Captured By The Warriors

by Daniella Wright

  “Also, you are to be here every night in case Mary needs you. There are not many places to go, but I don’t want her to be left alone. Your bedroom will be right across the hall from hers.” I nodded my assent. “You are not to invite people over without my consent. I do not want anyone here.” This was strange, but also understandable. The man didn’t want people in his house. It was a nice house.

  “Very well, Mr. Thompson.”

  “I will take you to meet Mary now.”

  “Okay,” I replied, following him down the hallway. He knocked on a door toward the end. A woman’s voice, high and harried, rang out from behind the door, throwing me off. I’d thought that Mary was five…

  Chapter Two

  “Soraya has been taking care of Mary,” I explained to Ms. Hart. Her face instantly switched over from confusion to calm. Lightly and tastefully made up, she was under dressed for an interview with a billionaire. I liked the casualness to her manner and the unconventional edge to her beauty. It disarmed me—from the moment that I answered the front door, I felt off-balance. After the attack in the woods three years before, I was unused to people treating me with anything less than kid gloves.

  “Mary, Soraya,” I said. “I would like for you both to meet Jennifer Hart.” Inside of Mary’s pink-painted bedroom, she sat on the bed, her hair a mess of bed-head curls and tangles on one side, while the other was nicely brushed. Soraya sat by the bed, looking flustered in a cream-colored pantsuit that had what appeared to be jelly stains. Soraya stood up, putting the comb that she held in her hand.

  “Hello, Ms. Hart,” she said, holding her hand out in a crisp, professional manner. Soraya was a native New Yorker. She had the level of coolness and professionality that I prized, and she never asked questions. She had been with my company since before the attack that left me unable to reside in more populated locations. She had been divorced, and needed to leave the city behind her, so I had hired her immediately. Unfortunately, she had no experience with children, so when Mary came to live at Chatsworth, Soraya had been forced to take care of her. It had taken five months for me to find someone suitable to even interview for an au pair position.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jennifer said. They shook hands, and Jennifer shifted her attention to my niece, who sat on the edge of her bed, almost in tears. I wished that I could care for her myself, ached to do so, but to be honest, I was a monster. Everything that I touched was destroyed and I refused to destroy the last surviving member of my entire family.

  “Hi Mary,” Jennifer said, walking over to her, she stood beside Mary, and squatted down so that they were face to face. Mary was small for her age, with curly brown hair and doe-like brown eyes. She was dressed in vibrant colors—the outfit du jour was an orange t-shirt, a bright pink and purple tulle skirt, and a pair of blue sparkly butterfly wings. She was perched on the edge of her bed that was piled high with pink blankets and purple pillows from her room at her home with my brother and his wife. She held a stuffed rabbit on her lap. It had been sewn by hand and made of different fabrics.

  “Hello,” she replied shyly, her tiny voice almost a whisper. It was obvious that she was still overwhelmed by her circumstances, but I hoped, desperately, that it was apparent that she was well-cared for, and even loved.

  “What’s your friend’s name?” Jennifer asked, motioning toward the bunny.

  “Monroe,” she responded, holding him up to her face.

  “Hello Monroe,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you both. Would you like some help with your hair?”

  “It hurts,” Mary said.

  “The tangles?” Jennifer asked, and Mary nodded.

  “I brushed my sisters’ hair every day,” Jennifer said. “The secret is to hold the hair and comb it against your hand. Can I show you?” Mary nodded, and Jennifer picked up the comb that Soraya had put down. She held a swath of Mary’s hair, brushing it below her hand and against her wrist so that it didn’t pull against Mary’s scalp.

  “Much better,” Mary whispered, the tiniest smile on her face. My heart broke a little. Soraya exhaled sharply, and Jennifer looked up.

  “Maybe we can have some detangler delivered?” she asked. “Suave makes an apple-scented one that kids really love.” I looked at Soraya and nodded, and she took out her iPhone. She looked exhausted.

  “We need to discuss the financial situation,” Soraya said.

  “Umhmm…” I said, watching Jennifer and Mary together.

  “The stocks are down this week. We may have to go into the city,” Soraya went on.

  “That’s out of the question,” I replied.

  “You may have to,” she replied.

  “It’s a full moon, Soraya,” I said.

  “What do you and Monroe like to do for fun?” Jennifer asked Mary.

  “We like coloring,” the girl whispered.

  “Well I’d love to see your drawings sometime,” Jennifer said. “Would you be willing to show them to me?” The girl nodded a smile on her face. Jennifer looked at me, catching the hint of a smile on my face. She grinned. I let my face fall, and watched hers sink. I couldn’t, under any circumstances, lead her on. Jennifer turned back to Mary, who took her hand.

  “This way,” Mary said, leading Jennifer to her drawings, which she had taped to the far wall of her room. They stood with their backs to Soraya and me.

  “You need to take care of this,” Soraya whispered.

  “It will have to be next week,” I replied in an undertone. “I can’t trust myself if I’m in the city. There are too many people.” Soraya knew about my…tendencies. She could be trusted to keep my secret, but she was wired to keep productivity at a maximum.

  I watched Jennifer and Mary. They were sitting at the small table in the corner of the room, coloring.

  “I’m going to color my sky yellow,” Jennifer said. When my niece looked at her askance she replied, “It’s the most fun color.” Mary laughed shaking her head.

  “It’s not?” Jennifer asked in a shocked voice. “Then which color is the most fun?”

  “Pink,” Mary said, her voice tiny, but happy. My niece seemed to like Jennifer—and this was the first time in months that her hair had been done without ending in tears. It would be dangerous—I was finding myself attracted to Jennifer Hart’s dangerous curves, kind smile, and confident demeanor. I would have to protect her—from myself and the monster that I had become three years ago.

  “Very well, my sky will be pink,” Jennifer was saying, taking a pink crayon out of the box. It was a tiny stub, used frequently by my pink-obsessed niece. I cleared my throat, and Jennifer and Mary turned. I gave Mary a pointed look, questioning. She nodded eagerly—it was the first time since my brother and Lula had died that she had wanted anything.

  “You’re hired,” I told Jennifer. She smiled at Mary. “When can you start?”

  “Well, I need to pick up my things,” she said. “But otherwise, immediately.”

  “Very good,” I replied shortly. “I will have the driver take you back and help you move.” I left then, walking down the hall to my suite. This whole situation was threatening to fly straight out of my hands. But Mary liked Jennifer. I would do anything for Mary to be happy again.

  Chapter Three

  Over the next several days, Mary and I settled into a routine. We would see Michael for lunch every day, without fail. It was his way of checking in with his niece. It was sweet, yet confusing. If he had so much money, and Soraya was doing so much work, what was he doing, exactly? I wondered whether Michael and Soraya were seeing each other romantically. I mean, this place was so isolated, and they had been here for a little over two years…alone…together. It would make for the perfect story…even if I felt the tiniest stab of jealousy. My employer was quite good-looking. Soraya was drop-dead gorgeous, with long, flowing black hair, olive-toned skin, and picture-perfect features—she could have easily been a model at one point.

  Mary and I sat in the kitchen for breakfast. We watched The Today Show, b
ecause Mary’s mother would take her to see it filmed live at Rockefeller Plaza when she was alive. The anchors’ banter was lively, and we would jot down any recipes that they featured so that we could try making them during the week.

  “So, what would you like to eat, today, Miss Ma’am?” I placed my hands on my hips. She laughed at my nickname for her. When Mary let the quiet side slip away, she had quite a bit of sass, I had found.

  “Pancakes,” she replied.

  “Again?”

  “Again.”

  “Magic word?”

  “Expecto Patronum.”

  “Not what I meant, Miss Granger. Okay. Let’s do this.” The problem with Mary had been solved quite quickly—she was grief-stricken at the loss of her parents, and I didn’t press her about it. That was a wound that would take a long time to heal. The things that I could fix were that she was lonely and bored. Soraya had had other duties running the house and Michael’s business. Michael seemed to disappear for days. So Mary had had little contact with other people, and she was a bright and friendly child. She just needed company.

  We took out the ingredients for pancakes, and I had her measure them out before mixing them. I merely read the directions and operated the stove. The concert of the day on the Today Show was DNCE, and Mary and I began to dance along as we waited for the pancakes to be ready to be flipped.

  There was a noise by the door to the kitchen, and we turned to find Soraya in the doorway. She wore workout clothes, and appeared to have just come in from a run.

  “Can I just check the local news, please?” she asked in her even, flat affect tone of voice. I looked at Mary, who grabbed the remote, handing it to Soraya. The news came on, showing a stretch of road that was in between Chatsworth and Ashford. There was a fence by one of the farms, and it was partially torn down, corpses of large Hereford cows, lying in the grass.

  “I ran by this,” Soraya said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.” The female reporter was beginning her report. The three of us listened as I began to flip the first batch of pancakes.

  “During the night, it has been reported that yet another livestock mauling has occurred,” the reporter said. “The maulings have been occurring monthly, almost exactly thirty days since the last one occurred. It appears to be the work of a large canine, potentially a large wolf, or potentially a bear.”

  “I heard something,” Mary whispered. “Last night…and then…” I looked at her. She looked terrified. I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hear it in my dreams…a growling, like a large dog,” she said. I could feel her tiny body rigid with fears realized. “Then, in the news, somebody’s animals are dead.” She looked me in the face, and I could see that she believed it to be true.

  “It’s only here,” she said. “Only here.” She began to tear up, and I wrapped my arms around her tiny body, picking her up.

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked Soraya.

  “A few years,” she replied. “They haven’t been able to catch it yet.” She turned, leaving me with my crying charge and pancakes that were beginning to blacken.

  I spent the rest of the morning trying to cheer Mary up, but it was looking like it was going to be one of the difficult days. These days were bound to happen to a grieving child. I broke my heart. She sat at her desk, her eyes wide and sad as I tried to engage her in something—anything. Finally, I would give up on lessons and activities, and just take her in my lap and read to her. She was obsessed with Harry Potter.

  “Why do you like this so much?” I asked her.

  “He’s like me,” she said. “Only Voldemort didn’t kill my mom and dad.”

  “But your uncle is nothing like the Dursleys.”

  “No… but he’s…” she was struggling to say what she needed to.

  “Distant?” I supplied.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “A little bit like Dumbledore, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice reflecting her warming to the idea.

  “He loves you, you know,” I said.

  “He does. I just wish he’d spend more time with me.” She paused, thinking. “He used to. He used to carry me on his shoulders, and take me apple-picking in the orchard…but then he got sad. He doesn’t even give me hugs anymore.”

  “Maybe we can invite him to do something special with us sometime.”

  “Like what?”

  “How about a picnic?”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Yes!” We got up from the large, plush armchair that was nestled into the corner of Mary’s school room. She took my hand as we exited, walking down the hallway and the large staircase leading down to the first floor. Heading into the kitchen, Mary and I began to plan the picnic lunch.

  “What kind of sandwiches should we make?” I asked her.

  “Peanut butter and Nutella,” Mary chirped excitedly. She jumped a little as she spoke. I took out the white bread, and Mary ran to the pantry to pull out the spreads.

  “Are we having anything else?”

  “Will there be apples in the orchard?” Mary asked.

  “There should be,” I replied, opening the jar of peanut butter that she handed me. “It is the right season.” There was something enchanting about living in a house with its own orchard. Mary’s life appeared to be some kind of fairytale—the orphan sent to live with a mysterious uncle in an opulent, isolated home. I spread peanut butter onto the bread with a knife, and then used a spoon to scoop Nutella on to the rest.

  “What else should we include with our picnic?” I asked.

  “Gummy bears,” Mary replied.

  “How about something healthier?” I asked.

  “Granola and yogurt,” Mary sighed dramatically.

  “I thought you liked granola and yogurt,” I said.

  “I do,” she replied. “But gummy bears are better.” Her uncle walked in, his hands in his pockets. He was dressed formally, as per usual in an oxford and a pair of nice slacks. Mary was glued to my side. She tugged at my arm.

  “Tell him,” she prompted in a small whisper. She was always reticent and mouse-like around her uncle.

  “We planned to go on a picnic in the orchard for lunch today,” I explained.

  “I…I can’t,” he looked years older than he actually was (According to Forbes, he was thirty). He looked exhausted, and even maybe a little ill. “There was…” he began, then paused for a moment.

  “There was another attack on livestock last night,” he said, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t wander.” I felt Mary stiffen beside me.

  “Surely we would be safe during the day…”

  “More than likely…but just in case.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I’m just…I’m not…” he sighed, and walked out of the kitchen. I was confused. Was he sick? If he was, why didn’t he say so? I looked down at Mary, beside me. She was near tears.

  “I knew the monster was nearby. It comes here.” She said.

  “No, baby. The monster isn’t here. It just goes after livestock.” I picked her small body up in my arms. “How about we have our picnic on the front lawn? It’s a beautiful, sunny day outside.” She nodded, but her face was solemn.

  Chapter Four

  I was in my office down on the first floor. Soraya had just left, on her way back to the guest house to work in her own office. The door opened, a light knocking, assuming that it was Soraya, I didn’t look up.

  “Yes?”

  “Um, I was wondering if I might speak with you.” I looked up to see Jennifer standing hesitantly at the door to my office.

  “Certainly. Um. Is Mary alone?”

  “She’s napping. She’s having a hard day.” My heart sunk. I was exhausted, having been up the entire night before, creating the havoc that had obviously terrified my niece in addition to the local community. My self-hatred reared its ugly head.

  �
�Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the chair across from my desk. This was the office where I received visitors. My real office, covered in files and research on werewolves and other paranormal records and sightings, was tucked away behind high-tech locked doors. I looked at Jennifer, her brow furrowed in a way that made her look unbearably attractive. “How have your first few days been here?”

  “It’s a wonderful place. And Mary is an extremely bright and kind young girl.” I could hear the “but” coming.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s grieving. And she’s so isolated here. I even feel isolated, and I’ve only been here for a couple of days.” She had a point, and I nodded my agreement.

  “What are you asking?”

  “Could I just take her into town every couple of days or so? She would benefit from being with other children her age…it would help her to heal.”

  “What activities were you thinking of?”

  “Well, I did some research, and while Ashford’s website is a bit sparse, I found a playground and a church on Google Maps…”

  “Mary’s parents were active in their church,” I admitted. “I’m not. But maybe that would be good for her…grounding, familiar.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jennifer was smiling, although her eyes looked sad and concerned. “Is there any way that I could use the town car?”

  “Would you prefer to drive yourself so that you wouldn’t have to call the service?”

  “That would be wonderful,” she replied gratefully. I stood up, smoothing my oxford shirt.

  “Come with me,” I said, leading the way to the garage, which was out in the back of the house, behind my office. “I should have shown this to you before. It just didn’t occur to me that you would need anything.” I opened the door, turning on the fluorescent overhead lights to reveal my prized collection of luxury vehicles.

  “Impressive,” she said, her eyebrows raised.

  “You can take any one you like,” I said.

  “I don’t think that I have the balls to drive a Porsche into town,” she said. I laughed, and she looked at me, surprised.