Soul Bonded, #1

by Lori Titus

  I thought, The hell is this? But there wasn’t any time to ask. Pollard started down the hall, and the two of us followed behind.

  “Victor,” Pollard said over his shoulder. “We’ll finish this discussion later, though you haven’t changed my mind.”

  Something about the way he said it, the familiarity, made me think these two were more than just business partners. They acted like a bickering married couple.

  Walking past the reception area, we went to a door at the back of the office I hadn’t noticed before. I memorized the digits as Pollard punched them into the keypad.

  The lock buzzed loudly as the door opened, and a nerve-grating thump sounded when the door closed behind us.

  “The office takes up a few floors on this building, though you wouldn’t see it marked that way on the directory downstairs,” Pollard explained.

  “We own it, actually,” Ramshead smiled.

  “The whole building?” I asked.

  Ramshead brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his suit. “Yes, and most of the enterprises within. There’s a reason the cafeteria and the dry cleaners give members of our firm free services.”

  I wondered what that meant for the people who worked in those businesses. Were they more chattel for these demons’ purposes? Did they work as spies for them? Maybe they brought even more people in on the scheme, like my sponsor or the loan officer who worked at Natasha’s bank. I wondered how big a network Ramshead and Pollard had amassed in Los Angeles. This was a city where everyone was either wealthy and greedy for more money or struggling to survive. People on either end of that equation could easily be manipulated.

  This place wasn’t going to help my paranoia.

  The long, white hallway gave way to another set of stairs and a long corridor. We emerged from there into a white room bordered by rows of glass-encased cells on either side. I thought all of the cells were empty except for the very last one—there was a person inside.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  As we got closer, though, I saw that “person” was the wrong word.

  Pollard spoke with all the enthusiasm of a carnival barker. This was a tour he had given before. “We offer many different services at the office, and one of them can be described as capture and retain. You’ll see that this specimen,” he gestured toward the cage closest to him, “is a Werewolf.”

  “It can’t break free?” I asked. Unable to quell my curiosity, I took a step closer.

  A figure sat, legs up to its chest, at the very back of the cell. The lights were off inside the. Its head was down, face pressed against its knee.

  “Nevil,” Ramshead called.

  The thing—Nevil—looked up. He fixed me with glowing, orange eyes. His body was covered with what looked like hair from afar but was really a thin layer of brown fur.

  He hurled his body at me, hitting the glass barrier hard enough that it shook. I stumbled backward, arms up, ready to fight.

  “He can’t get through the glass,” Ramshead said. “Look at him.”

  The thing was snarling, but his face was still partially human. He had a snout, but his fangs were barely visible, as if they hadn’t fully grown in.

  “He’s only half-phased into his wolf form,” Ramshead continued, taking a cigarette from his breast pocket. “Depending on their condition when they are brought in, we can administer an array of drugs to keep them at only partial strength. We have the top of the line in medical advances for the varying species of nonhumans. Developed most of the ones we use along with other partners in business. And of course, a few well-placed sigils don’t hurt either.”

  “What is that?” I asked. Nevil was banging his fists, snarling and pressing his face against the glass. His mouth was wide open, eyes wild and... terrified.

  “He’s a young werewolf, without a maker or a wolf clan to control him,” Pollard replied calmly. “He can’t be allowed to run through the city streets, alerting the population to the existence of his kind. We have contractors who hunt such wolves down and bring them in. Tomorrow, we’ll be paid for procuring him by someone who will use him for their own purposes.”

  “What kind of purposes?”

  “Whatever they need,” Ramshead replied before his partner could. “We don’t care, and we never ask. As long as their money is good, we’ll hand them over.”

  Ramshead’s eyes turned red. He stared at Nevil, and the poor creature howled in pain. I barely saw the spark of flame that erupted on the wolf man’s paws, but I could both see and smell the smoke of his singed fur. He retreated to a corner of his cell, head down, shoulders trembling. He made a keening sound like an injured puppy.

  “Victor, that was unnecessary!” Pollard cried.

  “Oh please,” he replied. “You know very well he’ll be healed within the hour. There won’t be any scars for the customer to see.”

  I watched the look between the two of them. I just couldn’t get Pollard. He seemed proud of this facility one moment, ashamed of it the next. He was offended by harsh treatment of this creature, yet was just fine with the idea of holding and then selling him.

  During my time in war torn countries, I’d met exactly this kind of hypocrite. They were fine torturing other people’s women and children as long as it was under the guise of honor or some twisted idea of propriety. It made me wonder if Pollard wasn’t worse than his partner. It was the quiet ones, those who hid their misdeeds behind smiles and polite talk that you really had to worry about.

  At least with Victor Ramshead, you knew exactly what you were getting.

  Pollard said something I couldn’t hear under his breath and continued down the hallway.

  “We don’t often keep many subjects at once, but we have the space for it if need be,” Pollard said. “It’s better to get them in and out quickly. I don’t like the idea of keeping inventory. It’s messy and runs up cost too quickly. We don’t keep them past seventy-two hours once we catch them—unless it’s for an elite client.”

  “What else do you keep?” I asked.

  Ramshead answered. “Many kinds of beings. Wolves are more rampant in this city than the other creatures. Fae. Vampires. The occasional Sidhari demon. You seem to be taking this well. Most humans, how shall we say, ‘freak out’ when they’re given the talk. Humanity amuses me. You’re worried about other life existing out there in the stars and haven’t yet come to grips with all of the life existing on your own planet. When and if that happens, I intend to sit back and watch the unfolding news reports with popcorn and a bottle of wine. Enjoy watching the lot of you lose your proverbial shit.”

  “I hope you’re not about to tell me that aliens are a thing too,” I admitted.

  “Well if there are any, I have never seen them,” Ramshead snarled. “I would assume they have better things to do than mess with the likes of humankind.”

  We came up to another set of double doors. This one was accessed not through a keypad, but through a glass plate. Pollard pressed the pad of his right forefinger against it and the doors powered open.

  Ramshead was right behind me and I was aware that I was surrounded. I swallowed over the lump in my throat. If they wanted to lock me up here, somewhere in these secret rooms, no one would know where to look for me. My only comforting thought was that it wouldn’t make sense to go through everything they’d done in order to recruit me, just to kill me days later.

  The problem with that idea was assuming they assigned importance to any one human life. I didn’t have any mystical abilities. There was no reason they would want to barter me to the highest bidder. Maybe killing me was their best option if I became too much trouble.

  We descended another set of steps that led us to a library. Books filled the black lacquer shelves from floor to ceiling.

  “This room contains rare volumes of information—all of the known information about the different species of sentient beings that live on the Earth, generally called the Others, resides here. Our Werewolf friend is only one of the species you
’ll learn about. You’ve heard of most of them before, through popular fiction. Since we deal almost exclusively with them, you’ll have to learn to keep your temper in front of them.”

  “Temper? More like a gun at the ready.”

  Pollard nodded. “Under certain circumstances we don’t disagree with you being armed. We keep a lot of security measures, as you can understand. As a negotiator here for the firm, we’ll need you to appear to keep a cool head in front of our clients. Much as you would in battle conditions.”

  “I thought you wanted a lawyer? You want me to negotiate with these...uh... creatures?”

  Pollard grinned. “We wanted someone who people thought looked polished enough to be a lawyer. What we need is someone with muscle who can keep their wits about them in a dangerous situation.”

  “How is it that other people don’t know about this?”

  Ramshead spoke up this time. “Some do. No one believes them, of course. That’s the simple magic of effective public relations. You just soothe people by telling them the things that they want to believe anyway. As long as that lines up with whatever fiction you’re peddling, it’s easy.

  “Learning what you need to know won’t be as difficult as it sounds,” he insisted, after a brief pause. “You’ll sit in with Henry and follow his lead. I don’t expect that you’ll learn all the information here, but you need to know how to get in and do your research from time to time.”

  “We do have a computer program, which Victor forgets because he abhors using them. It will be simpler. For deeper research, you can use these facilities. There are several conference rooms on this floor. In general, only you and Natasha should be allowed into this particular room. We have a few trusted contractors who could use the library, but you’ll want to let one of us know before you let them in.”

  “Who takes care of the cages?” I asked. I hadn’t seen any other prisoners besides Nevil, but I wasn’t about to assume that meant there weren’t more hidden behind another screen of magically warded Plexiglass.

  “You haven’t met Art. He keeps our guest back here taken care of. I’m sure you’ll run into him soon.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure I’m sure,” I said dryly.

  Ramshead looked down at his watch. “I’m going to leave for a few hours. I believe you’ll be safe in Henry’s hands, so to speak.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Katherine Taylor

  If there’s one thing I know, it’s my child.

  Natasha was an only child for a reason. Ezekiel and I never considered ourselves to be good parent material. There was always some kind of danger around, and we thought about how that might affect the kind of life our kid would have. We didn’t plan her, but we never regretted her either. Through the years, I’ve probably been overly watchful of her. Especially after her Daddy died. We never talk about how Zeke passed, but she knows more about it than she lets on.

  From the time she was small, I tried to teach her witchcraft. She had power in her, that was clear to me. When she was about five I caught her moving things around the house. She could make her dolls float around the room, or set the radio on without touching it. I didn’t discourage her. I taught her the rules of privacy when it came to using her craft. We don’t talk about these things to people outside of the home. We don’t practice our abilities in public where others might see. And just as important, we don’t waste our magic on parlor tricks. Some people will try to tell you that witches are thieves, taking power from nature that was not ours to channel. The creator gave us power over those energies, no matter which version of that being you believe in. The only directive was that this power is utilized for healing and help, never harm.

  There was a point in Natasha’s teen years, when she was about fourteen of fifteen, when she put witchcraft aside. I think it started out because she was in that phase where she wanted to be like the other kids. For her, practicing witchcraft was something that would separate her from her peers in a negative way.

  At the same time, she was also gaining more interest in her father’s work.

  This scared me because it felt inevitable. We’d tried to keep demonology away from her. It was in her blood I suppose. Zeke told me he thought she should learn from him, to know how to protect herself. Witches were often caught in the fight between demons from other spaces and dimensions when those beings tried to use them in one way or the other.

  The daughter of an exorcist would always be a target.

  I told my husband to teach her all the tricks and trades that would protect her against demonic powers. The one thing that I’d requested he not do was to let her be the witness to an exorcism.

  Well that got shot to hell. Not only was she witness at an exorcism but she helped perform it.

  When Zeke brought her home, she kept saying that she was okay but she couldn’t stop crying. It took two days for me to get the whole story out of her about what happened. After that, I had a very serious talk with her father.

  “It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. It’s over now. All we can do is help her handle it,” Zeke said.

  Natasha was at school, but we were in our bedroom anyway; we always went there whenever we had an argument because it was the farthest part of the house from her room. I stood with my back to the dresser while he sat on the edge of the bed. I felt sorry for him, I really did. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make him feel worse about the danger he had exposed our daughter to. I just couldn’t let those feelings get in the way of insisting upon what was in her best interest.

  “There’s nothing that says she has to deal with it,” I said. “I can work a spell that will make her forget.”

  “I don’t agree with that.”

  “Really, Ezekiel? Because I didn’t agree with her being in the presence of an exorcism either and yet, here we are.”

  “Isn’t messing with someone’s memory dangerous?”

  “Only if you tamper with it multiple times, or on varying occasions,” I told him. “Otherwise, what would be the harm? She will forget this ever happened. She won’t carry the sadness inside her anymore. No one will know about it except you and I.”

  He sighed. “When would you do it?”

  “Tonight, after dinner,” I said. “It won’t take long. By morning, she won’t remember anymore.”

  I wiped my child’s memory clear with a simple spell. She didn’t remember about the summer she faced evil for the first time. If she tried to recall it, nothing particular would come to her.

  I was happy with this arrangement, except for one thing. Her fascination with learning about exorcism continued until her father died, the year she turned seventeen. After that, she wanted no more of magic, of exorcism, of anything outside the realm of working and surviving from one day or another.

  And now, she was around the son of one of her father’s friends. They could have the best intentions, but I couldn’t see how any good could come of that.

  I know when Natasha is trying to hide something, and I saw how she looked sick. I saw how Chris’ eyes changed when he looked at her because he was concerned. Those two were thick as thieves, and whatever they were involved in couldn’t be good.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Natasha Taylor

  I really thought about claiming to be too sick to go to work. It occurred to me that my new boss might send someone (or something) to come get me. That thought was enough to make me pull myself together and go.

  When I arrived at the office, Chris was sitting at the front desk. He stood as soon as he saw me come in.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. There were people milling around the office, a few coming in and out of the black glass enclosed conference room directly behind the reception desk.

  “Crash course for us apparently,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re supposed to watch Pollard in action.”

  “Is Ramshead here?”

  “Left a little while ago. I feel like Victor and Henry keep dropping us off with each o
ther like daycare.”

  “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  “Me neither,” he admitted.

  “Natasha,” Henry Pollard came out of the conference room. “Glad you made it. I need you to come in, and you too, Chris. You’ll both want to take notes.”

  Henry sat at the head of the table, and Chris and I took chairs on either side of him. There were four other people already seated, and they peered at Chris and I like we were something from the wrong side of a microscope. I didn’t bother to smile. I crossed my legs and played with my pen, pretending this was all a normal business meeting.

  “I think we can get started now,” Henry said. His voice changed, dropping an octave. He was trying to sound authoritative. He seemed to have ease with that role. I wondered how it was he got stuck working for (or with) Victor Ramshead.

  “I’m glad that everyone made it here, and I hope that it was a good trip for all of you,” Henry began.

  “No trip is ever good,” one of the women in the group said. “I don’t particularly like leaving my home these days. I hope you’re going to make it worth the time.”

  The woman wore a suit and heels, and way too much eyeliner. She was thin and pale. Her hair was dyed platinum though her brows and lashes were black. I didn’t want to think too much about what she was but I could tell... vampire. I had never seen one this close, though my father had told me stories about coming across them.

  “Of course, it will be,” Henry assured her. It was then that I realized exactly why Victor preferred for Henry to meet with the public. He was good at speaking to people and keeping them calm. Those were two skills I didn’t think Victor possessed.

  One of the men at the table, a brown haired man with a scar on his left cheek was apparently her companion, laughed. The rest of the vampires were silent.

  The woman was introduced as Ulia; the brown-haired man, her boyfriend, was named Gael. Mike, a bald, muscular black man winked at me. Under normal circumstances I would have thought that he was flirting with me. I figured he was probably thinking about my blood. His buddy, Chet, was a short, husky blond with eyes so gray they reminded me of dirty ice.