The Child Thief

Chapter Five

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Devils
Light droplets of warm rain sprinkled down onto Nick’s
face. He could feel the wetness running into his eyes, his mouth, his hair,
pulling him out from the depths of sleep. Nick wiped his face, forced
himself awake, and blinked up into the faint, misty morning glow.
Three tiny blue people, no bigger than mice, were peeing on him.
“What the fuck,” Nick cried. He sat up fast and rammed his head
against the top of his cage. Cage? He spat repeatedly, trying to rid his
mouth of the salty-sour taste. What the hell was he doing in a cage? He
shook his head and wiped the pee out of his eyes, then spat some more.
There were at least two dozen of them staring down at him, some no
bigger than grasshoppers, others closer to the size of rats—thin, spindly,
humanlike creatures with silky insect wings and sharp whip tails. They
were nude, their skin a deep sapphire blue, with wild manes of black or blue
hair running down their backs.
Peter had said something about faeries, and pixies, and goblins. Of
course Peter had said a lot of nutty things. Were these pixies? It really didn’t
matter to Nick at the moment; he was more concerned with the way these
creatures were looking at him, like he’d be good to eat.
“Shoo,” he whispered.
They continued to stare at him with their cruel, unblinking eyes.
“Shoo,” he said louder, waving his hand at them.
They hissed and bared needle-sharp teeth.
“Skat!” Nick said and swatted at the top of the cage.
They leaped up as one, the air suddenly alive with the humming of
wings. Hovering, they shrieked at him like feral cats.
Nick slid as far away from them as he could get. He grabbed a handful
of straw from the bottom of his cage and threw it at them. Startled, a small
brown mouse darted out from beneath his cage, bounding across the stone
floor.
The pixies were at it in a flash. The mouse let out a skin-crawling
squeal as they pounced. Fur, flesh, and blood spattered the stones, a dog

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pile of snarling frenzied blue bodies as they fought viciously over the
choicest bits.
“Christ,” Nick whispered, clutching his hands to his chest. “I gotta get
out of here.” He glanced about the gloom and noticed there were at least a
dozen kid-sized cages stacked against one wall. Like his, they were built
from branches and twine. Many were covered in raggedy tarps looking for
all the world like rotting corpses of beasts. A cluster of spears leaned
against one another, teepee-style, and in their center—Nick swallowed—a
human skull.
A sharp clack came from somewhere behind him.
The pixies stopped fighting and stood up, their faces alert, heads
flicking about as they searched the darkness.
A soft thud followed by a long, low growl slid out of the shadows and
the pixies zipped up and away, leaving Nick alone. Nick found himself
wishing they’d stayed, anything but to be alone in a cage, in the gloom,
with whatever had made that noise.
Another creak; this one closer. Pushing his face against the bars, Nick
strained to see into the shadows. He made out a twisting pillar of roots that
disappeared into the darkness above. Nick noted a shadow hunched next to
the roots, and the shadow—it was moving! It rocked back and forth then
darted away.
“Oh, crap.” What was that?
The room grew brighter and the fog began to thin. He could now make
out objects hanging from the walls. Nick blinked. Knives with wicked
curved blades hung in rows. Alongside were spiked clubs and an assortment
of jagged-edged hatchets. Instruments designed to rend and maim, and they
all looked well used. Hanging above the weapons were three skulls tied
together in a pyramid. Their leathery, wormholed flesh stretched across
silent screams. A pair of leg bones set in a cross hung below, forming a
triptych of Jolly Rogers.