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It had been uncomfortable, the sensation that had coursed through her when the connection had been severed so immediately. The energy that had flowed into her when her claws had sliced through him was unusual fare for her palate. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue longer than she liked. Sadly, several hours would have to pass before she could purge the pungent flavor with the sweet decadence of a mortal child.
Never had the witch drawn any essence into herself through her talons. She preferred to savor each morsel through oral consumption. Antiquated, to be certain, but the method had definite benefits. It was, she presumed, the equivalent to allowing a piquant aroma to tickle the senses. Every soul she consumed traveled into her through more mundane means than any would credit to her. Feeling the other spirit's dark energy flow into her from her talons had been both abnormal and bracing.
She considered briefly choosing to consume her next meal by sinking her razor-sharp nails into their heart the way she had siphoned the small amount of energy from the king of nightmares. A smile formed slowly on the ancient spirit's face as she contemplated the way it might feel. Recognizing that it might very well be the best way to eliminate the horrid aftertaste that lingered, she resigned herself to using that method for the first meal of the evening at the very least.
Annis was aware she had inflicted a wound on Pitch. It likely was not a grievous injury, but the pain he suffered might well be enough to incapacitate him for a time. The possibility that he would refrain from darkening her doorstep again was high. She gained some comfort from the knowledge that he would no longer be intruding on her hours of solitude. Immortal she might be, and not requiring of sleep – but neither meant she did not like to plan.
His chest hurt. He absentmindedly rubbed the spot where he had felt her talons slice into him, trying not to wince as the dark material he favored brushed roughly over the affected area. While the nightmare king would be among the first to acknowledge that spirits were not affected by injuries in the same way that mortals would be, that fact did not stop him from feeling the pain from the point of impact. Watching the overgrown rabbit smack the blade of his boomerang against the pad of his paw repeatedly gave the master of fear no hope of avoiding any future pain. He winced as the possibility that the Guardians might do actual harm to him loomed large.
Making note of the way Pitch kept moving one palm slowly over his chest, Bunnymund's suspicions increased. The history he had with the malevolent spirit prevented him from ever being able to trust the other entity entirely. Dismissing the sudden way in which the nightmare king had arrived, the fact that his behavior was so dubious gave the pooka no reason to doubt their past history. The hare narrowed his eyes, certain that the dark spirit was trying to devise a way in which he could attack them.
When the heels of the hefty black boots thudded as they connected with the ground beneath, the lagomorph tensed. The steady clap of the wood connecting with his fur-covered paw ceased as he prepared to strike with the weapon. His muscles only relaxed when Pitch settled once more, the thump against the snow-covered soil having resulted from the repositioning of the nightmare king's long legs. The pooka ceased his pacing, standing directly in front of the dark spirit as he waited for the others to finish their conversation. He could not help but hope that they would all agree on giving the evil being over to Tsar Lunar and being done with it.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
The silken baritone sent shivers up the rabbit's spine. Turning to face the nightmare king, he did not even attempt to hide the sneer from his features. His furry features were twisted into a mask of fury, his upper lip curled grotesquely as he regarded the other being. "You are joking, yeah?"
"No, really. I'm not." The hare stepped toward Pitch menacingly. "Hear me out!" The near squeak audible in his own voice caused the dark spirit to purse his lips in distaste. The panicked tone had the desired effect, though, as Bunnymund halted his approach. His demeanor was no less intimidating, but he no longer appeared prepared to use his boomerang to see if blood could be drawn from their ilk. "Without fear, there would be no need for goodness, right?"
Eyes narrowed, the lagomorph's ears twitched. Pitch realized he was rapidly losing any chance for a rapport with the tall hare. He was exceedingly grateful when the others walked back over, the emotion evidenced by a a deep exhalation. Catching sight of the measured rise and fall of the malevolent spirit's chest, Bunnymund chuckled.
"One thing you might like to remember, mate." Nervous eyes raised to meet the verdant green focused fully on him. "I don't care for small talk."
Jack's snort had the nightmare king turning his attention to the blind guardian. "He really does mean that. He hates small talk." The ice wielder formed a snowball in his hand, passing it between his palms. Pitch's eyes followed the path of the white sphere. Never suspecting that the Guardians would attempt to distract him, the dark spirit was unprepared for the gentle sprinkling of the dream weaver's dust that landed on his nose just before he lost consciousness.
"A'right, what could possibly have taken so long to decide? He's a menace, and he's been helping that barbarous sheila. She didn't just try to scare Conall this morning. She wanted to kill him."
Dissolving the snowball, Jack nodded in thanks to Toothiana as his staff touched his palm. Leaning his cheek against the curve of the crook with its base firmly planted on the ground, the youngest guardian simply listened as the others tried to explain their reasoning to his furry companion. Smiling, he shook his head. He knew just how obstinate the Australian could be when he chose, something the others chose to overlook simply because they had all known each other for so long. While the mischief maker would certainly admit that each of them could make claims regarding stubbornness, despite all the times he had tried to enter North's workshop, the jolly spirit had never held a grudge. Bunnymund, on the other hand, had held one for more than a century over a single blizzard.
Jack's head rose quickly from its resting position. The sudden movement caught the rabbit's eye, who turned from the heated discussion he had been having with the others in slight concern. His long ears had not picked up any alarming sounds. The distress evident in the younger guardian's posture did not abate when the others finally took note of the change and ceased their prattling.
"What is it, Jack?" The Russian's question was abnormally quiet, his caution causing the others to tense in preparation of they knew not what.
"Annis likes the cold."
A golden question mark appeared above Sandy's head, followed quickly by the image of an egg. Another drift of the dream dust shaped itself into a hammer, striking the egg at the top. The sand-egg split apart slightly, a crack visible in the shell. Bunnymund snorted.
"Whatever it is you're sayin', Sandy, just hear me out." Shrugging, the dream guardian allowed the image to dissipate. "She doesn't just like it though – she adores it."
"Okay..." Toothiana's impatience was obvious in the slight edge to her tone.
"So she's a winter spirit. Like me." Silence fell over the group for a brief moment before a cacophony of voices denied the comparison. Holding up his left hand, his staff resting gently against his right palm, he waited for them to quiet once more. "No, I don't mean I'm like her. I mean … We know she's behind the extended winter. Somehow."
"Da. Jack, what are you trying to say?" North seemed genuinely confused by the ice wielder's train of thought.
"There was something she told me when she was letting me know all of that. It's important, I know it." Jack's brow furrowed as he concentrated on remembering, his frustration evident in the frown marring his features. Several minutes passed in near silence before a smile alighted the youngest guardian's features once more. "She told me she's bound to the isles."
Bunnymund's ears perked up. "How?"
Jack shrugged. Lifting his staff from the ground, he swung the crook so that it was pointing towards the unconscious malevolent spirit in their midst. "I don't know. But I bet he does."
"Libby, I didn't lose my mind! I'm telling you, there was a six foot tall rabbit on that hill!"
The sound of the argument floated down the hall, catching Piers' attention as he turned the corner coming out of the stairwell on the way back to his brother's room. His raised eyebrows lent his young face a look far more mature than his brief years on the earth warranted. Walking slowly down the corridor, the boy made an effort to go unnoticed as he slipped into the open door, listening intently to the girls' conversation.
"I know what you think you saw. An' I had to tell your mum, Maisie! I couldn't risk there was something … bad causing you to see what you think you did."
A feminine growl peppered the air. "You keep saying 'think I saw.' Just because you're too closed-minded to accept that there are some things you have to take on faith doesn't mean that everyone is." He chuckled lightly at the girl's statement, giving away his presence in the room. His eyes widened as the curtain was yanked back. Her emerald orbs glinted with mirth as she crossed her arms, the hospital gown hanging loosely on her frame. "An' I suppose you'll tell me he's not there either."
Glaring at her friend, the other girl scoffed. "Of course the little eavesdropper's there. He's real." Piers could not have stopped the rumbling laugh that erupted if he had tried. Tears of amusement squeezed from the corners of his eyes. "Just what is so funny, little boy?"
The disdain in her voice ended his laughter, the levity quickly leaving the situation. "You've had your friend admitted to the hospital because you don't believe in the Easter Bunny."
"First off, it's not Easter. If she thinks she's seein' him in June, then we have a serious problem."
"Aside from the fact that we do have a serious problem? I'll bet she really did see him. Tall fellow, blue fur, had jeweled arm guards?" Eyes wide in astonishment and jaw slightly slack, Maisie nodded. Piers crossed his arms over his chest as he turned back to the other girl. "He's not the only one that's real."
"I suppose you're going to tell me that the tooth fairy has massive pink wings." The girl's derision was obvious in her scornful tone. Piers just shook his head, turning back to Maisie.
"Lost cause, that one." Not having had any sympathy for the past two days since her friend had seen it as a duty to have Maisie treated for some medical malady, the emerald-eyed girl found herself full of appreciation for this strange boy.
Sighing as she threw her hands up in exasperation, Libby shook her head. Leaning down to grab something from the floor on the side of the bed hidden from the doorway, she missed the exaggerated eye roll from Piers which drew an exuberant laugh from Maisie. Standing once more, she fixed her friend with sad eyes. "I have to go now – it's almost dark out. I'll … see you tomorrow, I guess." Her head was still shaking slowly with her sadness as she left the room.
Moving closer to the girl laying in the hospital bed, he positioned himself so he could watch the street from the window in her room. "Well." Piers extended his hand. "I'm Piers. My brother Conall's just down the hall. He was saved from drowning by the ice ki– by Jack Frost." The girl's eyes widened slightly. Reaching out she took his hand, giving it a firm shake.
"Maisie. Or as the nurses keep calling me when they think I can't hear, the-girl-who's-lost-the-plot." Piers snorted. Silence passed between them as they both kept vigil, each wanting to make sure that her friend did make it safely to a vehicle. Seeing the girl wrap her arms tightly about a woman he assumed was her mother before getting into a car parked by the curb, he turned from the window. "Have you seen her?"
The girl's voice was soft and full of fear. He could not blame her – the hag had been more than terrifying. He just nodded. The pair sat in silence, a melancholy settling over them as the sun began to set once more.
Pitch had been exceedingly uncooperative once he had regained consciousness. To say that he was unamused by having been 'sucker punched' would have been a gross understatement. The dark spirit had been livid when he had opened his eyes. Short of snarling at them whenever they so much as took a step in his direction, he had not provided any verbal response to the Guardians' numerous queries. No matter what attempt was made to appease him, he refused to be placated, drawing his anger about him as a cloak nearly as manifest as the shadows in which he habitually hid.
Even with their attention focused on him, the group had not been prepared for his sudden departure. Unfortunately, Pitch had himself been taken by surprise at his unplanned exit. He had fled to them with the knowledge that their innate goodness would prevent them from causing him harm. He had not factored in any deceitfulness when he had made his sudden decision to leave Annis' side. In retrospect, he supposed he should have, as Sanderson had once allowed him to believe that he had managed to defeat the ancient dream weaver. Regardless, finding himself once more in the malevolent witch's clutches had not been in his plans for the evening.
Eyes widening as he took in her furious features, he hastily took stock of his surroundings. She had certainly been paying attention, as she had negotiated with the wind to bring him to a clearing flooded with the light from the face of the full moon. The shadows were few and far. Any he tried to draw close were dissipated quickly by the pool of light into which he had been planted.
"You wanted light." Her silver eyes flashed with hatred as she practically spat the words.
"Ah. Though they are both celestial orbs, I must say I prefer the sun's rays." He was actually proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his voice from wavering and did not squeak with the trepidation coursing through him. The spot on his chest that had felt her claws throbbed painfully. He could only imagine what Jack must feel when in her presence. She possessed only a small part of his dark essence, but she held the ice wielder's vision hostage.
Her face, for the first time since he had been in her presence, was impassive. Pitch excelled at reading other beings – mortals and spirits alike. It made drawing on his ability to manipulate terror that much easier. With both her face and posture not revealing anything about her state of mind, though, the nightmare king found himself largely unprepared when she attacked him.
To his credit, he had drawn his scythe the moment he saw her foot twitch. The blade had swung towards her in a beautiful arc, but it had not been able to connect before the moon's light dissolved its black essence. Annis tackled him, throwing her full weight against his form and landing them both on the frigid earth. Raising herself slightly off of him, she pulled her hand back, letting her talons gleam in the moonlight.
Eyes wide with fright at the prospect of her drawing more of his essence from him, Pitch raised his hands, placing them palm up in the snow beside his head. "You don't want to do this."
Her cackle echoed from the distant trees. "Oh, yes. I do. I want to break you."