Thorn Queen (26 page)

But did I? I still didn’t know if I could get myself out of this. My weapons were long since gone, and I didn’t think I had the strength to launch a physical attack on Abigail or Art. My door was kept locked, so there was no prowling for me. Gingerly, I sat up. The world shifted as usual, but again, not like it normally would have post-potion.

What to do with this freedom? I had no guarantees my next dose wouldn’t be the usual stuff. That gave me six hours, and the further that time progressed, the better shape I’d be in. I would have given anything for a clock or even a glimpse of the sun. I needed to track the time, waiting until the last possible moment for my strength to be at its peak. It looked like I’d have to wing it and hope my guess was right.

For a moment, panic washed over me. There seemed no obvious options, and I didn’t know how fast the potion would let up. Anyone could walk right in at any time. Leith could come in. Leith…With some of that fuzziness gone from my head, the memories of what he’d done to me came through more sharply, and my fear grew—

No! I swiftly ordered myself not to think about any of that. Not Leith. Not overwhelming odds. I needed to think only of escape, and for that, I needed to start with small details.

I’d been good today—no bindings. And with the nightshade, no one felt the need to give me iron bracelets like the girls. That meant no blocking of my magic, short of the potion. Somehow, I doubted I’d have the power in six hours to blow this place up with a mini-hurricane. What did that leave me? Hopefully physical stamina…and with it…my shamanic powers?

Now the countdown began. The minutes were agony, particularly since I had no way to count them. At first, I just attempted general counting in my head, but that grew tedious. I had nothing to do but wait and gauge my own body’s recovery.

And recover it did. Oh, I was a long way from being able to kick anyone’s ass, but my wits grew a little clearer. Standing and moving didn’t hurt much either. Finally, I decided it was now or never. I had to take my gamble. Maybe it was well before the six hours, but I couldn’t risk going over.

It would have been easier with my wand, candles, and other accoutrements. What I had to do wasn’t impossible, though. I turned off the lights, plunging me into darkness, and sat on the bed cross-legged.

“Volusian,” I said softly. “By the ties that bind, I summon you to come to me and obey my commands.”

Weak as I was, I felt my will go out, stretching beyond the worlds to my minion. At first, I thought it was useless—then, I felt it. The slightest twitching of our bond. I gritted my teeth, drawing all the strength I could. “I summon you,” I growled. “Obey me and come.”

For a moment, I thought I’d failed. Then, a coldness filled the room, and red eyes burned before me. Seeing them in the blackness was too scary, and I stumbled up to turn the lights back on.

“My mistress returns,” he said. “Or rather, I return to my mistress.”

I didn’t need to see the slight curling of the spirit’s lips to know my hold on him was tenuous. It was like a fragile string of silk, ready to snap at any moment. Bringing him here, through those worlds, had sapped more of me than I thought imaginable. I still held him, but for the first time in the years I’d enslaved him, the full realization of just how powerful—and dangerous—he was hit me.

“I have tasks for you,” I said sternly. I could show no weakness.

He took a few steps toward me. “My mistress is bold to say so. You can barely maintain the bond between us as it is.”

“I can hold this bond until the end of time. Now, you will obey me.”

And almost before I saw what was happening, his clawed hands were around my neck—cold, cold. So cold that they burned.

“I have waited for this for so long,” he hissed. “So long for you to weaken so that I may finally kill you and make you suffer the way you have tormented me these years, enslaving me and sending me to do your menial errands.”

I couldn’t even manage a scream, not with the way his hands were cutting off my air. I could only manage something that was half-grunt and half-gasp. Desperately, desperately, I fought him mentally. I was one of the most powerful shamans in the world. I could control wayward spirits. I could enslave them easily. I’d once had a host of them. I
could
fight this.

“You will feel pain like you have never dreamed possible,” he continued. “You will beg for death, beg for dismemberment…for even that would be easier than the agony I will inflict on you.”

Everyone had warned me so many times about keeping Volusian.
What if your control slips?
they had all asked. Dorian had even offered to help banish him to the Underworld for good. I had laughed the worries off. I was strong. Even after a battle like I’d had with the fire demons, maintaining that link to Volusian was practically subconscious. But now…now, this was different.

“You are losing it—the bonds are nearly broken. In a few heartbeats, your control will be gone….”

No!
I couldn’t speak a response, but the words in my mind burned. I would not lose this. I would not lose control of him. Wrenching up the last scraps of my strength was like ripping my own heart out.
You will obey me! Back off!

The world started to sparkle as my air grew less and less, and then—he did back off.

His eyes blazed with malice. He’d been so, so close, and we both knew it. My control now was still a tenuous thing, and I had to hope I would recover my strength soon and solidify my grasp.

“You will obey me,” I said in a thin voice. “You will not harm me.”

“As my mistress commands.” But I could tell from his voice that he didn’t believe this would last, that he was biding his time.

Meanwhile, I was running out of time to decide what to do, not only because I didn’t know if he’d break free again but also because Abigail could be here at any moment. My initial instinct was to tell him to simply get me out of here. But if that command took the last of my strength, he could easily kill me once we were out. And even if I made it out, what about the girls? I couldn’t rescue them on my own. How long until Markelle disappeared?

No, I needed to kick Volusian out of the house. If I didn’t summon him back, those wards would keep me safe. I needed to send him for help, and that choice had to be a wise one.

“Leave this house. Go to Dorian,” I said. I drew upon that fleeting strength of mine to enforce the order. “I command you. Go to Dorian and tell him where I’m at. Exactly where I’m at.”

I could have sent him to Kiyo. Kiyo knew where this house was. But if the effort of these commands was enough to finally shatter my hold on Volusian, Dorian might be able to bind him back. It would be better than Volusian running loose. That, of course, depended on whether my order was strong enough to even get Volusian to Dorian to deliver the message. My first command had been to get Volusian out of the house and keep me behind the wards. If that was all I could manage, Volusian would no longer be bound to obey.
He has to
, I thought desperately.
He has to get to Dorian
….

“Go!” I ordered harshly.

“As you command.”

Volusian vanished, eyes narrowed, confident our bond was about to break. As soon as he was gone, I fell onto the bed, nearly ready to pass out. Would it work? Or had I just broken the last fragments of our bond? I was too afraid to reach out and test the link. I didn’t have the strength.

The door suddenly unlocked. Nightshade time. With a sickening thought, I realized that if it was the original kind, I would almost certainly lose that control of Volusian. If it was Markelle’s decoy, I could hold onto my strength.

Abigail entered, a cup in hand and Markelle in her wake. The gentry girl’s eyes were down, her whole posture meek. I bit my lip at their approach, waiting to see what my future held.

It tasted as bitter as always, but as I drank, Markelle lifted her eyes. There was nothing obvious in them, no wink, no expectation. Yet, somehow, I knew. I
knew.
It was the fake again.

Satisfied that I’d swallowed it all, Abigail gave me a withering glance. “We need you cleaned up. That fool is coming for you again later tonight, and he did a number on that dress last time. He wants you looking good, though, so…” She gave a half-hearted shrug. Naturally, I couldn’t tell her that my dress’s rumpled and slightly torn state had nothing to do with Leith’s sexual aggression, but, rather, an angry spirit bent on killing me.

Markelle’s eyes were downcast once more. “Should I get her a new dress?”

“No. You’ve got to clean up too. Art’s going to be here in a little while for you.”

The girl flinched, but Abigail didn’t seem to notice. But then, why would she? She didn’t notice any of these girls, not really. And I knew what those words meant. Markelle’s time had come. “I’ll send in that freckled one, once she wakes up again.”

I realized that
she
was me and that I should allegedly be going under. I sank back against the covers, blinking like I was trying to stay awake. The two of them left, Markelle giving me one last fleeting glance. There were a lot of things in her wide eyes as she looked at me. Fear. Hope. Anxiety.

I exhaled once they were gone and sat up. Plan time. My muscles were still weak, but they reminded me more of what you’d feel after a hard run. What had Markelle said before? Twelve hours was the normal dose? I was at that point. The nightshade had to be significantly wearing off. Theoretically, my magic should be returning too and—

“Why, hello,” I murmured. I’d sent my mind out into the room and had just barely—
barely
—felt the tingle of air and water. I wasn’t going to be blowing anyone apart soon, but the magic was coming back. And when it did, these assholes were fucked.

But I needed to wait this out. I wasn’t going to jump the gun like I had with Volusian. Every minute brought the magic and my strength back. I had to use this downtime to assess the situation. Abigail was in the house still. Art and Leith were eventually coming back—together or apart, I didn’t know. The one thing I felt confident of was that I did not want to face all of them at the same time. That meant Abigail had to be taken out first, but I was going to need help.

In what must have been a little over an hour, Cariena slipped in with a pink silk dress. It reminded me of something Maiwenn would wear. Apparently, no one had gotten the memo that redheads don’t wear pink. I stood up and took the dress from Cariena, promptly tossing it on the bed. She looked aghast that I’d gotten up without falling over. Considering all that had happened recently, I couldn’t blame her.

“Your m-majesty, what—”

“Cariena, we’re getting out of here.”

“We can’t!”

“Oh, we can, and we are. Where’s Markelle?” I had a feeling I was going to need an accomplice with a bit more boldness. “And Raina?” I rarely saw the third gentry girl around here and had no clue to her attitude, but she needed to be accounted for.

“Raina’s in her room. She was—disrespectful. And Markelle is preparing herself.”

Preparing herself for a lifetime as a sex slave. I grimaced. “And Abigail?”

“She’s upstairs. Watching…” Cariena groped for the unfamiliar word. “…the television.”

“Okay, okay.” My mind was spinning now. It seemed to be recovering faster than my body. “Here’s the deal. I need a weapon. Is there anything you’ve seen that would work as one?”

“We can’t do this. We can’t—”

“We
can,
” I ordered, making my voice hard and fierce. This girl had been beaten into weakness, and if those shamans scared her, I would make sure that I—her queen—scared her more. “And you will obey me. You’re my subject. You’ll get out of this alive—I swear it. You’ll see your family.”

She was still scared out of her mind, but she gave a weak nod. “I see Abigail and the Red Snake Man carry weapons, but there are none around. I couldn’t touch them anyway.”

“Alright. We’ll make do with…hey, is the garage attached to the house?”

“Garage?”

“Another building. One where they keep cars.” I recalled the garage but didn’t know if it connected directly to the house. Surely she knew what a car was.

She nodded. “Yes. They go in and out of it sometimes. It’s attached to the kitchen.”

“When you come down here, whose room do you pass first out there in the hall? Mine or Markelle’s?”

“Yours…” Cariena was clearly puzzled now.

“Perfect. I know what we’re going to do. Take me to Markelle.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and I knew this was the turning point of whether she could help or not. The door was unlocked; I didn’t need her. But if I didn’t have her assistance, I’d have to knock her out to keep her out of the way.

“This way,” she said at last.

Markelle nearly threw herself into my arms when we walked into her room.

“Your majesty! I knew you’d do it. I knew you could…”

She wore a strappy little red sundress and had been applying makeup. Funny. I got dressed up like gentry royalty, and the girls here were dressed like human whores.

“Shh,” I said. “We’re not out of here yet.”

I hastily whispered my plan to them. Markelle understood instantly, and although Cariena still seemed terrified, she also appeared determined. I returned to my room, body tensed for action as I waited for my plan to unfold. Pressing my ear to the closed door, I listened as Cariena’s feet thudded up the stairs. Presumably she spoke to Abigail, but I couldn’t hear anything. A few moments later, two sets of feet came downstairs, walked past my room, and went to Markelle’s.

I opened my door a crack to make sure the hall was empty. Next door, I could hear Markelle having the nervous breakdown we’d planned—saying she was afraid to leave, afraid to meet this man, didn’t know what to wear…. Abigail, clearly irritated, began to scold her, much as she had responded to Leith’s whining. I waited to hear no more and turned in the opposite direction, heading for the stairs.

When I reached the main floor, I did a double-take. The house was beautiful, all new construction and designer decorating as befitted the neighborhood Art lived in. The gentry sex dungeon below us kind of detracted from the maple cupboards and crown molding, though. All the curtains were closed, the windows covered with iron grating, and outside I could just barely make out the Sleeping Beauty hedges blocking the windows too. Art’s lawn maintenance had been about more than aesthetics. The patio drapes I’d so admired weren’t laced with silver thread. It was iron.

The garage was adjacent to the kitchen, just as Cariena had said. The top half of the door leading out to it had a window covered with more iron grating. I turned the doorknob. Locked. There were no signs of keys anywhere, which meant I’d have to do it the hard way. First, I double-checked the kitchen and living room, looking for any other weapon options. On a good day, I could have taken Abigail with my own fists. This was not a good day. Kitchen drawers revealed butter knives, nothing sharper.

With a sigh, I returned to the garage door. This was it. The grating was loosely bolted, enough to keep it up and prevent the girls from touching it. Hoping I’d gained enough strength, I gripped the sides of it and tried to jerk it off. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, in one movement, it ripped from the wood. I froze, waiting to see if anyone downstairs had heard, but the deed appeared to have been performed fairly silently.

The next part, I knew, would not be so quiet. I dragged a chair up to the door and then grabbed a smaller stool used to get into high cupboards. It was metal and had some heft to it. Would it be enough? I stood on the chair and swung the stool forward into the door’s window. Yup. Enough heft. More than half of the glass broke. One more swing got the rest of it out, and I climbed through the hole into the garage. The whole maneuver was a bit awkward on my part; I wasn’t in that good of shape yet. But, I made it through, incurring only a few cuts on my arms and legs.

I knew, however, I was seconds away from Abigail’s arrival. There was no way that breaking glass had gone unnoticed. Small patches of light streamed into the darkened garage from narrow windows as I peered around. Yes, it was a normal garage—albeit it one with a Jaguar in it. I guessed that was why Art had to keep the SUV in the driveway. Part of me wanted to go kick in the car’s door, but there was no time. I had to assess the garage’s other contents. Scattered tools. Bags of fertilizer. Art’s gardening equipment. A heavy metal wrench held my attention for a moment, but then I decided I needed more leverage with my weakened state. I selected a shovel from Art’s gardening stash, its scoop heavy metal and wooden handle sturdy.

From inside the house, I could hear shouting. It wasn’t going to take Abigail long to figure out where I’d gone when she saw the glass. Grateful for the darkness, I darted over to the side of the door that led into the house, pressing myself as flat as I could against the wall. There was a click as the door from the kitchen opened, but no one came out right away. I could picture Abigail standing there, looking around for any sign of me.

After several heavy seconds, I saw a hand holding a blade—an athame—come out the door first, defensively positioned in case I came charging at her. That wasn’t my intent, though. I wanted to get her from behind. She took one step out, still cautious and slow, looking around everywhere. I had to give her credit for that. She didn’t just barrel forward; she knew I might be waiting by the door. And in fact, when she looked in my direction, that’s exactly what I was doing. My shovel hit her in the side of the head before she could react.

She crumpled to the ground, athame clattering against the concrete floor as it fell from her hands. I knelt down and immediately scooped it up and left the shovel. There was a bloody mark where I’d struck her, and her eyes were only half-open. My hand checked her pulse and found she wasn’t dead yet. She was going to have a hell of a headache or concussion when she woke up—which wasn’t something I could allow to happen any time soon.

I left her lying there on the garage floor and stepped back into the kitchen. I opened a few cupboards and found what I’d hoped I would: the household’s stash of medicine. Tylenol, multivitamins, et cetera. Behind them were a couple of prescription bottles. One I didn’t recognize, but I thought it was some sort of heart medication. The other was Ambien, and I smiled. Just like me, a lot of shamans were insomniacs.

I popped a pill out of the bottle, reconsidered, and grabbed a second. I then propped up Abigail and managed to shove the pills down her throat, with the help of a glass of water and some acrobatics with my fingers. “Payback’s a bitch,” I said when her reflexes kicked in and she swallowed the pills the rest of the way. She wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

I stepped back into the kitchen and saw all three gentry girls standing there and staring at me. Cariena and Raina looked afraid. Markelle, though she bore a red slap mark on her face from the confrontation earlier with Abigail, looked excited and defiant. I ordered them to carry Abigail downstairs and lock her in one of the rooms. I didn’t know which way Art would enter the house and couldn’t risk him finding her on the garage floor. Of course, if he did come in through the garage, the shattered glass was going to be a dead giveaway that something was up.

Before they took Abigail away, I frisked her, hoping to find another weapon. Nope. Just the athame I’d already taken. I did, however, discover something nearly as useful: a set of keys. On the ring were several tiny keys, the ones that opened up the iron cuffs and bracelets the girls wore. Once they’d stashed Abigail away, I removed all the iron. Relief flooded the girls’ faces, and I scowled when I saw the welts and bruises left from where iron reacted with gentry skin.

“You should have your magic back,” I said, reaching for the phone. “We can use it when we get out of here. What can you guys do?”

I was dialing Roland’s cell phone, and the girls described their magic to me as the line rang. Cariena had a knack for helping plants grow, kind of like Shaya. Raina had some healing ability. Markelle could summon beams and balls of light. I disconnected when I got Roland’s voice mail and promptly dialed Kiyo.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. None of the girls’ powers were going to help us. And honestly? It wasn’t a surprise. If I were Leith and had wanted to catch girls who would make docile servants, I too would have picked ones with little or no offensive magic.

Kiyo’s phone rang only once before going to voice mail, meaning it was off or he was in the Otherworld. I hung up and prepared to dial my parents’ home number. If Roland hadn’t answered his cell, he likely wasn’t home either, but I had to try. Before I could punch in the numbers, I heard the sound of keys at the front door on the far side of the house. I turned to the girls.

“Downstairs!” I hissed. “Now!”

Markelle looked like she would have stayed, but a stern glance from me sent her scurrying down with the others. Meanwhile, Art’s voice rang through the house.

“Abigail?”

I’m not sure how he knew something was wrong. For all he knew, Abigail could have just been downstairs. Maybe it was just some sixth sense, but I heard him hurrying down the hall toward the kitchen, footsteps fast on the hardwood floor. I had a split second to react, no chance to find a hiding spot as I had with Abigail. Surprise was my greatest weapon now. As soon as he entered the room, I leapt on him with the athame.

The thing that gave me a fighting chance was that he’d armed himself too well in his wariness, a gun in one hand and an athame of his own in the other. Full hands prevented him from fully deflecting my attack, though in many ways, the strength of his arms were more than good enough to block the worst of it. I got a swipe in on his face, however, gaining a fair amount of satisfaction in seeing the blood it produced.

“You bitch,” he said, circling with me in the kitchen as we each sized each other up for an attack. “Where’s Abigail?”