Love Potions

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Without her struggling, the captors were able to run. Her body angled downward toward the road. Then, tossing her to a hard surface she felt the rumble of an engine as they drove her away.

  …

  “Ya seriously are not going to wear that, are ya son?”

  Erik looked down at his blue button down shirt and black slacks. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Tonight he was going to woo Lydia, and this time he was going to do it right. He’d tried to do it right on their first non-date date, but the lidérc had ruined his plans. Glancing at his father’s reflection in his mirror, he answered, “Aye. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing, Da?”

  “We Scots have great legs, ya should show them off.” Angus kicked his legs, showing off his exposed calves. “If I know one thing, it’s that women can’t resist a man in a kilt.”

  “Careful, lest ma hears ya,” Erik warned.

  Angus glanced around fearfully for his wife and stated loudly, “Not as if I would know from firsthand experience. I love your mother very much. Fergus told me.”

  Erik started to laugh, only to stop as a cold wave of dread washed over him. It nearly stopped his heart from beating.

  “What is it?” his da asked.

  “Lydia.” Erik ran out of his room, pushing past his father. He felt Angus behind him. “She’s in trouble. I have to get to her.”

  “I thought her home was protected. She should be safe.” Angus calmly followed him down the hall.

  After hundreds of years of threats and possible doom it took a lot for the MacGregors to react with a sense of urgency. It was a family fault, one that Erik was suddenly sorry for. Why hadn’t he focused more on the threat and less on his feelings for Lydia? They’d known there was a lidérc in the area and they’d taken the necessary precautions, but he should have made that more of a priority.

  “Something’s wrong.” Erik gasped as another cold chill ran down his body.

  “Wait, I’ll get the others,” Angus ordered. “If it’s the lidérc ya can’t go alone. He’ll use her to get your powers. As much as ya hate it, she’ll live so long as they have a purpose for her. Iain and Rory are walking the town searching for signs. I’ll call them back. Niall is working on potions.”

  “There’s no time,” Erik answered, leaping more than walking down the stairs. “I can’t wait. With everything that happened I didn’t get a chance to warn her about the lidérc and what it is. I thought we’d have more time before it made its move. I was going to tell her everything tonight.”

  “But Euann assured me ya protected all within her home while ya cleaned her yard. It shouldn’t be…” Angus’s words trailed off as Erik ran out of the door. “Be careful, son!”

  As the late afternoon air hit him Erik felt Lydia’s fear more clearly. He slowed as the full force of her emotions bound his legs and glued his arms to his sides. It took some focus, but he managed to push past the sensation and again run down the hill toward her home.

  All within her home? That man who’d been bothering Lydia? She’d called him creepy. Erik should have taken notice of the customer, but he’d been so focused on his mission to woo Lydia that he’d not paid the man much attention beyond annoying his woman. Brad. She’d called him Brad, and he’d been in her home. Did Brad have magickal powers that somehow escaped their notice?

  Panic welled inside him. Brad had been in her home. If he was magickal that meant she’d let the man in. Lydia had yet to invite him inside past the barrier spell.

  Erik let the wind take him, speeding him down to her home. The subtle stench of dark power curled his nose as he rematerialized on her lawn. He ran to her open door. “Lydia!”

  Reaching forward, he touched the barrier. It was weak. A steady thud sounded within the home. Erik held his breath and pushed his way inside. Passing the barrier felt a lot like being skinned alive, but he made it through. Light footsteps ran overhead, but he knew they weren’t Lydia’s. A door vibrated, the source of the noise. When he opened it, he frowned in irritation. A translucent figure in a green ballroom gown sat on basement steps. Her grayed complexion and vacant eyes didn’t see him as it swayed back and forth. Her head had been bumping the old door, making it thud. The woman was dead so there was nothing he could do for her at the moment.

  The running feet came down the steps. A girl’s soft voice began to sing a light, eerie tune. “You can’t hide. You can’t seek. You can’t find the will to speak.”

  Erik frowned in irritation. Ghosts were notoriously pesky creatures. He strode to the door. The dark shadow didn’t fully reveal herself, but she continued to sing as another shadow danced in the living room.

  “Where is she?” Erik demanded.

  “We’re not bound anymore. We’re not leaving like before,” the child song answered. Then the shadows charged him, pushing violently forward to yell in unison, their voices demonic, “And you can’t make us!”

  For the briefest second they consumed him, but his age-old magick was too much and they couldn’t hold on to him for long. He expelled their attempt at possession and ran from the home. When he glanced back at the Victorian, he saw the window glow and the curtain shift. He would deal with that poltergeist infestation later, but right now he needed to find Lydia.

  He turned on the lawn, reaching out with his feelings. He looked for her, trying to connect his emotions with hers, but felt nothing. She was gone. He was too late.

  …

  “Not you, too, Lydia. They got you, too. Omigod, look at your dress,” Charlotte whispered, trying to free Lydia’s arms from her sides. Her hands shook and it took her much longer than it would have under normal circumstances to untie the ropes. “What did they dress you in?”

  Lydia coughed, trying to expel the dust from her lungs. The sack from her head lay discarded to the side.

  “They’re a cult,” Charlotte insisted, yanking the rope hard.

  It slid from Lydia’s hands, scratching her skin. At the moment she didn’t care. When she could finally move, she pushed up and looked around the tiny cell. Someone had secured bars to a basement’s stone foundation. The bars looked new, the foundation old. Owning an old home, Lydia had dealt with old rock foundation. It might look like it was crumbling, but it’d be sturdy. Darkening light shone through a small window near the ceiling. There was nothing special about the place. It was an old, dirty basement with an air handler, furnace, and water heater—a leaky water heater if the puddle around the base was any indication. They could be anywhere. She leaned over, trying to see up the wooden stairs.

  “They’re going to sacrifice us,” Charlotte whispered. “We have to get out of here.”

  “We don’t know that,” Lydia answered, her throat dry.

  “I heard them. When they brought me here they told me my sacrifice would be appreciated. They’re sick.” Charlotte stood and began shaking the bars. Yelling, she said, “Let us out!”

  “Char, who? Who said that?” Lydia pulled her friend back. Her friend’s face was dirty and pale. The denim jeans were stained at the knees and her T-shirt was ripped along the seam. “How long have you been down here?”

  “I don’t know. Hours? A day? I can’t remember. I was on my way back to watch the kilt show at your place when Joe stopped me.”

  “Joe?” Lydia shivered. “That…” She shook her head. “No, that can’t be. He’s so…”

  “Nice?” Charlotte gave a small laugh that held no humor. “I thought so to. Try psychotic.”

  “I thought I recognized a voice. He tried to disguise it, but Brad was there when they jumped me at my house.” She recalled the cold chills whenever the man was near and warning flashes of Brad’s memories she’d been forced to endure. When the men carried her someone had taken liberties and held her by her breast. She rubbed her wrist over her chest, trying to erase the feeling. In hindsight, it was easy to put the pieces together. At the time, a chill was a chill, and she thought she’d imagined the disgusting images because Brad repulsed her so much. “I never unde
rstood that friendship.”

  Charlotte gave a meaningful look around. “Oh, I’m beginning to suspect they both belong to the psycho of the month club.”

  “This doesn’t make sense.” Lydia closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Why would Joe and Brad want to kidnap them? Ok, so Brad’s motivations could be guessed at. He was a pervert. She’d gotten enough flashes into his brain to know he was a little obsessed with fucking her. But Joe? She’d never gotten a sense of evil from Joe. She’d known him for years. He went to fundraisers, tutored children, invited people to church functions and brought food around to the sick and elderly. They said sociopaths were adept at blending in, but even so she couldn’t see it.

  “Lydia, snap out of it,” Charlotte demanded. “I know you’re scared, but we have to focus. It doesn’t have to make sense. We’re in this situation and we need to get out of it.”

  Lydia realized she wasn’t as scared as she should have been. She thought of Erik. He’d come to the house looking for her. He would know she was gone. He’d come looking.

  Unless he thought she stood him up.

  Ok, she was starting to worry.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come looking for you.” Lydia began systematically pushing at the bars, testing them. “I thought maybe you took a nap or had things to deal with at your apartment. I should have known something was up when you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “They have to come for us sometime,” Charlotte said, as if her plan had been formed long before Lydia arrived. “When they open the door, we fight. It doesn’t matter what they say or what weapon they have. We fight.”

  Lydia nodded. After everything magickal that had been going on in their lives, she wondered if she should say something to Charlotte. Seeing the woman’s scared face, she wasn’t sure that would help. Not for the first time she regretted letting the MacGregors wipe her friend’s memories of magickal events. It was quite possible their abduction had nothing to do with magick and everything to do with common sickos. Perhaps the brief visions she’d had were warnings that she’d been too stupid to pay attention to.

  Lydia thought of Erik, willing him to magickally know where they were. However, simply waiting and hoping for a man to save her, even if he was a warlock, wasn’t in Lydia’s nature.

  “Help,” Lydia yelled when the bars wouldn’t budge. “We’re in here. Help!”

  Charlotte’s yell joined hers as they screamed in hopes that someone would hear and rescue them.

  …

  Brad hummed softly to himself, not hearing his wife sniveling behind him, not hearing his sons fight over the video game two rooms away. There was too much work to do. He slowly cut the image of Lydia’s head from her body and carefully glued it to the perfect figure—an image torn from the pages of a sleazy magazine. That is how he wanted her, all sprawled out and ready and exposed, tied up and gagged.

  Satisfied that he’d gotten the image right, he turned to his wife tied up on the bed. She’d been pretty when he married her, but age and pregnancy had taken that from her. Still, she played his games and for that he kept her around. Brad crossed naked to the bed and tacked the image to the headboard and grabbed the lotion he’d bought from Lydia’s store.

  …

  Lydia gasped, nearly choking as she forced the image out of her mind. The visions had never been so vivid. She felt Charlotte’s hand resting on hers.

  Yelling had done them no good. If anyone could hear them, they weren’t coming to help. The basement prison had become dark as the sun set outside. She could make out the lines of the bars, but night hid the dark corners of the room.

  “Someone’s coming,” Charlotte whispered, gripping her arm. Soft light appeared as the door opened. The sound of creaking footsteps led their eyes to the wood stairs. Familiar uniform pants appeared in a stream of dim light.

  “Sheriff?” Lydia asked.

  Charlotte gasped. “Thank God it’s you!”

  The women rushed forward to the front of the prison.

  “Sheriff, be careful,” Lydia whispered. The man’s gun was holstered. “I don’t know where they went.”

  “Try to stay quiet.” Hurrying down the rest of the way, Sheriff Johnson clanged a large ring of keys in search of the right one before he pushed a key into the lock. “Let’s get you out of here, ladies.”

  Relief filled her. The man unlocked the door and gestured them to follow. He crept his way up the stairs, placing his hand on his gun. They came to the top of the stairs and he moved aside to let them up. She didn’t recognize the house, but the decor looked deceptively normal.

  “How did you find us?” Charlotte asked. She pulled at Lydia’s arm. “How did you know which key would work in the lock? You only tried one.”

  Good questions. Lydia turned to study the Sheriff. The man frowned.

  “Well, I almost got you all the way outside without a fight.” Sheriff Johnson dropped his hand from his gun and stepped back. “Go ahead. Do it your way.”

  Joe, Brad, and Brad’s two sons appeared holding guns. They pointed the pistols at the women.

  “If you would be so kind as to join us,” Joe said.

  “Move,” Brad ordered with a lecherous lick of his lips. He clearly got off on the power trip.

  “Why would you…?” Lydia asked the sheriff. “None of this makes sense. I mean Brad I get, he’s a creep, but you, Sheriff?” She turned to Joe. “Why, Joe?”

  Brad tried to leap forward at the insult, but Joe calmly grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “I’m sorry, Lydia. I do like you, but we have our orders,” Joe answered. He smiled, as if the gesture would put her at ease. “There’s no need for this to be unpleasant.”

  Charlotte gasped and Lydia turned to see a revolver to her friend’s head. The Sheriff nodded to the front door, not lowering his arm. “Enough chatter. This one can be replaced.”

  Lydia got his meaning and instantly began walking. She tried to keep an eye on her friend, but Brad pushed the small of her back to make her hurry. She stumbled into the front door.

  “Go,” Brad ordered. “Tim, get the door.” Brad’s oldest son opened the door. “Tom get that gun barrel aimed nice and even for the center of the chest. That’s a boy.”

  The women went onto a large porch. They were in the country outside of town. She recognized the Sheriff’s home now that she saw it from the outside. The metal tin star hanging in front of the driveway was a dead giveaway.

  Fire burned on the lawn, casting orange shadows. Charlotte stumbled into her back and grabbed hold of her. Lydia automatically turned to take Charlotte by the arm. She wasn’t sure if it was her trembling or Charlotte’s but they shook violently. Everyone she’d had some kind of interaction with in the last several weeks stared back at them. Flaxen ringlet girl and her mother held hands. Mrs. Callister tilted her head to the side before taking the pencil from behind her ear to write on an imaginary notepad. Chef Alana wore an apron and looked like she’d just stepped out of a kitchen. The only people missing were Jane from the nursery and the MacGregor family.

  A gun barrel pushed into her back, forcing them to walk toward the light.

  “Mr. Baker from the post office?” Charlotte whispered, not understanding. “Mrs. Callister? Is that our third grade teacher, Mr. Wirth? He jogs near your house every day. Lydia, what’s going on? Has our entire town gone insane?”

  Flaxen ringlet girl reached to the ground and grabbed an ornate goblet. The second her fingers touched it the gathering began to chant in unison like a crowd possessed. A dark shadow whipped past Charlotte causing her to scream in fight. It circled the fire and came back for them, passing over Lydia and leaving her skin cold and numb where it touched along her arm and neck. It ruffled her hair before moving once more around the flames. Another shadow joined it, fluttering like two dark moths to the bonfire’s light.

  The girl smiled at her as she stopped before them with the cup. Excited, she said, “Hi, lotion lady!”

  Lydia didn’t move.


  “Hi, lotion lady,” she repeated, a little darker and meaner. Her smile faltered.

  “Hi,” Lydia whispered. The girl’s smile returned.

  The girl held the cup up to Charlotte. Joe jolted Charlotte in the back and ordered, “Drink it.”

  “No.” Charlotte refused.

  Joe lifted his gun and held it to Lydia’s head. Tears escaped her, but Lydia managed, “No, don’t, Cha—”

  Charlotte lifted the cup and drank. She coughed, spewing the thick red liquid over the little girl. It looked like blood. The girl screamed and ran to her mother.

  Joe lifted his pistol and fired into the air. Charlotte cried out weakly. She nodded at him, crying as she took a drink and forced herself to swallow. Joe motioned for her to do it again. She did, gagging. Her body convulsed, and she dropped the goblet. Charlotte fell to the ground, shaking violently as a seizure erupted over her body. Lydia tried to go to her, but Brad and Tim grabbed her arms. She struggled as they tried to pull her around the fire. Joe appeared in front of her and punched her in the stomach to get her to settle down. Lydia doubled over in pain, and they tossed her face first toward the earth. She saw Charlotte through the edge of the flames still flailing on the ground. Tom leaned over the woman, watching.

  Feet pinned her arms down and she couldn’t crawl away. Closing her eyes, she thought, Ok, it would be really great if you could fly in on a broomstick and save us now, Erik. Omigod, please, just save us.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Wow, great dress,” Iain said to Erik, eyeing Lydia from their place in the ditch alongside the gravel road. They were across from a home isolated from town by about ten miles and surrounded trees. “Your girlfriend is really hot.”

  Erik smacked him across the back of his head. “Focus!”

  “Sorry,” Iain mumbled, “but she is.”

  Normally, Erik would be making jokes and laughing with his brother in the face of danger. Immortality had a way of lessening one’s sense of mortal fear—even if technically there were ways to kill a warlock. Like what the lidérc now attempted in using Erik’s inthrall against him. Even so, he wasn’t scared for himself. He worried about Lydia. Seeing the woman he loved being hefted upright on a pole by a bunch of psychically compromised townsfolk had a way of making Mr. Grim Reaper look all too real.