by L. S. O'Dea
“Who else was killed?” asked Hugh. This was not looking good for Trinity.
“Two young Producers. Clarabelle and Randy.”
“No,” said Tim. “Trinity wouldn’t do something like this. She’s incapable of hurting anyone. She has the kindest, gentlest heart.” He looked at Mom. “She’s always caring for injured creatures, rabbits, birds.”
“We need to find her. Buddy, tell Reese to bring the carriage to the front of the house and then escort Tim to his room to pack a few belongings.”
Buddy left.
“He’s not leaving,” said Mom.
“Yes, he is. Tim is going to be my guest while I attempt to find his daughter and save his mate.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tim, suspiciously.
“Benedictine is not going to be happy when he finds out there was an escape and killings at the camp. He will punish those involved and the first suspect will be Trinity. Since she isn’t around, Millie and Remy will answer for her.” It was amazing how little Tim and his mother understood their world.
“I’m still not leaving.” There was a new hardness to Tim’s features.
Buddy and Sue came back into the library.
“You didn’t expect to make it out of this alive, did you?” He snorted. “You did. You thought that you and Millie could help an escapee and end up unharmed. Incredible.” Tim had no idea what Benedictine was capable of doing, what his family had done in the past.
Tim glared at him but remained silent.
“Well, guess what? This is your lucky day. I need you both alive and I can manipulate Benedictine.”
“Go with him, Tim,” prodded Mom.
“I’ll send the carriage back for you, Mother. You can stay with me too, but right now, we have to hurry. I need to get Tim secured at my place.” He held up his hand to stop both Tim and his mother from speaking. “It’s not safe for him here and, frankly, I don’t trust him not to sneak out.”
Mom glanced at Tim, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.
He was right, they were planning an escape. Tim was probably hoping to find Trinity himself. “If I don’t hurry, Millie will not survive.”
“What about Trinity?” asked Tim.
He paused. He’d rather have the offspring, but he didn’t have spare Guards to send looking for her. “I hope that I can find her, but right now, Millie is my first priority. I know where she is and she is definitely in danger. So, hurry and pack your things. We need to move.”
Tim kissed Mom on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” He walked out of the room, bristling when he passed Buddy.
Buddy’s lip curled at Tim as he followed him out the door.
“Do you really think that you can save Millie and Trinity?” asked Mom.
“Possibly. If I can get there in time, I should be able to save Millie. I don’t know about the offspring.” He’d never persuade Benedictine to give him an escapee. He’d have to catch her before Benedictine’s Guards.
She clasped his arm. “Try, for me.” She kissed his cheek and left the room.
“What are you planning?” asked Sue. “You can’t just barge in on Benedictine and demand one of his Producers.”
He ran his hand through his hair. She was right as usual. Benedictine was a prickly fellow and had to be handled with care. “Once we secure Tim at my place, I want you and Buddy to keep an eye on the encampment. If they find the offspring or move the parents, one of you remains at the camp and one of you comes to get me.”
She nodded.
He turned and headed for the carriage. If there were viable, living offspring from a Producer and House Servant, it changed everything. All that he’d been taught was no longer true. The two classes must be more similar than they believed. He was going to have to run DNA tests and see if there were genetic abnormalities in Tim and Mille. Had something like this happened in the past or was this a new mutation? He was going to have to search through history journals.
If this was not an event unique to Tim and Millie, then the distinction between the classes would become blurred. Where would a half-Producer, half-House Servant belong? Would the mix-breed have the size of the Producer and the organizational skills of the House Servant, able to smoothly run an Almighty’s home? He chuckled. That would be like wearing a shoe as a glove.
The classes were bred for particular qualities. The Guards were loyal and protective, but generally not very ambitious or bright. House Servants were arrogant and selfish, but well organized, tidy and stealthy, completing their duties often without being seen. The Producers were large and simple but capable of long hours of backbreaking work. The Grunts, stronger and bigger than the Producers, needed constant supervision and guidance. The Stockers, well, they were brutal and contrary creatures, but fortunately, did not have the intelligence to challenge the Almightys. And the Avions, well, they were just annoying. No, these distinct classes could not possibly blend together.
He ran his hand through his hair. Tim seemed adamant that he and the Producer had created offspring and some were taken. If Tim were right and if this was not specific to him and Millie, then one day any of the classes could share the Producers’ fate. Some of Tim’s half-breed children already had. His stomach churned. He didn’t even want to think about that.
CHAPTER 4
JACKSON’S LONG LEGS devoured the ground as he strode across the encampment. Although his duties were more for protection, there must have been a hunting Guard somewhere in his family tree because he had the large, strong muscles of the personal protection Guard along with the speed and height of the hunting Guard. He was fiercely loyal and protective. Unfortunately, those qualities were lost on his master, Benedictine.
The cold wind blew, ruffling his short dark hair and biting into his cheeks which were covered by a day’s growth of stubble. The Producers huddled in small groups, whispering about the previous night’s attacks. They quickly scattered out of his way. He glared at their retreating forms, pissed at all of them.
This was a disaster. Instead of doing his job and finding the Producer, he’d spent half the time covering his, Casper and Carla’s scent that was scattered throughout the woods. Now, he had to report what he’d found, which was nothing. Just like last time, there’d been a clear trail and then it’d vanished, although this time there wasn’t the odor of pine and herb, just musky soil. Then the Producer’s scent would appear again miles away. She was traveling with someone. She had to be.
He nodded at Casper who stood before the opening to a Lead Producer’s hut where Benedictine waited for news. The Guard had been left behind to protect their master. At least, that was the story that he’d told the old Guard. The truth was that Casper had caught a cold the last time they were in the forest and would have slowed him and Carla down.
“Any luck?” Casper asked eagerly.
“No.” He tipped his head in a slight nod to let Casper know that their trail was covered as he entered the hut. It was time to inform Benedictine of his failure.
Benedictine Remore sat on a wooden stool at the back of the room. The red and black ceremonial cape of the Almighty was draped over his shoulders almost touching the dirt floor. His brown hair was cut mercilessly short and his white skin gleamed like it had never seen the sun. He stopped chatting with the Lead Producers who surrounded him.
“Jackson, tell me you’ve found the poor thing safe and sound,” said Benedictine, a look of false concern on his face.
The Lead Producers, all adult males, nodded and bobbed their heads like giant pigeons.
He took a deep breath. His punishment would come later when there were no witnesses. “No, sir. We lost her scent.”
“How can that be?” Benedictine’s eyes narrowed.
The Lead Producers murmured their concern.
“I’m not sure, sir. We were hot on her trail and then, nothing. Her scent vanished.”
Benedictine rose.
“I’ve sent out another pack of Guards.” He mentally braced himself. The A
lmighty might not care if the Lead Producers witnessed his wrath.
“But meanwhile, we have an escaped Producer who is our only witness to the senseless slaughter of five Producers.” Benedictine quickly softened his tone. “We need to find her. Send out additional Guards. Hire or borrow some, but find that Producer immediately.”
“Of course. I’ll go back out with another team.” Relief flooded his body. Benedictine was going to keep up his friendly façade.
“No. You are to escort the parents to my facility where they can wait for news in comfort, away from all this nastiness.”
He bowed and stepped outside, nodding at Casper. Even old, the Guard would have heard the conversation inside the hut so there was no reason to repeat it.
“Carla, come with me,” he said, as he passed a group of Guards.
A middle-aged female with the long legs typical of the hunting Guards trotted over to him. They headed toward a small shack on the outskirts of the encampment.
“How did it go?” asked Carla.
“His wrath has been diverted for the moment. I don’t expect the reprieve to last long once we leave the camp.”
“Oh,” she said, solemnly.
“It’ll be okay.” He patted her on the shoulder.
“We’ll be okay, but what about you?”
He’d survive. He always did. “What did they discover here?”
“The escapee’s scent and tracks were at every killing but no one believes she was involved. No one thinks her capable. She was very small.” She hesitated. “Troy was also at every location.”
He glanced at her. She shrugged.
“Another Lead Producer, Bell, the sire of the young female who was killed, appears to have been drugged. A medic is checking him over. Bell suspects Troy was behind everything.”
Oddly, he wasn’t surprised. The only question left was who or what killed Troy? “What kind of drug was he given?”
“Sleeping. It was his area where Troy and the female escaped.”
“And Bell’s still alive?”
“Apparently, he’s one of Benedictine’s favorites, although it was a close call. Benedictine was furious about the deaths,” she said.
It must be nice. He’d never been spared by the Almighty and he wouldn’t be this time either. The likelihood of them finding the female was slim. Well, they would find her, but probably not before Benedictine punished him for his failure. He should have run away a long time ago, before the tracking device was implanted, before he had responsibilities to the other Guards, before Kim. Who was he kidding? There really never was a before Kim. From the moment he’d met her he’d been lost.
“We’re to escort the parents to Benedictine’s facility,” he muttered as they stepped up to the hut. “I don’t expect any trouble but be prepared just in case.
A small crowd of Producers had trailed behind them and were now gathered several yards away.
“Benedictine’s Guards here to speak with...Trinity’s parents.” He called out, his voice firm, commanding.
A giant of a Producer opened the door. All Producers were large, but this one stood well over nine feet tall and was at least three times his width. It was all muscle too, not an ounce of flab. He glanced at Carla. Her eyes were wide. Producers were generally obedient and docile, but they could do damage if provoked. It was best to forge ahead with authority and not hesitate.
“I need you and your mate to come with us.”
The Producer stared over his head. The whispers of the crowd behind them carried to his ears. So far, the murmurs were concerned and gossipy, not angry. A small female Producer squeezed into the doorway, the male moving aside to give her room.
“Where do you want to take us?” she asked.
This female was not frightened. He sniffed. Well, perhaps a little. “Benedictine has ordered that you wait for the recovery of your offspring at one of his facilities”—he nodded at the crowd—“away from the prying eyes of your neighbors.”
“My caring neighbors are my greatest source of comfort.” She clasped the large male’s hand.
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said. She was not going to make this easy. Nothing was ever easy anymore.
She glared at him. He almost stepped back from the hatred in her eyes. She’d helped her offspring escape. It was stamped on her features as clear as the trees behind her hut.
“Millie, we should go,” said the male, glancing over Jackson’s head again.
He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. The crowd’s whispers were harsher now, more hurried. Some of the other Guards were approaching.
“Remy, we need to stay here.” Millie softened her tone. “What if Trinity manages to escape her captor and finds her way back home?”
They were sticking with the offspring-was-forced-to-leave story, but it wasn’t going to work. There were no other scents leaving the camp besides Trinity and Troy’s and only her scent going into the forest.
“She does have a point,” said Remy nervously.
He was already in trouble with Benedictine; he didn’t need any more issues. He stepped closer and whispered, “Before you continue to resist, think about this. I’m the Guard in charge of finding your offspring and we will find her. There is a slight chance that she’ll be alive when we capture her, a young female alone in the woods with no one around but a group of Guards. Male Guards.”
Remy covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening. Millie’s small frame trembled with anger.
“If you cooperate, I can assure you that no harm will come to her by me or any of my Guards.”
Millie pushed past him and Carla, walking toward the Lead Producer’s hut, shoulders squared and head high. Remy quickly followed.
“Nice move,” said Carla. “No wonder you win when we play poker.”
He frowned. It’d worked but even the threat of such an act turned his stomach. He was becoming more like his master every day.
CHAPTER 5
AFTER LUNCH, HUGH ESCORTED his mother into the library. He waited for her to sit and then sat on the chair next to hers.
“You must need a favor,” she said crisply.
“Why do you say that?” It was amazing. She always knew when he wanted something.
“You’re just like your father.”
That hurt. “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”
“Now, don’t be angry. Everything about your father wasn’t bad.”
Untrue. His father had been a colossal ass.
“All I meant was that when you want to lecture me, you sit behind your desk. When you need a favor, you sit near me. Your father used to do the same thing.” She leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone, a twinkle in her eyes. “You may want to shake that routine up a bit to keep Viola on her toes.”
Gruntshit. He did do that. “Fine. I do need a favor.” He couldn’t believe that he was left with this as his only option.
She patted his hand. “What do you want?”
“Can you still contact Birdie?” Growing up, his house had always had some poor creature who needed assistance. His mother had a gift for making everyone feel loved but he couldn’t stand the Avion. The last time that he’d encountered Birdie, the damned creature about snapped his finger off for some unintentional insult.
“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that look. I need his assistance finding the escaped Producer—“
“Trinity,” she corrected.
He wanted to roll his eyes, but that would end this conversation. “Trinity,” he conceded. “Before Benedictine does.”
“And how do you plan on using—”
“Mother, why is it always using when I want assistance from some creature but not when you do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me?” Her tone was icy.
She was angry, and something else. He studied her. Disappointed. In him? He was used to that from his father, but never her.
“The question was rhetorical. I need to conta
ct the Handler and I don’t want to wait until Gaar comes into town for his medication.” He’d received word that the Handler had picked up the serum a few days ago. It would be weeks, maybe even a month before Gaar returned. He was only supposed to use the Tracker and Handler for jobs sanctioned by the Council or the Supreme Almighty himself, but if he took the time to go through the proper channels Benedictine would have already captured and killed the escaped Producer. Besides, no one would find out about this task. Gaar didn’t speak with any of the other Almightys. The Handler had no interest in anyone but Mirra, except to hunt and eat them.
“He and that Tracker are dangerous creatures,” she said.
“I need their help. Will you contact Birdie or not?”
“If I do, you owe me.”
That stung. She’d never resort to those tactics with Tim. “Quid pro quo, Mother? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“How do you think I survived being married to your father for thirty years?”
He ran his hand through his hair. She deserved an award for that. “What do you want? Before you answer, remember that I’m doing this for Trinity’s benefit. If Benedictine finds her before I do...” He shrugged.
“Promise me that you’ll take care of Timothy, Millie and Trinity,” she said.
“Sure.” That was easy.
She grabbed his hand. “No. I mean it. They have no one besides me who they can trust. I need you to swear that when I’m gone you will make sure that they are kept safe.”
Her hand was cold and frail in his grasp, the bones small and brittle. It struck him like a blow to the chest; she really was dying. He would give her anything in his power but he wouldn’t lie to her. “I can’t promise that. If Trinity really is their daughter then this is big. Bigger than me. I don’t know what will happen.”
“I’ve been telling you all your life that they are not so different from us. You never listened. You’d cite your studies and scoff at me.” She squeezed his hand, to soften her words.
