A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  Countless times she’d tried to use her special talent to try and escape, but something — she was not sure what — stopped it from occurring.

  Her room was not so different from the linoleum-lined medical room she’d first awoken in. The grey linoleum covered the floors and the first half of the walls. A single, lonesome-looking camp bed with a white hospital blanket completed the picture. They had taken her clothes, so she was dressed in a white hospital gown, tightly done at the back. If she did happen to escape she would attract serious attention dressed as she was. There were no books, there was no television. Nothing, until Maggie brought her a meal — a small metal tray presented and laid down on the cold linoleum.

  Again she tried to camouflage — her body shifted to grey, but otherwise she didn’t sense the peculiar sensation. Was it because no one was there? Could she only use her mental ability when someone was present? She had no idea.

  The scene outside the window was a dull one. Through the institutional beige of the vertical blinds, safety mesh patterned the world outside. All she could see was the rippling surface of a pale cement-sheeting fence, and a weed-ridden red paved path below. She could see the top part of a wall and the roof of the next-door house, but that was it. There were no other distinctive features. She had no idea where she was. Why, she may even be out of Perth for all she knew.

  Sabra heard her own sigh echo around the horridly boring room.

  ‘Maggie!’ she called, and looked directly into the small camera situated in the far corner of the room. ‘Please come, I’m bored. You know this is a form of torture, don’t you?’

  There was no reciprocal noise. Nothing stirred but the dull hum of the ducted heating system that warded away the cool autumn nights.

  ‘Agh,’ Sabra groaned, feeling increasingly distressed. ‘Please! I know I’m just your oocyte production machine but…seriously!’ She stomped down on the hard floor and her foot slapped against it. It made her wince.

  Then the tears came.

  Hormones. So many freaking hormones. The daily injections were wreaking havoc with her mental state. She was alternately as horny as a puppy, or overwhelmingly distressed.

  I should have gone with Cain. Her body cramped with sexual tension. She felt wetness seep into the utilitarian white underpants she’d been supplied with.

  Had she been at home she may have touched herself to relieve the pressure, but her blurry teary gaze caught the camera in the corner of the room. She would not lower herself to that.

  She felt such a fool.

  ***

  From the control room upstairs, Maggie watched the grainy image on the screen dispassionately, as Sabra hunched on the bed and rocked.

  Faustus had returned to headquarters and left her in charge of the oocyte harvest. From the smell of Sabra, the first harvest should occur in two days’ time; she’d give her an ultrasound tomorrow, just to check.

  She glanced to her left. The cook had made Sabra a meal, a healthy one at that. Leafy greens and vegetables spilled over the plate and lean steak seeped bloody juices that soaked into the pile of mashed potato. Her own stomach growled, not for the vegetables, but the steak. With a red-clawed hand, she picked up the steak between her thumb and forefinger. The meat dripped, leaving a bloody trail. Maggie brought the meat to her nose and flared her nostrils, inhaling the rich odour. She could feel a trickle of saliva dribble down her chin in anticipation. Carefully, ignoring the droplets that fell onto her jeans, Maggie took a bite. Moist, meaty heaven. She groaned, almost sexually, and chewed slowly before swallowing. Reluctantly she placed the bitten steak back down on its plate. She’d have to eat soon.

  Brushing her blonde hair from her face, Maggie turned away from the monitor and gazed at the gloomy space behind the open door.

  ‘Felix?’ she called. ‘Would you be so kind as to go and deliver our little breeder her meal?’ she called.

  From the dark shadow behind the door, something oozed into form. Mags watched, only mildly interested as the shadow took human form.

  Within a moment, a man, tall with sharp strangely craggy features, stepped from the shadows.

  ‘There you are,’ Mags muttered, licking her lips surreptitiously and rubbing the greasy droplet of meat juice into the thick denim of her jeans.

  ‘Here I am.’ Felix’s voice was soft and almost as incorporeal as his shadow form. He had narrow, black eyes that never blinked. Mags found him unnerving.

  ‘Take this to the breeder. I can’t leave the control room until Faustus returns.’

  Felix looked at Mags, his eyes narrowing further to thinner slits, the only indication of his displeasure as the rest of his face remained immobile and mask-like.

  They both knew that Shadow Men weren’t meant to serve, but debts had to be repaid and the Shadow Man community owed Faustus a great deal of money — and the mafia made sure all debts were repaid.

  ‘As you say.’ He bowed slightly, but his body posture emanated displeasure.

  Felix approached soundlessly. His hand, an inhuman grey in colour, reached out and clasped the tray on which Sabra’s food and drink sat. He held it with difficulty.

  Mags sniffed the air, trying to scent the Shadow Man. Not one molecule of his scent hit her olfactory senses. She shivered.

  Felix’s cold eyes held hers unblinkingly, his face shadowed by the brimmed hat worn by all his kind.

  Shadow Men were universally hated, incorporeal at will, highly intelligent, expressionless and scentless — they were a threat to all and sundry and Mags hated them.

  ‘Are you going to feed her? Or do I get a laser ray and zap your head?’ Mags drawled, picking up a cigarette from the packet and toying with it.

  ‘I’d like to see you try,’ Felix hissed. ‘Do you know what happens if you miss a Shadow Man’s head? I’m sure you do…’

  Mags fought her creeping unease, and lit a cigarette as she uttered a spell. Pale white smoke circled up around her head, and she blew it in the direction of the Shadow.

  His grey shadowed face did not flinch.

  ‘You get split up and form more Shadow Men, I know. Doesn’t sound like a fun way to reproduce…’ She paused, smiling. ‘But you should also know, I’m a damn good shot — I never miss.’ She took a drag from her cigarette while her other hand fondled the laser pointer that hung from the keys clipped to her belt.

  Felix continued to stare, expressionless. ‘Maggie South,’ he whispered in his creepy voice. ‘You know as well as I — that all magical beings supposedly have rights and were afforded the same protection as their human counterparts. To harm me would be not only breaking the Living Rights conventions implemented by the United Nations, but break the pact we Shadow Men have with your Magical Mafia and your boss.’ The word boss hung in the air like a web.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mags agreed and exhaled a plume of smoke. ‘But, you’ve got to admit, accidents can happen in the sunniest city in Australia.’

  It was strange hearing a chuckle from an expressionless face, but Felix managed it. ‘Do you intend on forcing me into full sunlight, just because you don’t like me?’

  ‘Nobody likes Shadow Men,’ Mags retorted. ‘That’s why you’ve slipped through the gaps of the Living Rights conventions, and that’s why there’s a Bright Light Taskforce active in Perth attempting to destroy your kind. That’s why your numbers are dwindling.’

  Felix moved silently closer and he leaned down close to Maggie’s face.

  ‘That’s why we made a deal with your mafia.’ With his free hand, Felix caressed a line down Mags’ cheek. His hand was long, thin and grey. His touch slid like an ice cube down her skin, leaving a wet slimy trail. ‘That’s why you won’t hurt me…’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Mags growled, and rolled her chair away. The touch of a Shadow Man was toxic. She was an Aufhocker, and a particularly robust one at that, but the trail left by his touch wasn’t healthy even for her. ‘Go and feed Sabra.’

  Without another word, Felix slunk from the room.

 
; Mags twisted her chair back around to face the monitors and watched him slink away, a grainy amorphous shadow, down the dimly lit corridor.

  ***

  Sabra heard the door creak open, lifted her head, and wiped the crystals of dried tears from her cheeks.

  ‘Maggie?’ she asked, as she rubbed her bloated stomach and stood to greet her.

  The smell of food wafted in with the momentum of the door opening and her stomach growled audibly. However, instead of Maggie’s familiar worn face, a dark shadow crept from beyond the open door.

  Sabra felt her stomach clench and her throat tighten.

  What the hell is that?

  She backed away towards the bed, staring.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed grey-eyed one.’ The shape gained form; the shadow grew into a tall man holding the silver tray of food. ‘I bring you food, not harm.’

  However, Sabra could not help but be alarmed. As the creature moved effortlessly and soundlessly across the room, she realised what he was and the danger that he posed.

  It was then that she felt it happen. She stood still and waited.

  ‘Grey-eyed one?’ the Shadow asked. ‘Where have you gone?’

  Sabra stood still, steadying her rapid pulse.

  The Shadow Man gently placed the food tray down on the floor at her feet. Sabra looked down at the top of his wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked again, and stood towering above her, looking around the room, his face blank but his voice curious.

  He turned swiftly to look at the camera on the wall. His movement did not so much as stir the air.

  ‘Maggie South?’ He spoke up to it. ‘Your grey-eyed breeder has disappeared.’

  ***

  Maggie stared down at the monitor. She could see Felix and Sabra standing there, though Sabra was standing statue still. She moved a red painted fingernail to press on the intercom button, when she saw Sabra start to move. Her hand hesitated, and she watched, expecting Felix to catch her. Instead, Felix stepped closer to the camera and repeated. ‘Maggie, your grey-eyed one has disappeared,’ without a flicker of emotion.

  As Maggie pressed down on the intercom to tell Felix that Sabra was, in fact, just behind him, she saw Sabra slip around the tall shadow and through the open door.

  Shit!

  Maggie slammed down on the intercom. ‘She’s gone into the corridor behind you, Felix. She’s using her sentience activated body armour! All men into the corridor. I will guide you, she is still visible via the cameras!’

  There was an explosion of activity around her and Shadow Men leaked from every dark nook and cranny.

  ***

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God, Sabra mentally screamed as she slipped out the door behind the horrendously creepy Shadow Man. She padded barefoot up the corridor. It was the same institutional décor, but doors lined it. What was behind them, she didn’t have time to find out. She heard Mags’ familiar voice come over the intercom, and swore under her breath.

  Still visible through cameras. Damn. She looked up at the small circular camera at the end of the corridor and flinched.

  ‘I can see you, Sabra…’ Mags’ voice chortled over the intercom.

  As she spoke, things started to ooze from the shadows and form — more of the Shadow Men. The corridor was filled with them. They were beginning to make a wall around the corridor, blocking all doors. Am I still invisible? she wondered and hurried forward, away from the forming dark mass of shadows.

  Mags’ whisky and cigarette voice crackled over the intercom. ‘She’s heading towards the last door at the northern exit of the corridor.’

  As one, the Shadow Men’s heads all turned in the direction Sabra moved, although none of those strange grey faces ever looked directly at her.

  ‘Block that door,’ Mags ordered, ‘I’m coming down.’

  ‘She is invisible,’ the Shadow Men said all at once. ‘If we cannot see her, nor will you.’

  There was no response, and Sabra stood paralysed with indecision. What should she do? Could she push past one? Would they then be able to see her? How long did she have until her power gave up and rendered her visible again?

  A door creaked to her left and Sabra spun her head around to see Mags enter the corridor holding a mobile telephone up to her eyes and looking through the camera directly at her.

  ‘Move forward, you, against the far door. She is directly in front of you.’

  Sabra turned to face the Shadow Man before her. His face was half shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat they all wore, but his narrow eyes flickered, searching around her vicinity.

  ‘I do not see her,’ Felix said.

  ‘Put out your left hand,’ Mags barked, ‘and grab her.’

  Sabra let out a startled squeak as the Shadow Man raised his left and slashed it through the air beside her.

  ‘Must I do everything myself? You useless, vaporous things,’ Mags hissed, making a clumsy path directly towards Sabra, never once taking her eyes off the camera. ‘I see you, Sabra. You cannot escape.’ Mags sighed, ‘Really, do we have to be so awkward?’

  Sabra’s stomach lurched and with all her might she pushed the Shadow Man before her and attempted to get around him. Alas, as her skin came into contact with the toxic flesh of the Shadow Man, she gasped and slumped.

  ‘I felt something,’ Felix said, looking around blindly to see what had caused the strange sensation. ‘Is she touching me?’

  ‘Sabra!’ Mags growled a warning, ‘Do not touch Shadow Men!’

  It was too late. Felix spun around. ‘Mine!’ he hissed at Mags and took a swipe. ‘She’s mine.’

  For one instant, Mags took her eyes of the camera and stared at the blank face of the Shadow Man.

  Sabra curled on the floor, cursing her stupidity.

  Who willingly touches a Shadow Man?

  Still, not allowing herself to panic, she took advantage of Mags’ moment of distraction and scooted on hands and knees towards the door.

  Mags dropped the telephone camera and screeched inhumanely at Felix. ‘She’s not yours, you fool! She’s ours! She’s the breeder the mafia want!’

  ‘She touched me,’ he hissed, his narrow eyes searching the corridor.

  ‘Yes, she touched him,’ the brother shadows echoed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter!’ Mags screamed, before Sabra catapulted up the stairwell.

  The sounds from the corridor receded and Sabra prayed she was still invisible as she made her way up the stairs. She had no idea where she was heading, and going upstairs always seemed like such a bad idea in horror movies. Weakened somewhat by the toxin of the Shadow Man, Sabra stumbled as she reached the landing. There was an open door to her right and she hurried in.

  Monitors blazed all around her.

  Central Control — boo yeah! She smiled weakly, and pushed the heavy, vault-like door closed behind her. It clicked with grave finality. Some luck at last.

  Within a moment Sabra felt her strangeness shift, and she knew that with no one around she was visible again. Dressed in the same terrible hospital gown, she looked like an escaped mental patient.

  She paused on that thought. Perhaps I am mental. She mused — the whole situation was so bizarre and unreal. Shadow Men? Maggie South a henchwoman for the Magical Mafia? It was all so ludicrous. Yet as she looked around, Sabra knew it was not madness. The monitors before her flickered with activity. She could hear Mags’ tinny shrieking of rage as she peered through the face of her mobile telephone, scouring the corridor between the Shadow Men.

  It wouldn’t be long until they realised she’d probably escaped through the open door and had gone up the stairs.

  Sabra scurried over to the vaulted door and studied it, hoping against hope it might be Shadow Man-proof, but as she looked she saw tiny gaps where it joined the door jamb and brushed over the linoleum. The rubber sealing around it was worn and brittle, and tiny holes perforated what should have been solid. A Shadow Man could easily pass through. Sabra shivered and rubbed her s
ore stomach again.

  Keeping half an eye on the monitors, she paced around the room and noticed there were no windows to allow natural light. That was a shame — the Shadow Men could be killed by concentrated natural sunlight. There was a fire extinguisher hanging on the far wall, and an old white coffee cup on a dusty desk. The cup came complete with greasy red lipstick marks and a ring of mildew around the dregs; clearly no one had cleaned up in here for some time. There was a wheelie chair, a telephone, a flickering modem, computer keyboard, hard drive and the intercom. That was it.

  I could ring the government, perhaps they could get me out? Sabra realised. She toyed with the idea for a brief moment but it was interrupted by an intense longing for Cain. She should have gone with him. The truth behind the thought ripped through her like razor wire. She wanted to call him. She wanted him to save her. Alas, she had no number, and doubted the Warlord would be listed under international direct inquiries.

  ***

  [Excerpt from Memoirs of a Warlord’s Love Slave, Chapter 6]

  I would often watch him, as I noticed he would often watch me. Sometimes, when I thought I was alone, I’d turn and see him there, watching with hungry eyes. Those eyes. I cannot imagine a description that could possibly do them justice.

  ‘Sabra,’ he said one day, as I stared over the forest from my balcony. The sound of his voice surprised me; he didn’t often speak at length with me, though sometimes I felt as though he wanted to, but couldn’t find the words.

  I turned to face him. He was dressed in army-style cargoes, a far cry from his usual tee-shirt and jeans. He had a mean-looking gun of some description slung over his shoulder, his hair was dishevelled and sweat glistened on his forehead.

  ‘Yes?’ I croaked, because that was literally all I could do. ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.

  Stupid question.

  A slight smile tugged at the corners of Cain’s mouth. ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  We were silent for a moment, but I can’t stand silences for long.