Page 3 of Railed By the Easter Bunny

Jamus’ tower sits in the center of the Valley.

But it lies in the shadow of a taller, brighter spire.

A spire that most avoid, even as it draws at us all like a beacon.

The road beneath my tires turns from asphalt to cobbles as the buildings melt away and I drive through the kilometres-wide lawn that separates Ester’s domain from that of her legacy.

There is no place to park, and when I roll to a stop before the wide front doors, my engine finally giving out, I have to wonder if Jamus wasn’t the one who drained my tank after all.

My door handle snaps as if someone is trying to open it from the outside, but there’s no one on the other side of my dark window.

Anywhere else in the Valley, that would have scared me.

But no one dies in Ester’s private domain.

The ill fates offered here are worse than death.

When I unlock the door, it’s hauled open by one of her creatures. Possibly the result of one of her worse than death deals.

The creature is a twisted attempt at a man. Its face an ugly misshapen mass that’s a bit too red. Its hair a bit too green to actually be blonde.

When it speaks, its words are rattles and hisses, even when they contain no letter that would make sense to allow it.

“Come,” it says, the word followed by a croaking deep in its throat. “She is waiting.”

For a moment, I watch it walk away.

Backward knees.

Backward ankles.

My heels leave me unsteady on the cobbles as I follow him around the front of my car. I don’t feel like I’m on solid ground again until I step up onto the blonde flags of the entryway. And even then, I don’t feel like I’ve got a handle on the world that used to be crystal clear to me.

When the creature hauls open the door, I glance back at the Valley one last time. This choice could be the worst one I’ve made since moving in with Jamus.

“In.” Again, the word is followed by the sound of a snake’s rattle deep inside the creature.

It sweeps its hand in front of it, like it’s trying to brush away a tricky pebble. And that is likely all I am to it.

The door leads to a tiny vestibule, a cube with a single table and chair to one side. Another lift door at the other.

Everything is pink and green, like a spring time tea set in the shape of a room.

The creature hops up onto the chair, turning to a puzzle on that table… the colours are bright… but the pieces, too few.

It waves its hand toward the lift. No words or commands this time. Just the belief that I’ll go.

What other option do I have?

Those doors slide open before I reach them.

The interior is pink too… but not pastel. It reminds me of bubble gum. Dusty enough that it’s not dark.

There are no buttons. Nothing to control where I’m going—not that I think that’s an option anymore.

I rise through the tower until, with a momentary feeling of weightlessness, the lift comes to a stop.

The doors don’t open right away, and I clutch my purse a little tighter.

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