Love Charms

by Multiple

  “I haven’t. I just switched the handcuffs for a more secure form of bondage.” She hooked a finger underneath my collar. “This is better than any rope or piece of plastic.”

  “A collar?”

  “It’s not just a collar. Fred here is a mage and his enchantments ensure no one leaves before I’m ready to let them go.” She put a hand on the nape of my neck. “Here, let me show you. This back piece here, when pulled, effectively cuts off your air supply.” She pulled and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I gasped and tried to pull the collar loose with my fingers with no success. Ignoring my distress, she continued, “But, that’s more of a mechanical feature as opposed to magic.” She released me and I hunched over, hands around my neck sucking in air through a bruised throat. “The magic comes into play if you try to run away or disobey a direct order from me. Disobedience is punished with a shock and running away is a sure way to die, right, Fred?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Athena. My spell ensures instant death once someone crosses your property line.” Fred nodded as he spoke, his tone just a hair above a snivel. I noticed, as his head bobbed up and down, that he wore a collar as well. The design was different, his was more of a solid band where mine was similar to chain mail, but a collar nonetheless.

  Athena followed my gaze and smiled. “Yes, Fred wears a collar too. In fact, his was the first collar ever made. I managed to put it on him before he realized what was happening and he’s been working for the renegades ever since. How long has it been now, mage?”

  Fred fingered his collar and I caught a glimpse of deep scars underneath. How long before disobedience left permanent marks? Two or three times? A dozen shocks? I hoped I didn’t have to find out. “Fifteen years, Miss Athena.”

  Fifteen years of forced slave labor for an organization that wanted to put the control of magic, of your own people, in human hands? Shocked like a dog with an electric collar any time you did something your captors didn’t like? I shook my head at the horror of it. How many people crossed the property line on purpose to avoid Fred’s fate?

  “More than a decade of excellent service to the cause. Of course, it helps that your collar is set to kill you the second someone escapes.” Athena smiled, a benevolent dictator. If Fred had been a dog, this would’ve been the moment she patted him on the head. “I believe in failsafe quality control.”

  I gulped, but stayed silent. That was one way to avoid insubordination. Did they ever let the poor man out of the basement? Or had he spent the last decade and a half in a dark corner, inhaling rust?

  “Well, now that we’ve got you collared,” Athena clapped her hands together, a smirk of satisfaction on her face. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying for the next few days.”

  I followed Athena back up to the black-and-white kitchen where she gave me a quick tour, showing me where the dishes were kept and what food I could eat. “Help yourself, just don’t eat the last of anything. If we’re low on something, make a note of it here.” She pointed to a list on the refrigerator. “We’ll pick it up on the next grocery run.”

  I nodded, unwilling to discuss grocery shopping with my kidnaper. Too surreal for me.

  “Back here,” she moved towards a hallway, sharp heels clacking on the linoleum, “is your room.”

  We walked through a hallway that led behind the kitchen until we reached a large room filled with an assortment of leather furniture; couches, ottomans, and wing backed chairs all in mud brown. Green accent pillows interrupted the monotonous brown. Oriental rugs in a dark burgundy color covered most of a hardwood floor. Sort of a cross between traditional hotel lobby decor and shabby chic—not an antique in sight. A huge flat screen television had been mounted over the fireplace at the far end with a stereo console set up right beside it.

  Athena waved to a set of doors running along the back wall, “The bedrooms are back there, take your pick. You’re the only new asset here at the moment.”

  “Don’t you mean prisoner?”

  “No. I said asset and I meant asset.” She gave me a hard look, annoyed. “You’ll see what I mean soon.” She waved to a set of French doors. “The bathrooms are over there. You’ll also find clothes in your size, just look through the closet and take what you need.” She sniffed. “You could use a shower.”

  I considered telling Athena it was her fault I smelled like ripe road kill, but decided against it. No need to antagonize her, not when she could cut off my breath with a quick yank on the chain around my neck. Not to forget the zapping either. No, I didn’t want to piss Athena off, at least not now. I would save my smartass remarks for some other time. The name of the game at the moment was survival. That and saving my friends…at least the ones who were still alive.

  “Basically, you have free rein of the house and the grounds, just don’t try to cross the gates or…”

  “I’ll die.” I finished for her.

  She nodded. “And quickly. The last person who wore your collar was dead in less than five seconds.”

  Damn. That was faster than a sports car.

  “And don’t think you can hide, we can find you wherever you go. Don’t try to use the phones either. All calls on the land lines are monitored. You’ll be disconnected before you can even ask for help.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Enjoy your stay at Chez Renegade. This is a great opportunity for you. Someone with your skills can go far in our organization.” She gave me a one armed hug, the way a coach might show affection for a teammate.

  I stiffened at the contact, but she didn’t notice. She gave me a final squeeze and released me. “Well, I have business to attend to. Make yourself comfortable while you can. I hear Kristoff employs some harsh training methods.”

  “Kristoff?”

  “You’ll meet him soon. He’s your new owner,” Athena said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

  I watched her go, fingering my collar, amazed at how fast I had become something to be owned.

  The day passed quickly. I showered, selected some clothes from the neat stacks arranged on shelves in a walk in closet by the bathroom. The clothes were basic; jeans and Tshirts and available in enough quantity, that I wondered just how many new renegade ‘assets’ they brought in. Judging from the volume of clothing, dozens at least.

  I picked out a pair of black jeans and a blue T-shirt with a V-neck. They had lavender, which would’ve matched the stone in my collar perfectly, but something in me rebelled at color-coordinating my outfit with the very thing that labeled me as a possession. It felt too much like acceptance, so I went with blue. There were shoes too, and I picked out two pairs. A leather slide for lounging in the house and a more practical pair of black tennis shoes for hiking the grounds.

  Dressed, I explored every inch of Athena’s estate that afternoon and found…nothing. The rooms of the main house were empty and decorated in a strange Las Vegas meets old time brothel mash-up. There was no hint of the darker purposes the house served. If I dropped my shields and let the walls speak, I caught images of dozens of Sidhe being brought in, questioned, and collared or killed. Athena was not gentle, and from what little I saw before I broke the connection, I was surprised at the lack of blood stains on the carpet. In fact, I was surprised I wasn’t bleeding.

  Wanting to clean the metaphysical blood off my hands, I went outside and back to the building where I had been imprisoned. It was empty, same as the house and led me to wonder why such large facilities existed for prisoners. Maybe it had been a slow recruiting month.

  With a shrug, I went to test the limits of the collar by walking up to the gate, but backed off when the metal grew hot as a sunburn against my neck. I didn’t think Athena had lied, but I had to see for myself. Hands in my pockets and kicking stones as I walked, I made my way through the gardens. While pretty, with fragrant lilacs and blushing roses, they yielded no information or solutions I could use. I didn’t see any other people either. So far, being a prisoner had been pretty boring. Lonely even.

>   It seemed the only place that was occupied was the basement. Judging by the lack of any personal possessions in any of the rooms I had visited, none of people in the basement appeared to live on the estate. Yet I hadn’t seen any cars indicating that people commuted either. Curious, I tried to explore the basement to see if there was some kind of underground bunker, but, while I was greeted with a friendly smile, I was also promptly escorted back up the stairs.

  I gave up on my search then, and, out of anxiety, gorged myself on food until I couldn’t breathe. After which, I parked my distended stomach on a couch and watched television until I fell asleep.

  I woke much later to find the sun gone and the cable channel had switched from showing old comedies to infomercials. Groggy, I stumbled into a bedroom and tucked myself into a nice soft bed.

  The voices started almost immediately.

  “Renegades are the future of the human race,” said throaty female voice that sounded way too cheerful about the renegades being in charge of humans’ future. She probably didn’t know about the collars.

  “Renegades want what is best for humans,” said an authoritative male voice. I doubted this guy knew about the collars either. Or else he endorsed human slavery, making his concept of ‘best’ very different from mine.

  My eyes snapped open and I looked around trying to determine where the voices were coming from. But my room was empty. I didn’t see speakers anywhere. I had turned off the T.V. before bed…hadn’t I? I dragged myself out of bed and poked my head out to verify the T.V. was off. It was.

  Puzzled I went to back to bed chalking it up to nerves or perhaps some odd acoustics in the house. Maybe I was hearing a conversation from another room coming in through the air-conditioning vent above the bed.

  I closed my eyes, prepared to drift off into a deep sleep, but I heard more voices.

  “You’re an asset to the renegades. We need the absolute best from you to succeed.” It was the woman again and she sounded so happy, I expected her to shout ‘go team’ any second.

  “Magic should serve humans, not the other way around,” said the man in his booming voice.

  I opened my eyes again and sat up, frowning. What was with the disembodied propaganda? It reminded me of a training seminar I had attended once in my short-lived corporate career. Full of false confidence and platitudes. Lip service to the theory, not the reality.

  I turned on the light and started looking for the source of the voices, but not only could I not find any speakers (not even under the mattress), but the voices had stopped again. Frustrated, I turned the light off and flopped back into bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting.

  My eyes had just drooped closed when it started again. This time, I just laid still and listened, curious to see what would happen.

  “Humans should have free access to magic. Magic isn’t just for the Fay.”

  “As for Supernaturals, Vampires wouldn’t be here without humans. Have they ever helped us? No. But do we supply blood to them through our blood bank system? Yes. They need us to survive, but don’t return our kindness.”

  “Have werewolves ever helped track a missing child? No. But have humans made laws to accommodate werewolves’ special needs? Yes.”

  “Humans have gotten the short end of the stick for centuries now. Denied magic, stalked and hunted by Supernaturals, who now force us to structure our entire society around their needs. It’s time for us to demand equal consideration.”

  “This was our world first, theirs second. God made us Guardians of all He created, including the Sidhe and supernaturals.”

  And so it went, spouting racist baloney in an endless loop until I wanted to scream. I searched the room two more times, checked the T.V. again, the stereo, and even went so far as to try and pry the air conditioning vent loose. The second I started moving, the voices stopped, only to start up again right before I drifted off to sleep.

  Eventually, I was so tired, they failed to wake me up and I fell into a deep sleep, the renegade credo droning in my ears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, Athena came into the kitchen as I was buttering my toast. Once again, she wore impossibly high stiletto heels. Today’s shoes were navy and matched her pinstriped pantsuit. A string of pearls hung around her neck, dangling between her breasts, which were barely covered by a half-unbuttoned white shirt that did little to hide the lace bra she wore underneath. Her short hair had been slicked back with gel, giving it a wet just-out-of-the-shower look. She looked like a model from Vogue. She even smelled good, I caught a whiff of her musk perfume as she passed me. I felt frumpy and pudgy next to her. Why did the bad guys always get the good clothes?

  “Good morning, Sofia.” She took a mug out of a cupboard, and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Sleep well?”

  I nodded.

  She paused in the middle of adding sugar to her mug. “I like verbal responses to my questions. You’re too shy with words.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, bristling, and scraping butter across the bread with more force than was necessary.

  “That’s better. Kristoff likes his people quiet, so that will serve you well, but I expect people to speak when spoken to.”

  At the meaningful look she gave me, I managed a soft, “Okay.”

  She took a sip of her coffee and watched me put strawberry jam on my toast. “Renegades are….” she trailed off, waiting expectantly.

  “The future of the human race.” The words came to me without thought and they were out before I could stop them. Eyes wide with shock, I put a hand to my mouth as if I could stuff them back in.

  “Excellent. You did sleep well, then.” She drank the last of her coffee and put her cup in the sink before strutting past me, heading back to the office where we had met the day before.

  I took my toast and went back to sit on the sofa closest to the big screen T.V., my thoughts heavy. The voices last night hadn’t been my imagination or an acoustic mistake, it had been an attempt to brainwash me. Based on what happened in the kitchen, it appeared to have had some success. I was well on my way to becoming a renegade puppet.

  I ate my breakfast, the toast tasting like ash, and took my dishes back to the kitchen, deciding to wash them simply because I had nothing better to do. Misery mixed with toast in my stomach resulting in a heavy ball of hopeless nausea. The collar made escape impossible and the brainwashing made me question how long it would be before my personality dissolved and slipped down the drain like the soap suds in the sink, never to be seen again. How long before I sniveled like Fred the mage? Not a happy thought. Add the fact Vera was probably dead by now, and Jacob was nothing more than a hint of bone sticking out of the ground in the Wastelands, and I found myself sniffing back tears.

  All I had wanted was to be an antique dealer, find a guy to fall in love with, and maybe get married someday. I never wanted to be a private eye or work for dragon-Sidhe peace or be psychic for that matter. But because I was psychic, I did all the things I never wanted to, at the behest of people I cared about only to have them die or be kidnapped while finding myself about to become a saleable commodity for the renegades.

  If the renegades had done any research, they would’ve known I’d never solved a case or successfully used my psychic abilities beyond selling antiques. Perhaps if they had known that, I would’ve lost some of my appeal. As psychics went, all I was good for was getting people killed.

  I finished washing the dishes and put them in the rack to dry. Bored and depressed, I drifted aimlessly through the house, a numb feeling in my chest. The house was empty as usual, the rooms filled with quiet dread. Unable to find a distraction in the house, and not wanting to go outside, I returned to my room with the idea of taking a nap. What I really needed was a drink, but, if there was any alcohol in the house, I had yet to find it. I pulled the blankets over my head and huddled underneath them, taking comfort in the warmth as I slipped into a light sleep.

  This time, no voices regaled me with twisted reneg
ade truth and I slept until a familiar clacking of high-heels woke me up. I tossed the blanket aside to find Athena standing over me, a hand on her hip, foot tapping on the wood floor of the bedroom. “Someone from Kristoff’s organization is here to pick you up. Meet me in my office in five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said with a groggy yawn.

  “I suggest you brush your hair before you come, it’s a mess,” Athena said, already turning to leave. “Don’t make us wait too long.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said to her back, running my fingers through my hair to smooth out any snarls.

  Moving without enthusiasm, much like an inmate walking to their execution, I twisted my hair into a thick coil and used a scrunchie to put it up in a makeshift bun. Then I took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for whatever came next. Kind of hard to do when I had no idea what was going to happen, but I did my best.

  *

  I found Athena in her office once again talking on her cell phone, a false cheer in her voice as she promised someone a faster delivery on an ‘asset’. A chill went through me at the word and I wondered who she might be talking about. Me? Some other poor soul snatched by the renegades?

  Also in the room, was a tall woman with ash blonde hair. She sat on the cream love seat next to Athena’s desk, hands clasped patiently in her lap, hazel eyes fixed on the door. When she caught sight of me, she smiled revealing perfect white teeth. “You must be Sofia.”

  I nodded, and then, remembering Athena’s preferences, followed it with a quiet, “Yes.” I stood, hovering half in, half out of the room, unsure of what to do.

  Athena finished her phone call with a hearty, insincere laugh. She pushed the antennae in and set the phone on the edge of her desk. “Sofia this is Julia, one of Kristoff’s staff. You’ll be going with her today.” She sorted through some files on her desk and pulled out a stack of papers at least a quarter inch thick. “Julia, if you will be so kind as to sign the contract while I verify the funds have transferred to my account.”

  “Of course. I assume this is the standard contract?” Julie walked over to take the paperwork. Her height came naturally and not from shoes. She wore plain black leather flats along with a body skimming sheath dress in nubby black silk. Very elegant. Again I became conscious of my jeans and rumpled T-shirt, feeling like a frumpy haus-frau by comparison. But then I was the slave. I doubted slaves were supposed to look as good or better than their owners.