Face of a Traitor

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Gryla waited for the tavern landlord to leave her room before straightening up and revealing her shark teeth. The human suspected nothing, just as she had intended. Nevertheless, lodging in official quarters before a job always made her nervous. She preferred the corners of alleyways, hunkered in a heap with her shawl thrown over her elongated body. There were fewer witnesses that way. Fewer do-gooders to link her face to the disappearing children.

Still, her instructions were clear; she had to get close to the workhouse in South London and watch over its entrance without being seen by the workers. The Broken Horse Shoe Tavern was the only place that gave her the view she needed. Anywhere else would have meant risking failure, and that wasn’t an option. Her employer didn’t give his minions an opportunity to fail twice.

If sleeping in the sickly warmth of a gas-lit room and having to eat disgusting slop humans called ‘cooked food’ meant doing a good job, then that was just what Gryla would do. After all, the reward outweighed the drawbacks.

A new Dark Age. She twisted a strand of her wiry hair around her finger as she considered returning to the dangerous playground in which she used to operate. How wonderful.

Indeed, agreed a familiar voice. The word appeared in her skull as a close whisper, more like a thought than an actual voice. No beastly gas lights. No civilisation. Just darkness. And it can happen again.

Gryla’s waxy skin became gooseflesh. Dropping to the floorboards, she pressed her forehead firmly against the grain.

‘My lord, forgive me. I didn’t sense your arrival. It’s this city. It disagrees with me.’

Calm yourself, Gryla. There’s no need to fear me.

‘Of course, master. I–’

Don’t interrupt.

‘Sorry, master.’

That’s alright. I’ll blame it on the air, this time. London is filled with the biting smog of human industry. Its makes the people arrogant, especially now, so close to Christmas.

‘Yes, my lord. Very distracting it is. Their merriment feels like maggots under my skin.’

But you won’t let them get in your way, will you?

Firm fingers rested on Gryla’s shoulder. Being a spindly woman, well over six feet tall, she cut a startling silhouette. Few people dared cross her path on the smog-laden cobbles of the city. Her master was the only person around whom she felt small. His colossal grip relaxed and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

‘Of course not, my lord. Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to undermine you.’

You are forgiven. Just don’t let their arrogance infect you. Understood?

‘Yes, my lord.’

Good.

Gryla smiled nervously. Lifting her gaze, she stood up, careful not to hit her head on a small lantern dangling from the room’s ceiling. Despite being alone, she pressed her back against the wall, her stance guarded.

‘What is your instruction, my lord?’

On the walls, the lamps flickered, their flames all pulling towards a source that originated in one corner but moved slowly towards the centre of the room. An oak chair near the wall scraped slowly across the floorboards. Creaking under the weight of an invisible load, it stopped.

There is a boy, said the disembodied voice.

‘Oh, yes?’ Gryla probed.

Barely old enough to open his eyes. His aura is one in a million. I haven’t seen one like it since…

She knew exactly what had gone unsaid.

‘I see. So, you want the child dead?’

Her mouth salivated. It had been a while since she had last eaten a newborn. Usually she took older children, devouring what she wanted from their insides and stuffing their cavities with straw. Her reputation in Scandinavia kept villagers’ children alert, and her belly full of their warm terror. But that was a long time ago now.

Recently, humans had developed these things they called ‘theories’. They blamed deaths on wasting diseases and murderers. A child-eating giantess was no longer considered a credible threat.

She would have liked to reveal herself publicly but she knew belief led to understanding. And understanding was a drain on fear. At a loss, she was relieved the day she was approached in a dream by her master and told to travel across the sea.

No. Not dead, her master said. This one is more useful to us alive, for now.

‘What is my task?’

Gryla leaned on the window sill. Outside, the night was cold and wet. Ripples of heavy rain washed down the pane, reducing visibility to a lamp-lit blur. Only the honey-coloured glow of firelight could be seen seeping from the workhouse windows across the street.

She longed to be in that freezing rain. Darkness and chilling weather were the perfect conditions for hunting. Many a lost child fell into her path that way. They never expected the kindly, crippled old woman she took as her disguise to be dangerous. They didn’t see her folded limbs or the monster behind the smile.

Those people, said her master. Gryla’s eyes were drawn to a bedraggled couple ducking between shop awnings, protecting a bundle of blankets from the storm. The deep voice kept talking. Until now, their lives have been less than fortunate. I ensured that. They’ve had to give up so much – and now they’re about to sacrifice their most prized possession.

Gryla eyed the bundle with morbid fascination.

Your mission. The parents plan to reclaim their child when their fortunes are healthier. You will ensure that doesn’t happen.

She nodded. Her shark teeth glimmered white as she licked her lips.

‘Your spies work hard,’ she commented. ‘I won’t let that work go to waste.’ Her master didn’t respond.

Hugging the bundle closer, the infant’s mother crossed the street and entered the workhouse courtyard. Her husband followed, hesitating as he crossed the threshold.

A heavy, oak door opened when they arrived at the foot of the building’s steps to the main entrance. Warm light poured onto the figures from within and a portly man with an auburn hairpiece and a waistcoat appeared in the doorway. He beckoned them in to shelter from the storm, and then they were gone.

Breathing deeply, Gryla concentrated. ‘I understand,’ she said.

Her arthritic hands straightened, expanding like sausage skins filling with meat. A silver band rose out of her ring finger. The transformation spread to the rest of her body. As she shrunk in height, her arms became plump and her rags fell away to reveal formal trousers, a waistcoat, blazer, and a crumpled, white shirt. Her posture straightened and her midriff enlarged. The withered skin under her chin inflated to bullfrog proportions and the grey hair dropped from her domed scalp, dissolving before it reached the floor. Digging pudgy fingers into her waistcoat pocket, she retrieved a folded, nut-brown wig and smoothed it onto her head.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, her voice now baritone.

Inspecting her new form in the glass, she frowned. The man’s true face was slightly more shrewish. His family might notice the slight difference but not enough to question it. Besides, it would be more than ample to fool the workhouse staff.

Good. But there’s more.

‘Yes?’

Afterwards, follow the parents. This is important. While I starve this child of love, you will prepare for his future. Just as a precaution. It could take years so you’ll have to be patient. If his destiny is as deep-rooted as I imagine, we can take no chances. He is a powerful tool, and the best tools can be stolen. Don’t let that happen.

Gryla frowned. ‘But, my lord, disguising myself in plain sight for that long is unthinkable. No changeling could do that. I could trick the family for a few hours, but years? Illusions are difficult to maintai–’

You think I don’t understand illusions?

Gryla bit her tongue. Her master’s words hit her, literally knocking off her toupee. Scrambling to pick it up, she said, ‘N-no, my lord. I didn’t mean – I would never… It’s just… I’m not as strong as you. Maintaining a disguise for that long won’t be easy, especially in the presence of a child with – as you say – such a powerful aura. If your suspicions are true, he and his family will attract other magical folk. We are sure to have competition. And if our enemy gets to this child before you can…’

I’m aware of your limits, the disembodied voice said eventually, and I’ve already prepared for the worst. Yes, our enemy might be attracted to the boy. With an aura that strong, I would be surprised if they weren’t. I’ve accounted for it. His destiny can’t be changed, but it can be predicted and used to our advantage. You will make that happen.

‘But like I said, my lord, trying to hold an illusion for that long is impossible. The competition will suspect me the moment I–’

This is not news to me, Gryla. Look in the drawer.

Gryla’s looked at the bedside cabinet. Sliding it open, she heard the tell-tale sound of round objects rolling in the base. With trepidation, she glanced inside.

‘What? I don’t understand, my lord. What are these?’

A gift.

‘What do they do?’

They come from human magic. A practice they call ‘science’. They’ll aid you.

‘Human? What can a human possibly achieve that we can’t?’

Do not underestimate the power of mankind, Gryla. My contact is a doctor. Brilliant, but completely mad. He’s dead now; his usefulness ran out. The contents of that drawer, on the other hand… Once you’ve experienced their effects, you’ll understand. We supernaturals are falling behind. If we want to survive in this new world, we need a different approach.

Gryla considered this. Glaring back at the workhouse with troubled eyes, she asked, ‘And then what, my lord?’

Revenge. We will return and, like rabbits, our old enemies will scatter. Our black plague of fear will spread through the so-called Christmas elves. Soon, the famous Nicko will be all alone and The Winter Freak Show will rue the day they pitted themselves against their prisoner-king.

Laughter cracked in Gryla’s head. Compelled to join in, she let a cackle explode from her lips and laughed until a vein puffed in her forehead.

A bolt of pain came from nowhere and struck the inside of her skull. Immediately, her mind went black, causing her knees to buckle and tremors to hammer through her body. She barely registered any of this. As quickly as it started, the deep laughter stopped.

Gryla breathed heavily for a moment as she came to and the room settled. Gaining her bearings, she used the window sill to right herself.

‘My lord?’ she asked.

He didn’t respond.

She was alone again.

The chair had moved back to the corner. Or had it always been there? Gryla wasn’t sure. Whenever her master was around, it was never easy to find where reality ended and fantasy began.

Scratching a rash on her neck, she gazed at the open drawer. Her master’s gift lay in its base. That part, at least, was real. And that meant she had work to do.