”
I settle back in my chair, perfect posture beaten into me kicking in as my back straightens and chin rises. My slender fingers pull apart the pages of my own textbook with a delicate, soft touch, even my loathing of mathematics preventing me from harming my precious books. All of a sudden, sharp, stinging pain shot through me, my finger and the page stained with scarlet from the slim cut now decorating the offending appendage. A hiss escapes my lips as I stare at the paper cut, the ruby drop swimming in front of my eyes.
Five twirled over, a giggle lingering in the air as she leans over and lets her lips fall to the cut, drinking hungrily from the wound with a vicious grin now turned crimson. She leapt across the table to join ninety-seven, grabbing him and pulling him into a deep kiss, sharing her spoils. The two pulled back slowly before turning and staring at me, their tiny gazes carrying more weight combined than any large one.The others follow suit, all drinking deeply until thirty’s teeth scrape the skin, sending tingles through my arm.
Madame Louisa looks up, “Miss Patricia?”
“Yes, Madam?”
“Focus, please. Do your work.”
“Yes, Madam.”
I glance back down at the page, but my eyes are inadvertently drawn to my hand… and I freeze. Ice runs through my veins as the limb begins to tremble and my vision waves and blurs. The cut is there, deep and painful looking, a common sacrifice of the daily bibliophile, one I know well. This wound, however, is lacking one particular feature, causing it to be something terrifyingly unfamiliar. Pinkish-white edges sting in the cool air of the parlor as the alien cut taunts me with the absence of perhaps its most recognizable feature: Blood.
Across the table, I hear a giggle and my horrified gaze rises to meet that of seven’s. The Queen sits perched on the edge of the clock on the mantle, swinging her legs back and forth as she hums the cheerful tune all the others dance to, a Pied Piper for her unsuspecting victims. Her eyes bore into mine with their usual callous merriment dancing in her pupils, madness vividly apparent with every blink. As I watch, she licks her lips before parting them in a wild, carnivorous grin, teeth glinting menacingly in the candlelight.
Teeth stained red with my blood.
∞
Victoria Lavallee is a young writer currently attending school in the south- the sort of warm, open south where her two favorite things, good people and the great outdoors, hold up her muse. Whatever time she’s not spending on her writing is spent around the people she loves most. She is a Hampton Roads Writer’s Conference short fiction prizewinner, a Muse Writer’s Center Fellow, and an experienced freelance writer currently interning in a communications and marketing office. Victoria has been published in Spectrum Literary Magazine as well as the 42 Stories Anthology.
