by J. S. Malcom
Suddenly, my heart starts beating fast as I think to check for the amulet. It’s gone. My pulse kicks up another notch, but I know before I even yank up my skirt. Sure enough, there’s no sheath at my ankle. Whoever tossed me in here made sure to take both the pendant and my athame. The knife, for obvious reasons, and probably having guessed correctly at the pendant's magical properties. One thing is for sure. My roll is definitely over.
I climb to my feet, swaying unsteadily as I cross the room. The door, a solid slab of wood, is definitely locked. Not that I’m surprised, but the knob doesn't even jiggle. I step back and try to call up my magic, waiting for it to spike within me like it did in that room with Revlen and her people. There’s no doubt that if it surged like that again, I could blow the door off this room and get out of here.
Nothing happens, not even the slightest flash of red, or a dull ache suggesting that I even came close to accessing my power. It makes no sense but, like Cade said, somehow we’ve been cut off from our magic. I turn to look up at the window again. Instead of glass, it has metal bars set maybe a foot apart. So, all I have to do is float to the ceiling and shrink, and I should be good to go.
In other words, I’m in deep shit.
I plunk down onto the bench and sit there rubbing my forehead. That's when I hear it. No, not so much hear it as feel it.
Cassie?
It’s Julia reaching out to me, somehow knowing that I'm here in this realm. How that's possible, I can't imagine, but there's so much I don't know about her powers. There are those who are psychic, those who are clairvoyant, and then there's Julia.
Julia! Where are you?
I wait to hear her voice again, but the bond has already been broken. It's like one weak radio signal slipped through before being somehow cut off. Can that also be part of the Seelie magical stranglehold? Can they even snuff out psychic abilities?
My head snaps to my left as someone tries the door, and I brace myself for a fight. In my present state, I don't have a hope in hell but I'm not going down without a struggle.
The door rattles again but fails to open. On the other side, a woman with a voice tinged with Irish brogue mutters, “Stupid fae locks. They said it would be open.”
A moment later, I jump as a torch on the wall suddenly blazes to life. In that same instant, I hear the lock turn. “There it is,” the woman says. “Why can’t they just use keys?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but then the door swings open. She steps into the room bearing a glass of water. She's short and stocky, probably in her fifties, with gray-streaked brown hair. She looks to the mat, sees it empty, then spins around to see me on the bench. Involuntarily, I lick my lips as water spills from the glass.
“Oh, good lord,” she says, spreading a hand at her ample chest. “There you are. You scared the dickens out of me.”
I stare back at her stone-faced. Is she fucking serious? I peer past her to the open door, seeing two others as they peek into the room, a young woman and a young man.
The woman follows my gaze and says, “Get back to work, you two.” She slams the door closed and turns to me again. She holds out the glass of water. I snatch it from her hand and gulp it down as she watches. I hand the glass back when I’m done.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out hoarse and weak.
“You’re welcome. Now, darling, where did they drag you in from?”
I’m not quite sure how to answer the question. Does she mean which realm? Which part of the city? Besides, I can’t see why it matters. “Who took my things?”
She shrugs. “Not for me to ask or know. I’m Helen, by the way. Who are you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but then hesitate. She seems nice enough, but who the hell knows? So I make up a name on the fly. “Megan,” I say. I start trying to cook up a last name, but Helen doesn’t ask.
“Well, Megan, I wouldn’t be worrying about your things. You’re alive, so that’s something. Be thankful for that.”
I run my hand through my hair, pulling it back from my face. “I’m supposed to be thankful for being taken prisoner?”
Helen plants her hands on broad hips. “First of all, we don’t call ourselves prisoners. We call ourselves the help. And, like it or not, this is your new home. So you better think about getting used to it.”
Suddenly, those words come back to me, the last I heard before passing out. Enjoy your new life.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Now, we don’t talk that way around here. So, you better give that up right now, believe me.” Helen steps closer and gives me a sniff.
I cock my head. “Did you just smell me?”
Helen wrinkles her nose. “As luck would have it, and it wasn’t all that pleasant for me either. You smell like you’ve been in the sewer, for goodness sake.”
I can’t exactly argue with that, since it’s true. Actually, now that I’ve failed the sniff test, I can’t help but notice how much I reek. Can I use that as a weapon, maybe overpower people with my stink? Probably not. Keep thinking, I tell myself. Keep thinking.
“Okay, let’s start with this,” I say. “What’s going on, and where am I?”
Helen steps back, presumably because of my smell. She takes a breath, then nods. “Okay, it takes a bit of getting used to, but you are now the property of Lord and Lady Ferndelm, Duke and Duchess of Goldmeadow. As for where you are, you're in the House of the Rising Sun.”
I don’t know how to even begin to react. Did she say “property?” I’m pretty sure I heard that. But I can’t help but start with, “The House of the Rising Sun? Did I hear that correctly?”
Helen simply nods again.
“Isn’t that a song?”
“An old one, yes,” Helen says. “We know that.” She nods toward the wall and adds, “They don’t.”
“They being...” I’ve already forgotten the ridiculous name.
“Lord and Lady Ferndelm, the Duke and Duchess of Goldmeadow.”
Somehow, Helen manages to keep a straight face. Which, I have to admit, is pretty impressive on its own.
“Let’s circle back to the other part,” I say. “Did you mention something about me now being their property?”
Helen shrugs. “More or less, although, as I said, we just refer to ourselves as the help. For some reason, you were spotted just as a vacancy came up. And, here you are. Let me see your ears.”
Oh, fuck. “Why?”
“They don’t even stick out through your hair,” Helen says. She taps the pointy tips sticking out through her own. “You’re a half-blood, obviously, or you wouldn’t be here. Not with my crew, anyway. I’m just curious to know how they knew?”
I hesitate, then pull back my hair.
Helen goes pale. “Oh, you poor dear. No wonder.”
My head is pounding, I smell like poop, and my throat is still raw. I really don’t have the patience for this right now. “No wonder what?”
“Well, they’re just barely there, aren’t they?” Helen says. “How old are you, dear?” She scrutinizes me again, from top to bottom, her eyes lingering a bit too long on my breasts. “Sixteen. Seventeen?”
I grit my teeth and say, “Twenty-six.”
I’ve been getting this all my life. Autumn too. We look way younger than we are, because of the veil witch thing. For most of our lives, we had no way of knowing. Then again, for most of my life someone else owned my body while I hitched a ride within Julia. On a scale of one to ten, how messed up is my life? Right, ten plus a thousand. That’s what I thought.
“Well, not to worry,” Helen says. “They may grow in yet.”
Don’t bank on it, sweetie. “I suppose they might,” I say.
Helen frowns as she considers. “Typically, we come into our ears by puberty, but you must be past that stage.”
I stare at her flatly. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
I try to process some of the things she just said, although it's not easy. But, okay, maybe the goo
ns who abducted me figured I was half-blood since I was hanging around with Cade. At the same time, there was that other thing Cade said before we came here.
“Wait, I thought they killed all half-bloods on sight.”
“Well, that's the official position,” Helen says. “You know, to keep up appearances.”
“Of course. It would just look bad if word got out we weren’t being murdered.”
“Exactly.”
Helen seems to lack a sense of irony. “So, what's the unofficial position. Slavery?”
The Seelie are cracking up to be a pretty awesome supernatural group so far. I can't wait to meet Lord and Lady Ferndelm.
“Well, we don't call it—”
“Of course,” I say. “You call it the help.”
Helen raises her eyebrows. “We, dear, we. Like it or not, you're one of us now. And the sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be. Now, we best get you cleaned up.” Helen fans her nose. “Good lord, child, I don't know how you live with it.”
The implication being what? Normally, I don't notice smelling like a septic tank? I refrain from objecting for a couple of reasons. The first is that, regardless of wherever I might be, getting clean sounds good. The other is that, the sooner I get out of this room, the sooner I can find that freaking amulet and escape from this little slice of fae hell.
CHAPTER 20
Helen's suggestion does at least get me out of the room, but only down one hall and then another. There, we enter a large space with a row of toilet stalls and sinks. The equivalent of a public restroom, basically. But there’s also an old claw-foot bathtub in the center of the room. Okay, weird. Someone has taken the time to fill the tub, presumably for me to get myself cleaned up. Either that, or the tub is still full from whoever used it last. A nice thought, definitely. The impression I get is that this is where “the help” does their business, as well as their bathing—in the latter case, evidently without a measure of privacy.
“Well, this is nice,” I say, looking around at the stone walls, the splintered wood of the toilet stalls and the two small, barred-off windows. Once again, the windows are not much more than slits close to the ceiling. So far, I love it here.
If Helen catches on to my sarcasm, she gives no indication. “I suppose it's nice enough,” she says, handing me a towel. “I can't imagine needing much more.”
I stare at her to see if she's kidding. I mean, she must be, right? Helen stares back for a couple of moments. Then she points to a bundle resting on a wooden bench like the one in my cell. “Those are your new clothes over there. They belonged to Simone, but she was small like you, so hopefully they fit.” Before I get a chance to ask what happened to Simone, she adds, “I know you're new here, so I won't rush you. Take your time. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Again, I stare back at Helen to see if she's serious. She just quirks her lips in an attempt at a smile, turns on her heel and leaves the room. I listen, and it doesn't sound like she locks the door.
Okay, so maybe she just let her guard down and it's time to make my move. At the same time, something tells me I have about as much chance of escaping this house unnoticed as I do teleporting myself directly back home. There's just no way they left me free to bail after presumably paying those shitheads to kidnap me. Helen must know this, and my guess is that my cell door was kept locked the first time in case I went berserk.
Should I have? Probably not. Beating the crap out of Helen wouldn't have achieved anything. Not that I'm convinced I could beat the crap out of her. She’s built like a troll. Either way, chances are I'm not going anywhere without either some help, some magic, or both. Even if I did get out of here, how long would I last wandering around Scintillia on my own? On top of that, Helen’s right. I smell like a rotting whale carcass.
There’s a little hutch next to the tub, so I set my towel down there. Then I strip off my gamey clothes and drop them to the floor. I suppose I could cross the room and leave them on the bench, but the door isn’t locked, and I really don’t feel like wandering around naked in a room the size of a four-car garage. I run my hand through the water to find it invitingly warm. Thankfully, it’s also appears to be clean. Good enough for now.
I sink into the water, and can’t help letting out a sigh of relief. Prisoner or not, it feels fantastic to soak my sore muscles. I check the hutch to find that there are both a bar of soap and a glass bottle of what I assume to be shampoo in there. I open the jar and sniff. Yep, soapy, for sure. I take another look but either the fae don’t use conditioner or they don’t provide any for their slaves. I mean, their help. Okay, whatever. I have what I need, so I dunk my head and scrub my hair, being careful to rinse as thoroughly as possible. You know, in case I run into any truth lemurs. Then I close my eyes and settle back against the tub.
I take a few deep breaths and try to assess my situation, despite how little I know. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better, but I decide that Helen is probably full of it. After all, how hard can it be to get out of here and slip back to Silvermist? But then, why does she stay? Or those others I saw peeking in at me before? I mean, they must be trapped here too.
“Oh.” I actually say it out loud, as I think back to seeing Ellie chased across the wasteland. Obviously, there must be some mean-ass Seelie dudes patrolling for those who try to escape. On top of that, there’s at least one seriously terrifying dragon who appears to do Seelie bidding. So, what are my odds of making it back to that forest again?
“Not good.” I say that out loud too, my voice echoing off the walls.
Suddenly, the door creaks open. I jump, splashing water out of the tub. The door is behind me, so I look over my shoulder to see who it is. Oh, my God. I sit naked in a tub of water, literally in the center of the room, as a guy walks in. He’s maybe seventeen years old, with shaggy blonde hair. He whistles casually as he walks by, not looking at me, his face a little red. He goes into one of the stalls.
Seriously?
Yes, seriously. A moment later, a thunderous stream of piss pounds one of the toilet bowls. For me, this moment is unprecedented. Wait, it has to be pretty much unprecedented for everyone, right? So, I sit staring straight ahead, soap in hand, as the peeing continues. And continues. And, from there, continues. Damn, that kid really had to go.
Finally, the kid stops peeing and flushes the toilet. The stall door creaks open again. The problem being that this time I’m facing the row of stalls as he emerges. He starts crossing the room again, his face still red as he does his best not to look at me. You have to hand it to him. Seriously, he’s doing everything he can to pretend I’m not there. Until I drop the soap, which splashes into the water breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the room. That little dropped bar of soap might as well have been a gunshot. The kid looks. From there, he keeps looking. Now that I blew my imaginary cover, he just can’t stop looking, as he walks back toward the door. He literally turns his head as he passes by, even as I keep sinking lower into the tub. By the time he leaves, even my lips are submerged and I’m breathing through my nose.
The door closes and I pop up, gasping for air. “What the fuck?”
Yes, I say that out loud too. I also get an answer as Helen bustles back into the room.
“What did I say about that kind of language?”
I look over my shoulder as she comes closer. Is she really going to stand over the tub? Yes, she is. Apparently, modesty isn’t a thing here.
I gesture toward the door. “What’s with the perv?”
Helen cocks her head. “Perv?”
I can’t tell if she’s unfamiliar with the term, or just confused. How long has she been here? I try again. “A teenage guy just came in here and took a piss, then basically memorized me on the way out. I mean, this is the ladies room, right?”
I’m all about gender neutral bathrooms, but there’s a limit. As in not sitting naked in the middle of the room as teenage boys walk by.
Helen cocks her head again. “Why,
no, love. I’m sorry. All of us use this room for our needs. Poor Mitch.”
I assume Mitch must be the kid who just barged in on me. “Seriously? Poor Mitch?”
Helen grabs my towel from the hutch. She unfurls it and holds it up. “Mitch has been here for quite some time. As you can imagine, there are certain complications at his age. Poor lad. I’m sure he just wasn’t sure how to act with you being here.” She points at the side of my head. “Pretty ears aren’t everything, after all.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
Helen shrugs. “You’re still quite a fetching girl, is all.”
“Okay, thanks. Good to know.”
Helen smiles and shuffles on her feet. “You’re entirely welcome. I’m sure Mitch couldn’t help but notice.” She lifts the towel and adds, “Up you go, now.”
Wait, is she...? Um, not going to happen.
“I think I’ve got this.” I reach for the towel.
Helen shrugs. “Okay, I understand. You’re a shy one.” She hands over the towel and turns around. “Go on, get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
Sure, let’s start by getting Mitch a girlfriend. But I just wrap the towel around myself, and then go to get my new clothes before anyone else comes in to join us.
As it turns out, my new wardrobe consists of a crisper version of the clothes I just discarded, minus the stink. Also, this time I at least get a new bra and panties. Cade didn't go there, not that I expected him to, but let's just say I've been feeling a bit less than fresh in those departments. Both are a pretty good fit, so either they were selected for me personally, or Simone was almost my exact same size.