Pandora's Ring

by Kaitlin R. Branch

  “Can you even get drunk?”

  Eli blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Denizen of hell? We practically invented drunken parties.”

  She surprised him by laughing. A pleasant, quiet, sincere laugh. “You’re a shockingly good egg,” she said.

  “Thanks. Want my hash browns?”

  “Sure. Want my pancakes?”

  “I’m gonna get diabetes.”

  “I bet hell invented diabetes.”

  “Nah. Anything that prevents sins of the flesh is heaven’s fault.”

  She laughed again. Oddly, he was certain he could get used to it.

  * * * *

  “Look, you’ve been with me all day, and it’s not that your company is bad, it’s just, I need a shower and a good sleep.”

  Eli sucked in his lip. Leaving her at this juncture was a bad idea. Nothing had happened yet and that was what worried him. They spent the entire day loafing around the city, visiting places he’d not seen in ages, listening to street bands and eating wherever she felt like. It had been a pleasant day, all things considered, but he knew it would end sometime. Samantha clearly wasn’t scared enough, because now she was trying to get him to leave.

  “Just an hour, Eli. You can come in after I’m done with my shower, play on the internet while I sleep.”

  “I could do that while you take a shower.”

  She huffed. “Okay, look. You’re a good guy but obviously you have not dealt with women in a long time. I need my freaking house to myself. No body guards. No friends. No nothing.” She stamped her foot. “My domain and mine alone.”

  The strings around his wrists tightened threateningly and he held up his hands. “Okay, okay!” Good grief, she was scary when she wanted to be. “But only an hour. I’ll walk to the store and grab some snacks and breakfast for tomorrow and come right back. Deal?”

  “Deal.” The strings eased.

  Eli got his coat as Samantha meticulously gathered candles and incense. “Don’t open the door for anyone, all right? I’ve still got my concessions on, so I won’t have any trouble getting in. If someone else comes, just don’t say anything, all right?”

  “I’m going to be in the bath, Eli. I’ll be busy,” Samantha groused. “Go away, will you?” She smiled softly. “I appreciate the concern, but I have a headache.”

  He couldn’t resist a roll of the eyes, but pocketed her keys and locked the door behind him.

  3

  What a hellish day. Samantha sank into the bathwater filled with bubbles and lovely smells. The day hadn’t been so bad, but the night before had been hell. What was going on? What had she done to deserve this one? She splashed her face. No, no thinking too hard. This was time for relaxing, time for calm and not having to talk to anyone.

  Not that Eli was difficult to talk to. He wasn’t a bad guy at all, in fact at times she found she rather liked him. But there was still the technicality that he was supposed to be killing her. How could she trust him? Then again, what else was there to trust? Neat trap she found herself in.

  There was a knock on the door, and Samantha sat up in the bath. Who was it? Eli? She listened again. He’d said ‘don’t let anyone in’ and she didn’t plan to, but why would they knock?

  “Samantha? Samantha! Can you hear me? Door’s locked.”

  Eli. What the hell? It had only been half an hour. “I was promised an hour,” she called back, suspicious. Hadn’t he taken her keys? Maybe he’d lost them, or didn’t know which key was which? She got out of the bath, then wrapped a robe around herself.

  “There’s someone coming for you, Samantha. I had to come. You have to come get the door.”

  She caught her breath. “One minute.” She pulled on a clean set of clothes and cautiously approached the door. Barely breathing, she put her eye to the spyhole.

  Eli stood with one hand on a cocked hip, his right foot out, watching the door straight on with a smirk. What the hell? Eli never smirked, even in her limited experience of him. Was it all a joke? Had he met someone at the store and come back to finish the deal with renewed purpose? No, that couldn’t be right. From what he’d said during the day, it just wasn’t how things worked.

  Something was wrong. Something was off. But when she spied again, Eli was waving to her. He knew she was there. “Come on,” he said. “We don’t have much time. I don’t want Cyrene finding this place.”

  Her nerves clamored something was still wrong, but she was also confused. “Why didn’t you come in yourself?”

  “Samantha, the door is locked.” His voice finally became recognizable, a mix of frustration and patience which was very him. “I can do a lot of stuff, but I don’t think the apartment complex would appreciate me breaking the door down.”

  Well, he had a point. She opened the door. “All the power of a Damned and you forget the key?

  Eli didn’t move, but his smirk grew into a full blown grin by the time Samantha stood in front of him.

  “Eli?” Samantha asked softly, leaning away. He was still standing oddly, like a model. “Why aren’t you coming in?”

  Eli laughed. Dread crept up her spine. “No reason,” he said, but his voice had changed, become low and sultry, a woman’s. Before Samantha could react he whipped out a hand, grasped her by the throat.

  “E–” Samantha choked, scrabbling at the fingers around her throat. The arm was smoking where it crossed the threshold, and she felt the fingers trembling even as they pressed against her jugular, cutting off her blood. She struggled, kicking and pushing, but to no avail. “Eli!” Her lips moved, but her air was gone.

  The smoke wafted to her eyes, and the sizzling of skin began, crackling and popping in her ears, the hand around her throat growing jagged. Eli’s face contorted in pain, and then something more, as if his skin were melting away. Slowly, a dark shape swam into view on his shoulder.

  Samantha’s heart stopped. The crow.

  As the world went dark, she felt the wards in her home shatter like fine threads of glass, and Cyrene pulled her into an embrace. “Come with me, lovely.”

  * * * *

  Her door was open. Eli swore and bolted to it, tested the hinges. It wasn’t busted open. “Samantha?”

  No answer. He swallowed a lump of worry in his throat. What was going on? Technically, her words for his entrance were an open invitation. Making sure she was okay was certainly a pure intention. He took a tentative step inside.

  No burn. Not even a shock. He stepped through the entryway, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he held. At least she wasn’t dead on the doorstep. “Samantha?” She wasn’t here. Unless she’d crawled into the bathroom and left the door open, but when he checked the other rooms they were vacant. That didn’t seem likely anyway. The wards weren’t doing anything. Even in her absence, they should have worked, pulled their strings around him tight. Nothing was in disarray, but the bathroom door was open. He chanced a look in. Candles still burning, bathwater still with bubbles.

  He went back to the door, looking out. No, he couldn’t feel anything as someone on the inside. He stepped out, turned around.

  The wards lay before him like a smashed-in window. Someone had busted in, which wasn’t something just anyone did. His eyes narrowed. “Cyrene…” That bitch.

  Eli stormed into the apartment. He was fairly adept at tracking, he just needed a hair. Easy enough in her bathroom. Damn good thing she was single, he thought, and living alone, or this might have gotten ugly, tracking the wrong person. He snarled at the thought of Samantha with a man or woman, and ripped the hairs out of her brush more viciously than he’d meant to. He stalked out and slammed the door.

  Cyrene had stolen someone from under his nose once. She wasn’t going to do it again.

  * * * *

  Whatever she was smelling, it was the strangest mix of divine and disgusting she’d ever encountered. It was like Chanel No. 5 spritzed over a heap of foul eggs and meat. She struggled to move, open her eyes. She felt weak, confused, but not physically. It was as if someone had kep
t her up for four days straight and drunk half the time, with no water or food. She groaned as her fuzzy mind protested the energy required to make the comparison.

  “Good morning, darling,” the voice which spoke was sweet, but suddenly, the smell violently shifted to fetid, and Samantha couldn’t stop her gag reflex.

  “Now, sweetie, don’t be like that.” Her chin was grasped. Samantha felt the red claws, and realized that she was in Cyrene’s hands again. She struggled harder, but couldn’t resist the glass of water being poured down her throat, not only because the hand held her fast, but because she was thirsty.

  She drank greedily until she no longer could, and sat, panting, the water in her belly and splashed across her neck and shoulders clearing her mind. Her arms were pulled tight behind her back. Her legs were bound at the ankles and knees, and she was reclined on a soft couch. She was blindfolded, but the memory of touch and terror told her all too well who held her captive. “Cyrene.”

  “Eli must have told you my name,” she said, and the blindfold was pulled away. The Damned woman stood before her in all her terrifying glory: pure white skin, red claws, dark, swirled eyes. Samantha shuddered. Was this what Eli looked like, when unmasked? She’d seen the eyes, caught a glimpse of the claws, but the whole package was unnerving. Cyrene was smiling. “You look frightened, dear. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to kill or eat you. You’re far too valuable.”

  Samantha tried to muster her courage. “I’m not selling anything to you.”

  “Are you sure?” Cyrene asked with a laugh. She knelt over Samantha, a single claw drawing over her face, down her neck. As it reached her shirt, Samantha smelled the cloth begin to smolder. “I can be awfully persuasive, Samantha Parker.”

  She worked up the moisture in her mouth and spit, but it just hissed and sizzled against Cyrene’s cheek as the Damned woman smiled wider. “Such an attitude, young lady. Do you get it from your mother?”

  “I wouldn’t know, now would I?” Samantha snarled. “She’s dead! But you know that. You’re just stalking me like the rest.”

  “Like Eli?” Cyrene asked, chuckling. “The whelp is adept. I’ve got to hand it to him, convincing you to let him into your wards so he could gain further trust. Pity, he didn’t seal the deal. I would have.”

  “Yeah, and you’re clearly a raging bitch,” Samantha snapped. Maybe Eli had been fooling her but it was clear who was the less insane party here. She’d throw her lot with him any day!

  Cyrene laughed, grasped Samantha’s shoulders and pulled her to sit up, then straddled her legs. The Damned’s skin too hot for comfort, burning like slow acid against her soul, Samantha flinched away. “You do know where Eli was before he got put on your assignment, right? Chilling out in Africa, picking up the AIDS, famine and war victims. Children, mostly.” She leaned down, licked a line up Samanatha’s neck. Samantha thrashed, biting back a cry. The woman’s tongue was a white-hot branch against her skin. “He’s known as the Scavenger of the Damned. They considered giving him a vulture as a familiar, but those birds don’t take to the process well.” Cyrene resettled herself as Samantha shuddered and pushed away.

  “So you see,” she continued, “they shouldn’t have given him this assignment.” She bit into Samantha’s shoulder. Heat flooded her, and Samantha screamed in pain, ecstasy, and sheer anger.

  “No. Get off. You won’t seduce me!”

  “Won’t I?” Cyrene asked. “Granted, I’m not precisely a succubus–did you know they don’t actually exist, Samantha?” She pushed aside a bit of hair and sucked on the earlobe, whispering directly in her ear, “You see, what you mortals call a succubus or incubus is actually just a Damned with a specific method of soul gathering. A slow drain, you might say. I’m far too impatient for it, but sometimes the techniques are useful.” She raked her claws down Samantha’s back. Samantha screamed again, trying to head-butt Cyrene as blood trickled down her spine.

  The Damned laughed, slammed a hand into her neck which pushed her back. Samantha panted for breath. “What do you want?”

  “Heavens, you got to that question quickly,” Cyrene purred. “Such a smart girl. We’ll make this easy. Where do you get your power?”

  “I don’t know,” Samantha replied. “There. Finished. Can I go home now?”

  “Not at all. If you don’t know, it’s time to experiment.” She bit the exposed flesh of Samantha’s chest. The white hot wash of sensation and pain caught Samantha’s breath again, and she screeched. Her eyes slammed shut and she gasped for breath. I’m going to die here, she thought before the pain let up. Cyrene rose, lips stained red with blood.

  “Interesting,” she said, licking her lips. “All the things I tasted before, but now with more understanding. It lends you a delicious richness.” She leaned Samantha back, lapped at the still bleeding bite.

  Samantha gasped and twitched as the touch of Cyrene’s tongue burned like acid. “Stop it,” she groaned. “Stop, stop!”

  “You know, if you hadn’t been so close to the doorstep, I probably never could have gotten you,” Cyrene murmured, pulling up against her neck, nuzzling her. “And by the way, you are delicious.”

  “Fuck you,” she groaned. “Fuck you. I refuse to give you my soul, my spirit, or any part of my body. Get away!” She threw herself into the declaration, remembering the answering pulse of the wards of her home and trying to cultivate that same feeling within. Power thrummed in her hands, but did nothing, and Cyrene threw back her head and laughed.

  “I am a Damned of countless years!” she crowed. “And you think a simple rebuke will sway me? Such a declaration would barely faze a one-hundred-souled Damned!”

  Samantha shuddered, tossing her head. Cyrene let her, and soon Samantha was left gasping for breath again.

  “Why don’t we cut a deal, dear?” Cyrene asked, drawing down Samantha’s shirt. Samantha gasped, screamed, and threw herself at the Damned woman. The shirt stayed on, but so did Cyrene’s smile, as if she knew she were winning.

  Samantha knew Cyrene was winning too. But she wasn’t going to give up. She’d broken this bitch once, she’d do it again. If only she could figure out how to use the power. As Cyrene propped her up on the couch, covered in bite marks and scratches, she groaned. “What do you want? My soul? No deal.”

  She just had to keep her talking. Just keep herself free until she figured out what to do, how to get out of this mess.

  “Oh no, no,” Cyrene said, smirking. “That would be a waste of talent. I want your companionship.”

  “You’ve already got a companion,” Samantha growled, recalling the crow with the mouth of an inferno. She groped at her bonds. They weren’t physical, she realized. She stood a chance of breaking out of them.

  “An animal companion and a mortal companion are very different things,” Cyrene said, stroking Samantha’s cheek. “You see, as my mortal companion, I would know everything about you. You would run some errands, keep me company, lend me power occasionally. In return, I would care for you in every possible way.” She pressed a kiss to one of the bite marks on Samantha’s neck.

  Samantha shuddered. That sounded beyond awful. “What’s the alternative?”

  “If you refused to give up your soul willingly, I would have to extract it. Usually I prefer the voluntary method, so of course I’d try torturing you until you relented to something. But if all else failed, I could just peel it straight out of you with an hour’s worth of work.”

  Samantha took deep pulls of air. She almost considered giving in then and there. It wouldn’t be all bad, right? Cared for. She’d never have to deal with a snobby, stupid client, never have to worry about boyfriends or dumb-ass club guys. With a Damned knowing everything about her, she’d know how to use her power better…she clenched a hand at the thought. It was, in fact, tempting, especially compared with the inevitable rape and torture Cyrene had threatened.

  No, it wasn’t going to work. A slave to a pseudo succubus? That wasn’t how she was going out. Eli wouldn’t ju
st leave her to Cyrene, would he? Or was Cyrene right and he was too craven, too much a scavenger to even think of trying to rescue her? Would he only rescue her to harvest her? Hell, he no doubt would be better than Cyrene.

  “Do your worst, bitch,” she said before her brain could catch up with her mouth. “I’m not going to be your pet.”

  Cyrene gave her a smile. “Adorable little thing,” she said. “You misunderstand. I’m not looking for a pet. I’m looking for a slave. You wouldn’t make a good slave with that will, anyway.” She sank her claws into Samantha’s side. Samantha screamed, and Cyrene laughed. “No problem. We can fix that.”

  * * * *

  Eli looked up, panting with exertion. Damn, she’d gone a long way. It was a good thing he’d grabbed a bike on the way out. The gentle tug of power which was the origin of the hair rose, pointing at one of the higher floors. It was a nice apartment building. Manhattan. He’d have to look presentable. He’d have to look confident. Neither was terribly simple. Cyrene was going to destroy Samantha if at all possible, and it was his fault for leading her there.

  He growled. That was twice, now. Straightening his clothes, he tossed the bike aside and strode into the building, altering his illusion enough the guard didn’t give him a second look. Just another businessman back from a long day of working and a long night of drinking.

  Eli guessed on which floor and jabbed at the third floor button. No, not there. Fourth floor. Yes. He walked out, prowling around like a cat, and stopped in front of room four zero four. He took a breath. How long since she’d been kidnapped? Probably three, four hours? He grimaced. Should have found a car. Samantha might be gone already. He leaned in to the door, listened close.

  Of course, all he could hear was a quiet buzz. To anyone else it would sound like a TV set left on a dead channel, but he knew it was a silence technique. Something was going on in there.

  Thankfully, the Damned did not have the luxury of automatic warding. When Eli kicked in the door, it flew open and he strode in without fear of branding or wires about his limbs. Even though he’d expected the worst, what he found still stole his breath. The couch was covered in blood, Samantha’s eyes were half-lidded, but her chest still heaved for breath. Cyrene’s lips were dyed red as she looked up without shame at the disturbance.