“I’m glad you two are hitting it off. We have an idea,” Chioma said.
“Yes, a fun experiment, with you two as the lab rats,” Ini giggled.
Derrel stood his ground. He was not going to cower. “People... my coworkers know where I am. They will come looking for me if I don’t check in.” He hoped he sounded strong and assured and that he was just imagining the quaver he heard in his voice.
Chioma laughed. “Please, M. Derrel. It’s not like you work for The New York Times. I seriously doubt the staff at Showin’ Out is observant enough to even notice if you don’t show up for a few days.”
Derrel knew she was right. He was not really close to anyone at the paper. Ruth might wonder where he was, but probably not for a day or two. He did not speak with his parents all that often... maybe a call, or more likely a text, every other week or so. He did not really have any close friends who would miss him either. No, he was the perfect victim. He could go missing, and by the time anyone noticed his absence, he would have disappeared, his trail wiped clean by the three very dangerous creatures standing in front of him.
His only hope was that whatever this experiment was, it would keep him alive for a little while longer, and then maybe he and Azza could figure a way out of this nightmare. He glanced over at Azza; she was curled in a ball head down.
Great.
“Azza hon’,” Chioma began. “It’s time to make yourself useful.”
Ini unlocked Azza’s door and pulled the other woman to her feet. Azza slumped like a rag doll, and Ini had to carry her out of the room.
“Okay, M. Derrel, here’s the thing. Anyone of us could rip your throat out in the blink of an eye,” Chioma said. Her eyes bored into Derrel, and she stared until he acknowledged her statement with a nod of agreement. “So, I’m going to unlock your cage, and you’re going to behave. Correct?”
Derrel nodded weakly. “Yes.”
“Great,” Chioma said cheerfully. She unlocked his door then gestured for him to lead the way out of the room. “Trust me, M. Derrel, you’re going to love what we have planned!”
Derrel shuffled forward; he had to squint against the light of the room they entered. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the space, and after the darkness of the kennel room, his eyes took a minute to adjust.
A lab. A lab with metal tables jammed full of scientific equipment.
As a journalism major, Derrel had only taken the required science credits, and so most of the equipment in the room was unfamiliar. There were the classic glass beakers and test tubes but also some very sophisticated-looking digital gear.
Ini, Damilola, and Azza were on the far side of the lab. A shower station had been set up. It was the kind of thing Derrel had seen in documentaries about nuclear or biological research – a decontamination shower. Ini and Damilola were washing Azza, and even though he was battling a near-crippling fear, Derrel could not help but be a little aroused. Three beautiful, naked women in a shower; people paid good money to see stuff like that.
“Strip,” Chioma demanded.
Derrel’s reverie was broken. “Huh?”
“I said strip, M. Derrel.” Chioma smiled at him. The smile that earlier in the day seemed sexy and a come-on now held pure menace.
“This is the male fantasy come to life, isn’t it?” Chioma licked her lips. “You’re about to get naked with four – well three and a half – of the hottest women you’ve ever met. And you get to shower with them.” Chioma reached out then literally ripped the shirt off of his body.
“Now, strip.”
Derrel complied. He was not sure what Chioma had planned, but he was pretty sure he was not going to be killed – not yet.
He kicked off his shoes, pulled of his socks, and then, after a deep breath, dropped his pants. He immediately moved his hands to cover his privates, trying to salvage some dignity. Chioma pulled his arms apart, pushing his hands to his sides. She tilted her head then assessed him from head to toe.
“Not bad, M. Derrel. Not bad at all.” Chioma flashed her wicked smile again then called over her shoulder. “What do you think, ladies? Not bad, right?”
“Oh yes. He’ll do,” Ini said.
“Most definitely,” Damilola agreed.
Ini pulled Azza out of the shower then began toweling the other woman down. Azza’s chin hung to her chest. Her wet, braided hair fell in front of her face. She was completely compliant.
Damilola raised both hands to Derrel, waving him forward. “Come here, M. Derrel. I’ve got a treat for you.”
Derrel moved slowly, the tile floor of the lab cold under his feet. Damilola swayed seductively, running her hands over her bare, water-slick body. When Derrel was near enough, she pulled him in close then triggered the shower. At least the water was warm. Damilola methodically washed Derrel, moving slowly over his body. There was nothing Derrel could do; his body rebelled against him, becoming more and more aroused, especially when she lingered in certain areas. Even the recalled images of the bodies and all the blood of their most recent victims could not stop his body from reacting. Damilola chuckled as she watched his body respond to her touch.
Damilola placed her mouth against his ear, whispering, “You will most definitely do.” She gave his butt a slap then switched the water off.
Ini stood waiting with an open towel. “My turn.” She winked at him. Derrel stepped out of the shower and into her arms. Ini made the drying process just as sensual as the washing had been. Derrel kept his eyes shut and tried to calm himself with deep breaths; he was not very successful.
“Ok, ladies, enough teasing. M. Derrel looks like he’s about to pop,” Chioma said. “Let’s take this party downstairs.”
“Downstairs?” Derrel was immediately terrified. Downstairs... that’s where the blood orgy kill room was located. “I thought you were going to do an experiment or something?”
“Relax, M. Derrel. If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.” Chioma patted his cheek.
CHAPTER five
Ini led the way downstairs. She gently pulled Azza along behind her. Damilola walked behind Azza, making sure she did not stumble on the stairs. Derrel was behind Damilola, and Chioma brought up the rear. When they reached the ground floor, Ini turned left. Derrel noticed a door to the right. The kill room maybe? Ini led the group to the end of a short hallway where another door stood open.
“Lights,” Ini called out as she entered the dark room. The lights responded to Ini’s command and switched on, revealing a comfortable living area. Or was it a sleeping area? Derrel did not see any coffins. Then again, according to Azza, he was not dealing with vampires.
The room was cavernous; the ceiling soared two stories above their heads and was punctuated with skylights. The lighting was soft and warm, clearly designed to lessen the fact that the room was basically a warehouse. A huge sectional sofa with giant pillows and soft fuzzy blankets dominated the middle of the room. Derrel estimated that the sofa was big enough for ten or fifteen people sitting or lying down. The concrete floor was covered in layers of plush throw rugs. It was surprisingly homey for the den of three murderous magic-vampire women.
Three of the four walls had built-in bookcases jammed full to overflowing with books of all sizes. Some appeared very old, and others had clearly been printed in this decade. There were a few scattered tables with herbs, oils, and even a few crystals.
And that was all.
It was basically a big living room/library. It did not look scary, there were no torture devices, and, more importantly, no bloodstains that Derrel could discern. There was no television or other electronics. Except for the lights, there did not seem to be any modern conveniences at all. There was no kitchen or bathroom. The room was obviously wired for voice activation, hence Ini’s ability to turn on the lights by speaking.
The lights.
Derrel craned his head around, looking for the source of the light. There was none. And yet the room glowed with a warm, rich light. Derrel swallowed, his mouth
suddenly dry.
Magic.
He was standing in a room lit entirely by magic.
Unreal.
Ini led Azza over to the couch then eased her down gently. Damilola took up a position a couple of cushions over, then Ini, having situated Azza, laid back and rested her head in Damilola’s lap. Damilola began absently stroking Ini’s hair.
Derrel jumped when he felt Chioma press herself against his back. “Easy, M. Derrel. Why don’t you go sit your pretty little self next to Azza?”
“Oh... okay.” Derrel did as directed, choosing a cushion on the opposite side of Azza from Ini and Damilola. He sat primly on the edge of the cushion, knees together and hands in his lap. Derrel was very aware of his lack of clothing.
Chioma giggled. “M. Derrel, it’s time to relax. Why don’t you lie back, maybe snuggle up to Azza? She won’t bite.” Ini snorted. Chioma rolled her eyes and continued, “I promise.”
Chioma plopped herself down next to Ini and Damilola, intertwining herself in Ini’s legs. Sitting there like that, the three of them looked like some kind of African sculpture – perfection carved from onyx by the hands of a master.
Azza spoke. It was not more than a whisper. “It’s okay, Derrel.”
“There. You see? It’s okay,” Chioma cooed.
Derrel scooted back, leaning against the pillow behind him. He allowed his arm to touch Azza’s arm. She was trembling.
“M. Derrel, how much did our dear Azza tell you about us? About what exactly we are up to here in our comfy home?” asked Chioma.
“Uh.” Derrel did not know what to say. Would they be angry that Azza had told him about the whole magic thing?
“Uh?” Chioma shook her head. “You know, M. Derrel, for somebody whose livelihood is based on effective communication, you sure do say ‘uh’ a lot.”
“I told him you weren’t vampires,” Azza offered.
“Vampires wish they were as cool as us!” Ini said.
Derrel figured if Azza was willing to admit to their earlier conversation, then he was OK to speak freely.
“Azza... Azza mentioned something about magic?”
“I bet she did.” Chioma stroked Azza’s cheek with her hand. Azza did not flinch away; she just closed her eyes. “What did she tell you about magic?”
“That you all discovered some kind of magic book and that the spells actually worked,” said Derrel.
“Yep. I found an old alchemy book at a garage sale, and that was the beginning of everything that has followed.”
“How did that work exactly? From an old alchemy book to... to what I saw earlier?” asked Derrel.
“The harvest,” said Damilola.
“Excuse me?” said Derrel.
“What you witnessed the end of earlier, we call it a harvest,” Chioma replied.
“It’s murder,” Azza said to Chioma.
Derrel tensed for Chioma to lash out, but she just smiled and patted Azza’s hand.
“Tell me, M. Derrel,” Chioma began. “When a rancher sends his cattle to slaughter, is it murder? Or is it just the food chain’s natural cycle?”
Derrel did not have an immediate response. The fact that Chioma could casually compare the killing of people to the slaughter of cattle chilled him. The fact that he was sitting naked on a couch with four naked women, three of whom were seductively entwined, stroking, and petting each other, was no longer the least bit arousing. Maybe he was becoming desensitized to all the skin, but more likely the reality of what these women were and what they were doing to innocent people was finally sinking in.
“So you... the people... you eat the people or drink their blood for what... some kind of power? Immortality?” asked Derrel, hoping he was not overstepping his bounds.
“The short answer is no. We are harvesting the gams for something specific. Unfortunately for them, this requires us to bleed them.”
“Gams?” Derrel was confused.
“She means people... non-magical people,” said Azza.
“Yes, dear,” Chioma replied. “The non-magical people – are gams… legs; legs cannot soar – to us, gams are like the cattle in the example I just gave.” said Chioma.
Azza laughed. “The three of you are just like them – just as non-magical.”
The slap was lightning fast. Chioma’s hand was a blur. Azza’s head snapped to the side, but she did not cry out. A small trickle of blood dripped from the side of her mouth. Azza did not even raise a hand to wipe it away; she just hung her head in silence.
Derrel was not sure if the question-and-answer period was over. Chioma glared at Azza, as if waiting to see if more punishment would be necessary. Ini and Damilola watched with wicked smiles.
Satisfied that Azza was not going to say anything more, Chioma continued. “As I was explaining, M. Derrel, the harvest is necessary. Our abilities require a very particular protein – a protein that can only be found in a small percentage of the population. The only way to locate this protein is to bleed the host.”
“So you aren’t... you know... eating the people?”
“Well, sometimes, yes, we are. Of course, I prefer a nice piece of grilled salmon myself, but our work requires us to go through a large number of bodies. So for efficiency’s sake, we utilize the harvest leftovers as the main ingredient in our business,” Chioma said.
Derrel blinked rapidly. He understood each of Chioma’s words, but his brain was having trouble with the sentence that the individual words combined to create.
Harvest.
Leftovers.
Main ingredient.
No.
No, no, no, no!
The room started spinning.
People.
They were using people as the meat in their pot pies. The pot pie he had devoured just a few hours ago. The pot pie he declared the best thing he had ever eaten.
“He’s going to blow!” Damilola shouted.
“Don’t you dare throw up on my sofa, M. Derrel!” Chioma yelled.
Derrel could not focus on anything; his insides were one giant spasm. He felt himself lifted off the sofa and tossed to the floor. He gulped for air, but he could not get enough oxygen. He started heaving, his stomach convulsing, but there was not much in there to expel. His body had already started digesting his lunch. The pot pie Chioma had served him earlier was on its way through his guts.
People. He had eaten people.
He dry heaved a few more times. Long strings of bile and spittle dripped from his mouth. Derrel realized that he was sobbing, his mind finally giving into the madness of the past few hours. He collapsed onto the rug then curled into a ball, trying to wish himself away. He did not have any particular place in mind... just somewhere that was not here; somewhere that was not inhabited by evil magic vampire women who treated people like cattle... someplace safe where he was at least wearing a pair of tighty whiteys.
CHAPTER six
Derrel heard movement but kept his eyes shut tight. Someone padded across the floor toward the back of the room. He heard glass rattling and a quick whoosh-whomp sound. There was more padding across the floor, and then he was being lifted from the floor. Derrel cracked an eye; Chioma looked down at him as she dropped him back on the sofa. She handed him a towel and a cold bottle of water. So there was a fridge somewhere in the back of the room. Derrel wiped his mouth then took a swig of water, swishing a bit to get the taste of bile out of his mouth.
Chioma stood with her hands on her hips. “Really, M. Derrel, you’re not making a very good case for yourself.”
Derrel watched as she moved to the small wet spot of bile and spittle he had left on the rug. And then he witnessed their first outright use of magic. Chioma held her palms face down over the wet spot and waved them back and forth like she was a baseball umpire calling someone safe. Once, twice, three times, and then there was a small burst of light, and the wet spot was gone.
Of course, Derrel understood that this display of power, although simple, was very effective in communicat
ing how easy Chioma could wield her supernatural ability. Satisfied, Chioma plopped back down next to Ini and Damilola.
“So, M. Derrel,” Chioma continued as if no interruption had taken place, “the protein is hard to come by. And as our dear sweet Azza stated, the three of us,” she gestured to Ini and Damilola, “don’t produce the protein ourselves. That’s why we need to harvest it. The problem is it’s not a very efficient process.”
Derrel was trying to follow along: harvest, protein, and magic. He raised his hand to ask a question. Ini giggled.
“Yes, M. Derrel?” Chioma said.
“This protein, it’s a what... kind of magic... a catalyst?”
“Exactly. People lucky enough to be born with a body capable of producing this protein are natural magic users. Seems unfair, doesn’t it?” Chioma looked at Derrel, waiting for his response.
“I guess. Yeah, totally unfair.”
Satisfied with his answer, Chioma continued, “And to make the situation even more infuriating, most people live their entire life never knowing what they’re capable of. Of course, the magic does leak out of some of them a bit, but it manifests in ways that the world can accept: world-renowned musicians, artists, elite athletes, self-made millionaires, even the lady who always wins when she plays the slots in Las Vegas. Basically, many of the people who the world considers gifted or lucky are prime candidates to be Mocha Lattes.”
“Mocha Lattes?”
“Yes. The Mocha Latte Protein... a silly name, I know, but others came up with it a long time ago.”
“Others? So there are more like you ladies?” Derrel was not surprised; if there were three evil magic vampires, there had to be more.
“Oh, I don’t think there is anyone quite like us,” Ini volunteered.
Derrel recalled what Ruth had said about the four musketeers. All four of these women were geniuses; they were gifted intellectually. But according to Chioma, they were not Mocha Lattes.
Except.
Derrel snuck a glance at Azza, who sat quietly with her head bowed. Chioma, Damilola, and Ini could not produce the protein naturally, but what about the fourth musketeer? He touched Azza’s hand. His fingers brushed the silver bracelet she had said dampened her powers.
Q-T-Pies (The Savannah Swan Files Book 0) Page 4