by Steve McHugh
“Money doesn’t buy taste,” Layla said, looking around at the gaudy furniture, variety of stuffed animals, and, on one wall, several muskets.
A noise from the bed immediately grabbed Layla’s attention. “You can come out, or I can come get you, but I’m certain you won’t like the latter.”
A slender hand moved one of the drapes aside, revealing three women lying on the bed. All wore white negligees that did little to cover them and black high-heeled shoes.
“What the hell is going on?” Layla asked.
“Where’s Alfred?” one of the women asked, sounding slightly worried.
“He’s currently downstairs, under arrest, as is everyone who works for him. Who are you?”
“I’m Amber,” said one of the women. She had long, blonde hair, in contrast to the two dark-haired women with her. “This is Daisy and Veronica.”
“You’re going to have to explain a bit more than that,” Layla said.
“We were given an option,” Veronica said. “We either stay in here, or we get to go downstairs with the others.”
A cold rage built up inside Layla’s chest. “Where are you from?”
“Daisy and I are from Texas,” Veronica said.
“I’m from New Orleans,” Amber said.
“How long have you been here?”
Daisy burst into tears and Veronica comforted her, exposing the bruises on her back.
“Six months,” Amber said. “Daisy and Veronica arrived a month ago. We were put in with the others at first, but, like I said, Alfred gave some of the women a choice: join him or stay there. There were others when I was brought here, but . . .” Amber closed her eyes and shook her head sadly.
“He has two guns,” Daisy said. “Two revolvers. Old things. He uses them to play Russian roulette with us.”
Layla followed Daisy’s gaze and spotted the twin revolvers on top of the chest of drawers next to the open bathroom door.
“They’re Colt Army Model 1860,” Veronica said, with anger etched on her face. “My daddy has one.”
Layla picked up the revolvers and found them empty of bullets. She searched the drawers and soon found some and began loading the guns with purpose.
“Can you all move?” Layla asked the three women. They nodded. “Right, let’s get you out of here. Do you know what they’re doing to the man next door?”
“He’s an umbra,” Veronica said. “That’s what Alfred called him. Said he secretes the drug they use to keep us docile, so that we can be easily handed over to someone else.”
“Do you know who?” Layla asked.
“Negal, Nergan? Something like that,” Daisy said.
“Nergal?” Layla suggested.
Veronica nodded. “That’s the one. They drug them before driving them away. Alfred brags about it, about sending scrolls on from here so that they can create more of those . . . umbra. Is it true that they get you to bleed on them, and then you merge with a demon?”
“Not exactly. Based on the fact that you don’t know what they are, I assume none of you have been given a scroll?” Layla asked, suddenly concerned that she hadn’t checked before. She would need to inspect the other captives, although the chance that any of them had been given a scroll was low, considering she hadn’t seen anyone wearing a sorcerer’s band, and she doubted that they’d just allow a powered-up umbra prisoner to sit around without one.
All three women shook their heads.
“Alfred said he wouldn’t let us,” Amber said.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Layla said, unsure of what else to say. She wanted to hurt Alfred and anyone else who was involved.
“You going to kill him?” Daisy asked. “I want you to kill him.”
“He’ll die one way or another,” Layla assured her. She wanted to tell the young women it would be okay, that they would be okay, but she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t bring herself to spout some ridiculous, shallow words after what they’d gone through. All three of them had hardened themselves and done what they’d had to do to survive. Eventually that hurt would surface, and Layla could only hope that they were able to deal with it.
“I’m going to take you down to the ground floor,” Layla said. “There’s a dining room no one is using. You won’t have to see Alfred or his people ever again.”
“Is he hurt?” Daisy asked.
“Yes. I don’t know how badly—the woman who stopped him wasn’t gentle.”
“Good,” Daisy said, gripping Veronica and Amber’s hands as they left the room.
Layla looked down at the revolvers and then back at the room. She wanted to set it on fire, but there might be things in it they needed, information on where the captives were taken. The notion of Chloe being brought up to the room filled her with a rage that threatened to consume her.
“He deserves to die,” Terhal said from behind her.
“Not now,” Layla told the drenik without turning around.
“He deserves pain and suffering. Those women deserve vengeance.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, I just don’t want to talk about it.” Layla turned to see Terhal.
Drenik could alter their gender when they felt like it, but Terhal preferred to remain in female form. Her species were as close to demonic appearance as it was possible to get. Terhal’s light-red skin was tight over her skull, and a pulsing orange ridge circled her head. It gave the impression that she wore a crown of fire. The drenik’s eyes were large, and orange-and-red flames spilled out of her eye sockets. She had no nose, just a dark hole, and there was no skin or muscle around her mouth, allowing you to see her jawbone.
Terhal’s black tongue licked her dozens of shark-like teeth. Just below her chin, two-foot-long silver tendrils occasionally pulsed red and orange. She wore a black business suit, and her two black, tattered wings were currently folded away.
When Layla had first seen Terhal, it had been a frightening experience, but over time she’d come to accept the drenik, and eventually the pair had entered into something that was, if not a friendship, then an understanding. The drenik were a species that valued the survival of the fittest over any other attribute. They did what needed to be done, no matter how awful it might seem to outsiders. When someone wronged Layla, or those she cared about, Terhal’s first response was usually a desire to tear out their throat and show them who’s in charge.
“I could take over and flay him for you?” Terhal said with a smile.
“No.” Layla declined her offer. Both times she’d let Terhal take control had resulted in the deaths of their enemies, and both times Layla had been dismayed to see how much the drenik reveled in the chaos and destruction.
“Just an offer,” Terhal said. “The part of your mind that is mine has become a pleasant home. I know it’s not real there, but it’s nice, and I can satisfy my need to hunt and kill. You should allow the women who were wronged to do as they like with Alfred. Drenik would never subjugate another of our kind in this manner. It’s unnecessarily cruel.”
“Again, not disagreeing.”
“You’re still holding those revolvers. Planning on using one of them?”
“I’m considering forcing him to play my own version of Russian roulette.” Anger burned inside Layla and she fought it down; now was not the time to allow her own desire for vengeance to win out.
Terhal laughed. “That is an excellent idea.”
“There’s an umbra next door. They’re using his blood to drug these people.”
“Every umbra’s power is different, and not all of your kind are powerful enough to resist people like this Alfred.”
“Why didn’t the man’s drenik take control? I thought your kind did that if your human host was unable to defend itself.”
“Pumping enough drugs into your body would stop me from doing anything. Also, you’re assuming he got to bond with his drenik. They could have made him an umbra, and once they realized what his power was, drugged him and stuck him in there. The drenik wouldn
’t have had time to gain a foothold, although it’s probably in there screaming to get out.”
“Either way, it sounds horrific. That man has been tortured so that Nergal can claim his guinea pigs and these people can stay in Nergal’s pocket. Frankly, this whole place should be burned to the ground and salt poured on the ashes.”
Terhal’s expression brightened.
“No, I’m not going to do that,” Layla said.
Terhal vanished, and Layla headed off after the three prisoners, making sure they found their way downstairs okay. She helped the young women into the empty dining room and told them that someone would come to talk to them soon, and that shortly afterwards they’d be taken as far away from the mansion and the people inside it as possible.
Layla found Diana outside the room, waiting for her. “They okay?”
“No,” Layla said. “Not even slightly.”
“You okay?”
Layla shook her head.
“Yeah, well it’s about to get much worse. If that’s possible.”
Layla’s heart felt suddenly heavy. “How?”
“Remy’s outside. I’ll stay here.”
Layla walked past the main living area where the occupants of the house remained tied up on the floor, along with the guards who had been brought up from the basement. She stepped out into the garden at the rear of the property, and immediately wished that the aircon could be switched on outside, too.
Remy stood at the center of the large lawn, sniffing loudly, with Chloe beside him. Every time he pointed to the ground, she planted a piece of metal pipe. Many pipes already sprouted from the grass.
“What did you find?” Layla asked.
“Bodies. Lots of bodies,” Remy said. “Over two dozen. I wouldn’t want to start digging through the earth to count them. We contacted Tommy and he said some people would be on their way in the next hour or so. Until then, I’m just trying to figure out roughly how many people these assholes have murdered.”
Layla cursed under her breath.
“We also found our contact,” Chloe said. “He was in one of the ground floor rooms next to the front door. We untied him, removed the sorcerer’s band, and left him where he was. He’ll live, but he’s hurt.”
“I’ll go talk to him. I get the impression that they knew we were coming, Chloe.”
Chloe nodded. “Yep. They knew we were looking for the scrolls, and they knew that we were here. I think they were looking for anyone out of the ordinary, a spy, and I fit the bill. We have a leak somewhere. We were just lucky they didn’t have time to prepare better.”
“One more blasted thing after another.” Layla re-entered the house, glad for the air conditioning that someone had cranked up as high as possible. She found the room Chloe had spoken about. Their contact was a small, thin man, with a large beard and long hair, both of which were brown and speckled with gray.
“Hi,” the man said with a Southern States accent, although Layla couldn’t have placed it any closer than that.
“I’m Layla,” she said as she entered the room.
The man rose from his chair and offered her his hand, which she took. “Joseph Lee,” he said. “Thanks for getting me out of this situation.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“Some. Looks like someone ratted me out. They came for me this morning. Brought me in here and gave me a beating. I didn’t tell them anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I’m not,” Layla said honestly. “They also knew we were coming, though.”
“You’ve got a leak.”
Layla nodded. “One more problem in an endless stream of them.”
Joseph smiled. “I’ve known Alfred for a long time. Served with him in the Confederate army.” He pointed to the shelf on the wall behind him where an old black-and-white framed photo sat.
“The one of Jesse James?”
Joseph nodded. “Sorry, I just don’t want you to think that we’re all like Alfred. He changed during that war. We all did. But he never got over losing. Jesse was the same: he decided to punish the union by robbing them. Alfred decided to punish everyone because he felt he was owed something.”
“You stayed with him?”
“Oh no. I hadn’t seen Alfred in a century. Just happened that he found me and offered me a job. Said we’d be working for Nergal, bringing in spirit scrolls. Easy pay, easy job. I didn’t care about Avalon politics. All those ‘gods’ born to the right species, at the right time, in the right place made no difference to me.
“We brought the scrolls in and sent them on their way for about four years, but I didn’t know where they were being sent. It was all very secretive. And then about a year ago we started taking people, too. And that I had a problem with. It took me a long time to figure out who I needed to talk to about it. I couldn’t leave those people here, that would just be awful, so I stayed and helped some escape when I could and stopped others from being assaulted when possible. Eventually, I managed to contact Tommy, who I’d met a century ago, and told him about what was happening. He asked me to stay here and report back.”
“You were our contact all this time? How did Alfred ID Chloe as a spy?” Layla asked.
“He got a call,” Joseph said. “No idea who from. But he got a call and immediately made sure she was secure. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“What about you? How’d you get caught?”
“When I knew your people were coming, I thought it best not to be in the line of fire. I told Alfred I was done with this, and he decided that quitting wasn’t an option.”
“What about the women Alfred took upstairs?”
“I tried,” Joseph said, his eyes welling up. “Goddamn it, I tried. I got three of them out. In one go, about two months past. He caught them, had them killed. I could have intervened, could have gotten myself killed. But how would I have been able to save anyone else if I was dead? So, I sold a little bit more of my soul to the devil so that I could help save others. I heard the abuse, but I knew if I stopped it, we’d all die. Everyone held captive here would die, and this place would simply be set up somewhere else.”
Layla placed a hand on Joseph’s shoulder and squeezed. She knew about the type of things that had happened in the mansion all too well. “You were put in a difficult position.”
“Doesn’t help me sleep at night. Doesn’t help the people who were taken. Doesn’t help those women who were abused by Alfred. Nothing will ever help them. I want to stop this. All of this. I want it to end.”
“It will. Stay here, rest, and heal. Tommy is sending some people. Do you know anything else that might help?”
“Nergal is planning something. More scrolls have come into port in recent months, and they all get shipped out fast. No idea where to—that’s information that Alfred keeps to himself.”
“So, I need to get Alfred to talk?” Layla asked.
“Won’t be easy. He’s not exactly someone who will give up information without a fight.”
Layla smiled. “Some of the people here can be incredibly persuasive. We’ll find out where those scrolls go before they end up in Nergal’s dirty hands. Thank you for your help.”
Joseph nodded. “It would be my pleasure to end Nergal, Alfred, and anyone else who helped put this horror show together.”
4
Layla left Joseph alone and went to the room where Alfred was being held. It was opposite the dining room where the three conscious women were currently staying, and Layla immediately had an urge to take them as far away from Alfred as possible. A few walls were not enough separation.
Diana stood outside of Alfred’s room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “You here to kill him?” she asked, with no hint of humor in her voice.
“Not sure yet,” Layla answered honestly. “I’m not convinced that killing him isn’t being too kind.”
Diana shrugged. “You talk to him and see for yourself. I managed four minutes before I had to leave or put him
in traction. Remy managed a full thirty seconds.”
“I’ll try not to kill him,” Layla promised.
“Good luck with that. I’ve been told we should have more people here within the hour. Sounds like they’re making this place a priority. We still need to uncover where those scrolls are being sent.”
“I’ll see if I can get anything out of Alfred. Maybe the realization that he can talk to me, or talk to someone like Hades, will get him to cooperate.”
“Rather you than me.”
Layla grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath before using it and stepping inside the dining room. There was a long wooden table at its center. Five of its six chairs were nowhere to be seen. Two glass-door cupboards along one wall revealed various pieces of crockery, and two Winchester rifles hung on the far wall with a plaque under them proclaiming their supposedly important owner. Opposite them, double doors overlooked the back garden.
Alfred sat on the only chair in the room, his hands cuffed behind his back. He might have been wearing a sorcerer’s band, but even without his magic he was still dangerous. He wore black jeans, cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that was now partially blood stained. He had long, light-brown hair that cascaded over his shoulders, and a short goatee. A scar cut across his cheek, ending just above his top lip.
“Did you model yourself on General Custer?” Layla asked. “Or did you just assume that his hair and beard never went out of style? Maybe you grew the goatee to hide the scar?”
“I look good,” he said.
“You don’t have a southern drawl. That’s a surprise. I assume you’ve spent a lot of time trying to lose your accent so you don’t get caught for one reason or another. I kinda like the southern lilt—it’s sexy—so I’m glad someone like you doesn’t get to ruin it for me.”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, darlin’,” he said with a smirk and wink.
Layla repressed the need to gag. “Oh, don’t do that. There’s a fine line between charming and creepy, and you crossed that line at high speed some time ago.”
