Angeles Covenant
Page 22
“Neither do I,” Dr. Sosin said, removing a roll of gauze from his bag and beginning to wrap Victoria’s head. “She’s my daughter too.”
Chapter One
I was only ever allowed to wear shoes when sent on errands into town. This was mandated by Master Ramsey and had been so ever since I was a little girl. I wasn’t a Ramsey though; I was a Sandalwood and was reminded of that every single day of my life.
The Ramsey estate was large and sprawling, a testament to their position as Duke and Duchess of the 24th Ward. We were in the ring of the outermost wards in the Kingdom, considered the Borderlands. The electric fence protected us from whatever stirred in the Outlands, but from my limited experience, protections from things inside our very own Kingdom were most needed.
From one of many hallway entrances, I padded outside on calloused, bare feet and followed a path through the East garden, making my way to the gaping mouth of the hedge maze. On one side of the maze entrance grew a cascading willow tree, and on the other, a copse of young birches, hazels, and hickories.
I approached one of the hazels with its low-lying branches, gripping the handle of my paring knife in one hand. There were fewer and fewer branches every time I came out here, but I found two that were sturdy yet flexible and cut them down. I’d become something of an expert in choosing and smoothing them, always returning with two just in case one snapped before my time was up. If only one was supplied and it broke before the determined time, then I’d only have to fetch another, and the whole act would begin again.
I returned with haste to the Master’s den—the one where he loved to sit by the fire, read from one of his hardbound books from his library, and occasionally watch television. I found him waiting there, and presented him with the switches.
“These look adequate enough,” he said, taking them from me and proceeding to bend and flex them. “They shall do nicely.”
Master Ramsey pulled the leather-bound bench away from the wood-paneled wall. Above where the bench was stationed, sat a shelf displaying a stuffed mountain lion; the Master had shot it himself in his younger years before the shades of gray hair had completely overtaken his beard.
I got into position, lying down on my stomach across the hard leather and placing my hands behind my back. I gazed at the open doorway as he secured my upper body and lower legs to the bench and bound my hands.
Mina passed by, stopping in her tracks when she saw what was happening—my preparation for punishment. She was only twelve, but already a stunning copy of her nineteen-year-old sister, Johanna. And the boys were taking notice of her—even Johanna’s regular gentleman callers.
“Mina, darling, please fetch your sister for me,” Master Ramsey said in an even, but commanding voice. “And you come back with her as well.”
“Yes, Father,” she said as she scampered off.
The only thing worse than the switching itself was having an audience. Mina and Johanna sat in quite often, so they could learn their life lessons vicariously through me—through my pain and shame. I felt my pain rising like the tide from the last session. I was supposed to be learning. I was supposed to be more disciplined and obedient. I seemed to be none of those things.
Master Ramsey pulled on the ropes securing me to the leather bench; he said they were for my own safety. My skirt was pulled up to just past my knees, and he leaned the second switch against the wall where it would wait for its chance to kiss my imperfect skin. He stood silent and stoic, awaiting the girls’ arrival.
Waiting was also excruciating when all I wanted to do was get this over with and go back to my room. And this was not the only time I’d be forced to wait in terrible anticipation of the coming waves of pain.
When the girls entered the room, I knew it was time and my whole body tightened.
“Good, now we can begin,” Master Ramsey said.
The girls knew exactly where to stand.
“What are you being punished for?” Master Ramsey asked, stepping to the side of the bench where he could see my face and I could see his.
If I did not answer, then it would only be worse. “For going into town unescorted,” I said.
“Yes. You know the rules.”
“It is a new rule,” I pleaded. This rule hadn’t been implemented until after my recent accident.
“A new rule or an old rule, it makes no difference. Disobedience does not have varying degrees,” Master Ramsey said. “What interested you in town? Was it to meet him?”
“I don’t know to whom you’re referring. I was simply asked to retrieve a few supplies for the kitchen.”
“Be that as it may. I cannot allow this insubordination to go unpunished.”
“Yes,” I said and closed my eyes, anticipating the first strike. A single tear escaped at the mere thought of what was to come.
The switch came down with full force across the vaults of my feet, followed immediately by searing pain. I cried out, as I did every time on receiving the first blow. Only so much tolerance could be built up, not enough to keep me from screaming; the girls standing before me melted away in the blur of tears.
I tried to catch my breath, but there was no time during the initial onslaught of strikes. One after another, they rained down on me. I could feel the welts forming on the bottoms of my feet already; Master Ramsey didn’t hold back. He hit me again and again, as fast and as hard as he could. And as I screamed, I strained against my restraints, but there was no escape, no reprieve; I couldn’t shield my sensitive flesh from his powerful blows.
Johanna and Mina watched on with blank, almost black expressions. Mina cried too, sometimes, but I could never hear her over my own sobs. Johanna had become hardened over the years and no longer empathized with my pain.
“I’m sorry, Father,” I cried, unable to form any clearer thoughts. And I hadn’t even realized what I’d just said until I heard his reply.
“I’ve told you never to call me that!” he yelled, finding some extra strength in the yell to make me sorry for those words too.
The bottoms of my feet burned like they were being poked by a red-hot iron. I tried to go somewhere else in my head, but the pain kept me present. After a few minutes—though it felt like an eternity—the blows slowed as Master Ramsey grew tired. The strikes became more infrequent, bringing back the horrible anticipation of when the next one would land.
“Johanna, come here,” Master Ramsey commanded. From the watery blur of my vision, I saw her join her father’s side.
“Aim for the weals in the center of the feet and strike fast. What do we do to stubborn mares that insist on remaining wild?”
“We break them, Father.”
“Good girl.”
I took a few labored, deep breaths while the switch changed hands. Then I felt the familiar sting of being struck again. The first one seemed almost hesitant. A pause. The next one was less so. A shorter pause came.
“Yes,” Master Ramsey said. “She needs to know you mean it.”
Then the full force and volley returned and I found myself screaming again. Johanna grew tired faster and her blows weakened but I knew it wasn’t over.
“Mina, come take your sister’s place.”
But Mina didn’t budge; she stood glued to her spot and shook her head. Her face matched mine as a ruin of tears, partially concealed by the pink and red locks accessorizing her naturally blonde hair.
“If you do not, you will only be making it worse for her.” Master Ramsey’s voice was deep and sinister. He did not shout.
Mina dragged her feet as she reluctantly complied. When she took the switch, it was almost a mercy; she missed the primary target half the time, and the blows she landed correctly had a greatly reduced severity. But even the touch of a feather hurt at this point.
She didn’t last long and then the real punishment continued, causing me to wail once again like a dying animal. I knew I wasn’t even bleeding—Master Ramsey was too practiced—but the pain inflicted by each calculated blow felt like my fe
et would split open at any moment, like overripe fruit.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take another licking, it was over. The girls were sent on their way with warnings of disobedience, while I was untied from the bench. My arms fell limply to the floor. I lay across the leather unable and unwilling to move.
“You may go about your chores, Victoria,” Master Ramsey said, snapping the sticks into smaller ones before throwing them into the lit hearth. Next time would require new ones I’d also have to supply. It was all part of the ritual.
He gave my butt a pat and left the room, allowing me the slight dignity of hobbling out of the den in solitude, but not before returning the leather bench to its original location under the trophy.
Continue Royal Replicas NOW!
Read more by Michael Pierce
THE ANGELES VAMPIRE SERIES
Angeles Vampire (Book 1)
Angeles Underground (Book 2)
Angeles Betrayal (Book 3)
Angeles Covenant (Book 4)
THE ROYAL REPLICAS SERIES
Royal Replicas (Book 1)
Royal Captives (Book 2)
Royal Threat (Book 3)
Royal Return (Book 4)
THE LORNE FAMILY VAULT SERIES
Provex City (Book 1)
SUSY Asylum (Book 2)
Doria Falls (Book 3)
Archanum Manor (Book 4)
About the Author
Michael Pierce loves stories that are thrilling and unexpected, romantic and fantastical—addictive tales that will keep you reading long past the witching hour.
He currently lives in Southern California with his wife, kids, and two blood-thirsty chiweenies.
When he's not at the computer, he enjoys spending quality time with family, practicing yoga, playing guitar behind closed doors, and listening to audiobooks.
Connect with him online:
michaelpierceauthor.com
michael@michaelpierceauthor.com