A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  ‘No!’ the word ripped from her mouth.

  There was a sudden burst of activity, the door flew open and Hollis bounded in like G.I.Joe on speed. His gun was out and aimed directly at her.

  ‘Stop!’ he bellowed, eyes completely wild.

  ‘Shadows!’ Sabra gasped.

  Hollis looked around crazily, searching for Shadow Men, but Felix was oozing away out the door. His eyes met Dr Elliot’s.

  ‘Get more lights in here,’ Hollis barked.

  Dr Elliot’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have never had Shadow Men in this hospital before, but yes, seeing as you asked so nicely, I will get some extra lighting.’

  He turned and spoke to a nurse who was hovering nervously nearby.

  ‘Browne.’ Hollis directed his bark towards the door. ‘Get in here.’

  A short muscular man of indeterminate age stepped in from the corridor, dripping with weapons. All unnecessary, of course, against a shadow. ‘I’m calling the Bright Light Team to sweep the hospital. In the meantime, Browne, I want you to stand guard over Ms Westwood. Do not leave her side.’

  Sabra had the insane thought that Browne may end up peeing himself if he had to stand beside her for too long, and what about when she needed the toilet? It wasn’t going to be long until she did, with the amount of saline she’d been given.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ Browne nodded curtly, his lips tight and his eyes avoiding Sabra. His hand gripped the small laser light that hung on his belt, standard police issue.

  Without a further word, Hollis turned to leave.

  ‘Excuse me, Sergeant Hollis?’ Dr Elliot called before he exited the room. ‘I do need to speak with Miss Westwood in private. If, err, Browne could just give us a moment of privacy?’

  ‘Our charge has just been attacked by a shadow, Elliot!’ Hollis exclaimed, grey eyebrows hitting his grey hairline. ‘She must not be without a guard. Browne will not interfere,’ Hollis said, and the strange electricity that seemed to follow him zinged around the room. ‘Besides that, everything that relates to Miss Westwood needs to be cleared by me. What is it that you need to discuss?’

  ‘It’s of a private nature,’ Elliot responded, running a hand over his curly blond hair. Sabra got the impression he was embarrassed.

  ‘Nothing is private now,’ Hollis rebuked, and turned and stalked back towards the bedside.

  Sabra flinched from the proximity to him.

  ‘Some things are,’ Elliot retorted coolly.

  His words made Sabra worry. A hot flush of embarrassment blanketed her, making sweat bead on her brow. What was wrong with her? Had they examined her while she was out and found something hideous? Was it genital warts or something else embarrassing?

  Elliot’s face turned hard. ‘It would be a breach of patient–doctor confidentiality to discuss intimate matters with you in hearing.’

  Intimate? Dear God, what was wrong?

  ‘Unless Ms Westwood allows it,’ Hollis retorted and leaned down close towards Sabra’s face. She could smell something rotten and fishy on his breath. ‘You don’t mind me or Browne being within earshot, do you, Ms Westwood?’ His breath blew warm and humid against her cheek, and it made her want to vomit. ‘Do you?’

  Sabra felt her skin flush but found herself shaking her head absently.

  Magic? she thought vaguely. She met Hollis’s steely almost-reptilian eyes, and wondered once again about him.

  Dr Elliot’s handsome face creased with displeasure. ‘Are you certain, Miss Westwood?’

  Sabra found herself nodding though part of her wanted to say ‘no’.

  Dr Elliot didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re certain. Sabra, we’ve run a whole raft of blood tests on you, and found some unusual results.’

  Sabra didn’t mistake Hollis’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘And?’ Hollis urged.

  Elliot shot him an angry look, before returning a more gentle gaze towards her.

  ‘You have a large number of what appear to be fertility drugs in your system.’

  Sabra gulped. At least it’s not genital warts, she thought, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  Hollis’s eyes narrowed as he looked between Elliot and Sabra for a moment. They looked neither surprised or bored, but something in between. ‘What do you mean?’

  Elliot ignored him. ‘Sabra, have you been undergoing IVF treatment?’

  Sabra chewed on the inside of her lip. What could she say?

  Hollis barked a laugh. ‘This woman has been practically under house arrest for months, so I’d know if she had been visiting a fertility clinic,’ he scoffed, but then his eyes tightened as realisation dawned. ‘Would you like to enlighten us about what happened after you disappeared, Ms Westwood? Who had you? What were they doing to you?’

  Sabra sighed; she was going to have to tell Hollis what had happened after the mafia had taken her. So far, sleep and her slashed throat had prevented much speech. Now that they’d discovered the fertility treatment there wasn’t much point in lying and, besides that — once she’d been taken into Cerebral Management they’d force it out of her soon enough, and probably do exactly the same thing.

  ‘The Magical Mafia caught me, held me in some kind of facility, pumped me full of fertility drugs and were going to steal my eggs.’

  Unexpectedly, Hollis roared with laughter. The sound made Sabra flinch and cringe. Hollis coughed slightly as he calmed and ran his hand through his short cropped hair. He forced his lips into a tight line before letting out a hot gust of breath that fluttered through her hair. Elliot and Sabra stared at him incredulously, and it seemed a while before he spoke. ‘Did they get your…eggs?’ he eventually asked, a low, disturbing chuckle threatening deep in his throat again.

  Sabra stared at him in outrage, but Hollis merely looked back, a sharp smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

  ‘I see,’ Hollis muttered.

  For a moment no one said anything and the nurses came in with more lamps. Elliot was looking at Hollis with cold curiosity, but the sergeant seemed not to notice or care. The nurse bustled around setting the lamps up and illuminating every corner of the room.

  ‘Elliot, can we have an ultrasound done on Ms Westwood? I’d like to see what they’ve done to her…internals.’

  Dr Elliot’s eyes flashed. ‘I don’t believe it is up to you to make that request, Sergeant Hollis.’

  Sabra felt herself shaking her head. ‘Look, I think there are bigger problems here than the state of my ovaries, Hollis. The mafia will be trying to get me back, no doubt they have some hideously cunning plan. I also have a rather dedicated Shadow Man stalker who I’d really like to be rid of.’

  Hollis cleared his throat. ‘Not to mention your warlord lover.’ He looked at Sabra intently and she could feel his cold gaze bore into her skin, hard and assessing.

  The mere mention of the warlord made her flush vermillion. She knew in the deepest part of her that the last being on this earth she needed to worry about now was Cain Dath. Being reduced to a shadow was number one on her list of troubles. In fact, being re-captured and shagged senseless seemed like a much more delightful option.

  Damn hormones.

  ‘How long will Ms Westwood be required to stay in here?’ Hollis asked, dropping the subject of the ultrasound suspiciously quickly.

  Elliot shrugged, and his eyes brushed past Sabra’s. She shook her head at him, a minute gesture she hoped he’d understand. Don’t make me go to Cerebral Management — I’ll never get out! she implored silently.

  She saw a flicker of understanding shimmer across the peculiar sea blue of Dr Elliot’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, sergeant,’ Doctor Elliot replied, sounding remorseless. ‘There are other tests we’d like to do on Miss Westwood, and I’ll have to brief the regular doctor when we do change over and that won’t be for a number of hours.’

  Hollis’s lips tightened. ‘Can I speak to you outside, Dr Elliot?’ he gra
ted.

  Sabra stared at both of them. Dr Elliot gave an unperturbed shrug and followed Hollis from the room, leaving the door minutely ajar.

  She could hear them speaking.

  ‘We’ll need to get more security than just a Bright Light Team to the hospital,’ Hollis growled. ‘And I want those eggs removed and taken for safekeeping.’

  ‘What?’ Dr Elliot sounded outraged. ‘You can’t just do that! It’s against every Living Rights convention!’

  ‘By order of the court, I have the authority to make decisions for Ms Westwood. If we don’t do it, the Mafia will.’

  Sabra shivered despite the warmth in the room, and a large fly buzzed past and startled her.

  ‘The courts gave you authority to make Miss Westwood’s decisions for her?’ The doctor looked surprised. ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Mental incapacity.’ Hollis’s smile was greasy. ‘One month ago, Ms Westwood was deemed by the courts to be mentally incapable of making judgements with regards to her own safety and care.’

  Sabra cringed — it was true.

  ‘Look at her, she’s as mentally capable as I am.’

  ‘That doesn’t say much for your state of mind then,’ Hollis snapped. ‘It was a Supreme Court decision, and it isn’t revokable.’

  ‘I disagree with you, in all good consciousness, sergeant, and I can’t allow it.’ Elliot’s voice was firm.

  ‘You cannot make that decision, it’s already been made.’

  ‘I will need to sight the court papers if I am to ever agree with this, but in the meantime, have fun finding a gynaecological surgeon to do the procedure. You will get no assistance from me.’

  There was a miniscule pause.

  ‘I’ll get them faxed through immediately, Dr Elliot. The government want those eggs safe and out of the hands of the Mafia. We’ll find a surgeon.’

  ‘My concern is the welfare of my patient, sergeant,’ Elliot snapped. ‘Not your government requirements.’

  Hollis’s face puffed with indignation. ‘I could have you investigated, Elliot.’

  Sabra wished she could see the handsome doctor’s face at that threat, but he didn’t retort. With a hissing swish of his jacket, Dr Elliot departed, leaving only the swift tapping sound of his receding footsteps.

  Sabra looked up at Browne, who stared blankly at the door. She felt an increasing swell of panic. She shuffled in her bed awkwardly and reached up to tentatively feel the stretching scar on her throat.

  ‘Browne, is it?’ Sabra asked, looking up.

  Her guard didn’t respond, nor even grace her with a glance.

  ‘I need the bathroom.’

  There was a moment of silence, only broken by the hum of a blowfly.

  Browne looked down at her, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

  ‘Bathroom? Toilet? Comprendes?’ She even tried some Spanish.

  Clearly, as well as being a government minion, Browne was retarded.

  Sabra began to struggle to sit up. The movement took a while and small silver stars sparkled in front of her eyes. Her stomach swirled with nausea.

  As Browne stood rooted to the spot, Sabra eventually swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The short hideous gown thing that she’d been wearing for days rode up, displaying slightly hairy and crazily coloured thighs, but she didn’t care.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Browne rasped, looking from her face to her thighs and then again to her face.

  ‘I told you. Going to the bathroom, I need to go.’

  ‘You can’t go alone.’ He grunted and moved to touch her arm.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ Sabra hissed and wrenched her body away. ‘If you want to accompany me to the bathroom and save me from the shadows, be my guest, but do not touch me.’

  Telltale heat rushed up Browne’s cheeks, taking her by surprise. She could discern his worried look and she shot a hesitant glance toward the ajar door, but Hollis didn’t appear to be there. Reluctantly, Browne followed her the few steps towards the bathroom. Before Sabra opened the door she turned. ‘Got that laser light ready? My stalker could be hiding in here. I can’t help but notice no extra lights were put in here.’

  Browne fumbled with the laser light that hung from his belt, and switched it on so the concentrated red light glared furiously. Sabra switched on the light and swung open the door.

  ***

  Not so far away, Cain stood in the shadow of an old sandstone wall, staring at the institutional structure of the hospital.

  ‘Was I correct?’ he asked softly as the thriae buzzed round his head. ‘Is she at this hospital?’

  Cain had visited almost every hospital in Perth, working his way from the far northern suburbs of Joondalup to finally the older suburb of Fremantle.

  ‘Yes,’ Hexa whistled softly, close to his ear. ‘She lies in a room up there.’

  One of her tiny insectivorous legs pointed upward to the wall of windows above them. A bus thundered past with a whoosh.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well-guarded,’ Hexa replied, her small body moving in the wake of air left by the traffic. ‘I did not get all the conversation, but there is an argument brewing. Shadow Men follow her, there was speak of her eggs. Do humans have eggs like that of the thriae?’

  Something squeezed hard in the region of Cain’s chest. ‘Not like that of the thriae,’ Cain murmured. He remembered Veronica’s words: that if he were to bed her now his seed would take. The thought made him hard again.

  ‘I must go and get her.’

  ‘A word of caution,’ Hexa whistled. ‘She is well-guarded, and care is needed. There was speak also of the need for a doctor. Perhaps…’ The thriae paused and whistled something to Peony who chirped and squeaked in response. Cain stood for a long time, trying to look inconspicuous as two small bee-like creatures buzzed and squeaked around his head.

  ‘Yes, it is divined,’ Hexa finally said, as she settled on his shoulder. ‘We have a plan for you, Warlord, a plan of success.’

  ‘Well?’ he asked, shrinking back close to the wall and cloaking himself with a spell that caused passersby to look the other way.

  ***

  Inside the hospital, the situation was deteriorating rapidly for Sabra. Hollis had indeed got emergency court orders that stated ‘for her own protection and for the protection of national security’ her eggs must be harvested as soon as they were viable which, according to the ultrasound hastily done by a nervous radiology nurse, was now.

  The Bright Light Team was still scouring the hospital for the shadows, though none had been found.

  ‘This is an outrage!’ Dr Elliot snarled, holding the court orders in a white-knuckled hand. He glanced at Sabra, and she swore his eyes flashed red. ‘This shouldn’t be happening in this day and age.’

  ‘The egg harvest is for national security purposes. If the mafia get their hands on Ms Westwood now, then they will get eggs that possibly could one day threaten our country.’

  ‘There is nothing to indicate the mafia is still after Miss Westwood, and nothing to indicate she is mentally incapable of making her own choices,’ Elliot retorted.

  Sabra felt embarrassment ride up her cheeks. The court order giving Hollis power of attorney was a huge cause of shame to her. She inhaled to stem the tide of panic. She wondered when and where Mags or Faustus would appear; she had little doubt they would be on their way soon.

  ‘Umm. While you’re arguing over my mental capacity, or lack thereof, and the harvesting of my potential children,’ Sabra snapped, shuddering slightly as a nurse bustled around her saline drip, changing the bag. ‘Could I say something?’

  ‘No,’ Hollis barked, running a hand through his hair. ‘Sedate her. The gynaecological surgeon is waiting in theatre two.’

  A muscle jumped in Dr Elliot’s jaw.

  The nurse, one Sabra had never seen before, fiddled with a syringe of sedative.

  ‘I really don’t need a sedative,’ Sabra said, trying to prep her mind to kickstart her abil
ity.

  ‘Sedate her!’ Hollis barked even louder. Before she could say another word, she felt a pin prick. She willed her ability into action, but nothing happened except her skin roared purple with effort.

  Dr Elliot looked at her with deep empathy. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Miss Westwood.’ He added softly, ‘I’ve done all I can to prevent it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sabra muttered. She seemed to have too much spit in her mouth and some dribbled down her cheek and she wiped it away. ‘I had no idea I was so desirable.’

  It all felt terribly surreal — a few days ago she’d been under house arrest eating chocolate biscuits and watching daytime telly. Now, she was going to have her eggs forcibly removed as a matter of national security. It was frankly ridiculous.

  Hollis turned to the nurse. ‘Are you a theatre nurse?’ he barked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, her gaze steady towards him.

  ‘I will require your ID before you come into the theatre. I also want to have a word to the Bright Light Team. They will all be present in the theatre.’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Sabra slurred. ‘I’m not having a bunch of strange men in the operating theatre while I’ve got my legs in stirrups and someone’s poking random objects up my twat!’

  Elliot and Hollis looked away. The sedative is making me too frank, she thought woozily. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted.

  Hollis ignored her, glanced at the nurse’s identification, nodded his head and then proceeded to check those of the orderlies who wheeled her from her room.

  It was a bizarre procession; Sabra, woozy and slobbering in her bed, being wheeled through the institutional-looking corridors with an entourage of Bright Light specialists and armed guards.

  ‘Who’s the gyno?’ Sabra mumbled to Elliot who walked beside her.

  ‘I don’t know, someone sent from the government.’

  The nurse turned and stared at Elliot, and he narrowed his eyes.

  It was a gesture Sabra noticed, but didn’t understand.

  She lay back on her bed trying ardently to push her ability into action, but nothing worked. Her skin camouflaged to the grey-white tone of the bed, but little else. Perhaps it was the sedative? Exhaustion? She felt more dribble scuttle down her chin. At least, she mused, when this was done perhaps they’d let her go.