by Mari Freeman
Sonja rifled through her shopping bag and pulled out the bundle of firecrackers Auntie had packed, along with a couple of smoke bombs and a stink bomb. Tucked in a pocket of her shorts, she also had a switchblade that Auntie had given her. By Goddess, that woman was a devious old thing.
After the crackers and bombs were in place with their twined fuses hanging outside the mailbox, Sonja closed the little door.
She grabbed the phone Q had sent her and headed up the stairs. The wood creaked with each steep step. It sounded like the entire building would know she was coming. She did her best to keep her hand from shaking when she reached the small landing at the top.
A lot was riding on her ability to keep her mind and her visions under control. Something she’d sucked at most of her life. The boost from the Chiwa had made her visions more vivid but they’d also allowed Q more access into her psyche. She wondered if what he’d said was true. That she was open to everyone. Barri had easily sensed her emotions. But then again, she was angry and scared and ragged with worry. All very easily detectable emotions. Sonja would need to center herself, the way her mother had taught her back when she’d undergone burn therapy.
Daily, the nurses would come to give her a shot of morphine. After it took effect, Sonja would scrub the drying burn scabs off her stomach with a rough sponge. The idea was to let the skin heal from the inside out, but to a ten-year-old it was nothing short of torture. The morphine didn’t cut it. The pain persisted. To combat the agony, Mother had Sonja clear her mind and use her weak psychic powers to direct the pain away.
That was the most useful her Demon gift had ever been. Not since that time had she used it for more than keeping connected with her sisters. She was particularly close to Nell. That was, until Sonja had stolen the Chiwa and taken off. She’d been intentionally trying not to sense Nell or Trina ever since she’d used the talisman. They would feel the skank of it on her.
No more delays. Sonja gripped the handle and pushed open the door at the top of the stairs.
A rather surprised-looking woman stood behind a little table in yet another foyer, this one much larger. She smiled after a moment but her brows stayed high on her forehead. Sonja realized the surprised look was painted on, the woman’s makeup intentionally exaggerated. It matched her outfit. A black-and-purple-striped skirt with loads of tulle puffed out around meaty thighs. Chunky black boots were laced up her calves and managed to ruin the look of a delicate, finely embroidered corset. Hairy cleavage peeked over the top.
“You are?” the big woman asked with a slightly falsetto voice.
Sonja dug a twenty out of her pocket. “Looking for the presidential room.”
“With Mr. Jackson as your guide, you’ll likely not even find Clinton’s intern closet, sweets.”
How was she supposed to know how much to bribe a door person at a private club? “Can you help me here?”
“Well, I would suggest you head to Trashy Diva over on St. Charles and get you something a bit more subtle.” She raised those brows to impossible heights.
“This coming from a color-blind cross-dresser?” Sonja bit her tongue in an attempt to shut her mouth before the she-man bouncer kicked her out of the place. “I don’t need fashion advice. I need the presidential room.” She handed her a couple more bills. “Will a pair of Jacksons and a couple Lincolns get me there?”
The corset-clad human leaned back and placed a bejeweled hand on his chest as his face reddened. “No need to get snippy.” He snatched the money from Sonja’s outstretched hand. “Go through those green doors.” The cross-dresser used his thumb to point backward. Farther back in the foyer was a set of swinging green doors just like those in an old-fashioned saloon. “Last door on the left is the Dead Presidents’ Playroom. Have a lovely play date.”
Sonja just nodded. Play date? She glanced at the phone. 12:01.
She pushed through the double doors and made her way down the hall, trying to ignore the sounds from the various rooms she passed. Little more than see-through shimmering fabric or strings of beads covered the doors. It was obvious this was a pleasure club but hearing the moans and the distinct sound of leather hitting skin unnerved her. She couldn’t help but see a couple who were using the doorframe as part of their play. The woman was tied up, blindfolded and being licked by a very chubby man in a business suit. Sonja thought she saw another man sitting not far inside the room watching them.
She was vaguely curious as to what else happened in a place like this. Her sister Nell had explored the world and had a toy collection to commemorate every adventure. Sonja had been a homebody, preferring to stay at home with her father after her mother passed. Her small mountain town wasn’t exactly a Mecca for adventurous souls.
But right now, her mind was on one thing and one thing only—getting Kara out of danger.
As promised, the Dead Presidents’ Playroom was the last room on the left, and she listened carefully as she neared. Soft, rhythmic music drifted from behind the golden drapes separating the room from the hall. Sonja tried to peek through but the fabric was thick enough to obscure her view.
The phone rang, startling her, and she dropped it onto the hard wood floor. She snatched it up, only to find she’d broken the screen. She anxiously punched the green send button to answer the incoming call from Q.
“I want to talk to Kara,” she ordered before he had a chance to speak.
His laughter infuriated her. “Overbearing children are so unpleasant, Sonja. Perhaps you should ask? You know the old saying…”
Sonja huffed and leaned against the wall next to the doorway. “I don’t even know whether or not you’ve killed her already. You know, proof of life?”
“You have a point. But unfortunately I’m not in the same location as your little shifter at the moment. You will have to trust me.”
“Ha!” Sonja choked out. ”Not likely.”
“As late as you’ve been, as careless as you’ve been, I should have. It’s only my sense of decency that’s allowed her to live despite your tardiness. Now where is your lover?”
She paced back toward the she-man. It was show time. She needed to be convincing from the get-go to make him believe she still had the Chiwa. “Well. Let’s just say you’re not such a great judge of character. He took off with the box.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sonja.” He bit the words out as if he were trying hard not to lose his temper. There was no hint of game playing left in that tone.
“I…I have the Chiwa.” She turned back toward the room. She tried not to sound as panicked as she was feeling. “He took the puzzle box, it’s broken and the diamond must have been too much of a temptation. But he left the talisman. I guess he was more interested in money than power.” She hesitated for an instant. “Which is it you want?”
The silence that hung on that line was chilling. “I want it all, Halfling.” He coughed and then cleared his throat. “Now. Since you’re speaking so loudly I presume you’re not in the room yet. Enter. Not to worry, the gentleman waiting there is not an associate of mine. He has a simple task to complete and he will report to me when he is finished. You are to follow his instructions.”
“And they are?” Sonja didn’t like the sound of any of this.
“Do as he says and don’t speak to him at all. You and I have one last game to play. Then I will lead you to your cousin.”
She fell against the wall. Leaning her head back, she looked at the fancy molding around the hallway ceiling. “No more games, Q. I have the Chiwa. You have Kara. I say let’s just make a trade and be done with it.”
The echoing laugh she recognized from her visions was loud over the phone. Sonja pulled it away from her ear yet still heard him say, “You’re sadly under the impression that you have input into the rules of this game. You have none. Don’t forget it.” And the call dropped. Sonja let out a deep sigh and snapped the phone closed.
She would have to find a way to gain input, to change the rules. But right this minute, she n
eeded to face the man in the room. She checked her pocket for the switchblade. Still there. She could do this. She had to do this. Again she wished Ray were with her. Goddess only knew what Q had in his mind.
She yanked herself from the wall and stormed into the room.
A very tanned, older man in crisp white pants and shirt stood from his seated position at a small table by the window. In the center of the room was a large round mattress on the floor, covered in silk bedding and littered with pillows. The window was covered with a heavy curtain that blocked out almost all light. Candles and a small lamp provided a very mellow glow. In front of her was a large mirror in a heavily gilded frame. The music didn’t seem much louder in here than it had in the hall.
The man bowed and gathered a small tray from the table. He took the bag from her shoulder. Sonja fought the urge to resist. She’d been told to follow his instructions. He set the bag close but not on the mattress, wordlessly indicated for her to sit. She sat on the edge of the mattress, facing the exit. He smiled sweetly.
He was as human as they came. He couldn’t feel the box, couldn’t read her thoughts and he probably worked here, prepping girls for huge orgies. That’s probably why he thought she was there. Great. She wanted to tell him otherwise but she sure wasn’t breaking Q’s rules. Not yet.
“Remove your shoes, miss.” His voice was soothing and Sonja was glad all he’d said was “shoes”. She slipped the flip-flops off her feet as he handed her a small teacup from the tray. “Drink. It’s my finest herbal tea. Most relaxing.”
Goddess. Who knew what kind of potion it was? He pushed it toward her again with a knowing look and a nod. “Drink.”
The first taste revealed nothing but hot tea. She sensed nothing nefarious but magic had to be somewhat strong for her to sense it anyway. Again, Ray and his powerful Sorcerer’s senses would have sniffed out any problems. She tucked her hair behind her ear and drank the rest of the tiny cup. Not that it mattered what Ray could have sensed. This was Q’s game, Q’s rules. The man said drink. She drank.
“Good. Slide to the middle of the circle. Make yourself comfortable.” He turned and gathered the teapot and spoon from the table. Sonja concentrated on scooting back onto the center of the bed without her shorts riding up her crack. Man, the thing was big enough for way more than two people. Her stomach fluttered in momentary fear of what might be coming. She didn’t want to be some virginal sacrifice on this silken, pillow-covered altar.
Unless Ray Burgess is the one to partake of the sacrifice.
Where had that come from? Hot on its heels, the thought of Ray without his clothes on, between her legs again.
The music seemed louder, the rhythm pulsing. A heavy scent of lavender suddenly filled the air. She gazed around the room again. The man in white was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes felt heavy. Sleepy.
“Tea, huh?” She imagined it was more like mushroom tea than Earl Grey. Sonja bit her lip, hoping she’d be able to keep her secrets through a drug-induced ride with Q.
Quinton sat in the small lounge and watched as the attendant rummaged through Sonja’s bag. He removed something small wrapped it fabric before replacing the bag and turning to leave the room. His prize. At last…
He didn’t like that she’d cut her hair. Most likely a futile attempt to hide from him. She went down faster than he’d hoped and he was vaguely worried the sedative had been too strong. He wanted her sleeping, not unconscious.
He wanted to play with the little Halfling one last time. She was interesting and very sensual, but now that he had possession of the Chiwa, he’d let it go if her mind was unreachable. He wished he could handle the merchandise himself but he felt it through the walls, through the two-way mirror he watched her through. He’d called the Palero the second Sonja had entered the building. In little more than an hour, the talisman would be delivered to the priest and the bothersome cousin would be released into the wild.
The buyer was anxious. Hell, he was anxious. He’d been working on this job a long time. The thought of the influence he was about to buy himself gave him a huge thrill.
Sonja Ambercroft sighed and stretched out on the bed on the other side of the glass, asleep. Good.
His path to her brain was well established. She was so bright. Her intelligence was only shadowed by her naiveté. Her passion ran deep but Quentin couldn’t withstand an actual connection. Sex was out of the question with anyone but a cold, dead Vamp. As soon as he entered someone, he felt everything. Even with a nameless, faceless prostitute, he absorbed all her thoughts. It was too much. Disgusting. He felt filthy afterward, as if he’d been forced to endure a lifetime worth of unwanted experiences.
So he visited. And often he found a creature like Sonja. A being who was vivid with psychic powers and overflowing with her own unfulfilled desires. He could normally prey on someone for months, but Sonja’s intelligence necessitated a hastier withdrawal than usual. And she was getting smarter with each visit. Without the sedative, she might have been able to expel him from her mind completely this time.
He relaxed, loosened his zipper and walked into her mind. She would be able to see him in her vision, feel him if he chose. And would get only the mental images and emotions he wanted.
She was lounging on the bed in her mind as well. Perfect, relaxed and open to his suggestion. He pushed her into a state of warmth and comfort. He closed his eyes briefly and pictured her aroused and writhing on the silk, knowing she would now do the same in both the physical and dream worlds.
She moaned slightly and resituated on the bed, spreading her long, lean legs. He felt her want for the woodsman. Interesting, since the man had stolen the box and left her on her own. He wondered what she saw in him, and he did so in a manner that made her consider the question as well as she rubbed herself through those very tight shorts.
Man, did she respond quickly to suggestion. Even better seeing her in person too. On his side of the two-way glass, Quentin’s physical self slid a hand into his pants and tried to mimic her pace.
Her body was on fire. He felt each change in the pace of her fingers. When she was hitting her own favorite spot, he felt her sensations, the tensing of her back muscles, the tightness of the muscles in her thighs to increase her own pleasure and her reaction to all of it. Added to the arousal in his own body, it was almost too much for him, being this close.
An unwanted rush of the unmistakable feel of blood magic interrupted her magnificent masturbation. Quentin wondered if the attendant had had a problem and was returning the Chiwa to the room or, worse, to him.
But when the curtain was pushed aside, it wasn’t the attendant.
It was the woodsman. Holding a backpack.
The wonderful foulness of the reeking magic tweaked Quentin’s senses in a different way than the raw sexual energy of Sonja Ambercroft.
Fuck a Gremlin. The woodsman had taken the Chiwa after all. What was he doing here now then?
Maybe Quentin needed to get rid of the lot of them. He’d been up for letting the two women go. The shifter cousin had never seen him and neither had the Halfling—but Sonja had almost trapped him. Well, they’d see who got the last laugh.
This was going to be fun. He followed his connection back to her head. She was primed and open. All he needed to do was shift her fantasy a bit. He could play with the both of them.
He introduced the woodsman into her head…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Music and voices danced in Sonja’s mind. She was aware she was in a vision of Q’s making and she was cognizant enough to go with his flow. She’d rehearsed it with Barri. Let it flow. It’s only a vision. Let it flow. Enjoy the freedom of the fantasy.
She thought she heard Q’s laugh. “Are you in here with me?” she asked aloud. More laughter echoed.
Let’s play with your friend again. His voice was heavy with innuendo. You two looked so good together. Open your eyes. See him there. Use him, Halfling. Use him.
The dreamlike feel of the vision faded slightl
y. She was so needful, aching, and she knew it was for Ray. She couldn’t explain it if she had to, but she wanted that man. She’d never get him in real life, but she still wanted.
She opened her eyes in the vision and there he stood. He might not be real, but she could have him now. “Sonja. I’m sorry. I nee—”
“Shhh.” She didn’t want to fantasize about apologies or arguments with the man. She wanted to fuck him.
He knelt on the huge round bed beside her and pillows fell off to the side. She twisted, moving her body so she was on her side too, so close, her belly against his denim-clad thighs. She slid a hand under his untucked shirt. The heat from his stomach was like a favorite quilt on a cool winter’s night. “No explanations. No excuses.”
He grabbed her hand and held it in place on his chest. “Are you okay? Don’t we have to find Q?”
“I have it all under control.” She felt giddy, stoned. What a perfect vision. She knew its origins and didn’t care. She wanted to forget Q was part of it and make it her perfect fantasy, to have her scars and feel no shame. “Take off your clothes.” She wiggled her hand free and grabbed his cock. It was hard and trapped in those jeans.
“Sonja.”
“You want me too.” He’d never been like this in the visions before. Hardly spoke and pretty much did what she wanted. Why the reluctance now? “Shut up and fuck me.” She liked using the bold words. It felt good to be so open.
She rubbed him through the denim. His fell to his back, his body relaxed. There would be no more resistance. She felt ravenous and very over-clothed. He was too. She turned her attention to the button on his jeans. It opened to expose a wonderful sexy trail of hair that indicated she should move south.
Inching the zipper down, she traced that line until his pants were undone. He pushed on the waistband and shoved the offending pants down his thighs. Sonja looked over her prize for only a moment before tracing those thick veins with her tongue as she’d done in the last vision.
