“The only feelings Damon has left for Symeon are hate and regret,” Nathaniel said with absolute certainty. “He suffered more than anyone at Symeon’s hands. It just took him a while to recognize the abuse for what it was.”
A glance passed between Gregory and Nathaniel. Dominic knew there was something he wasn’t being told but he didn’t have the energy to press for information he was unlikely to get.
“Dominic does have a point though,” Coryn commented. “Damon could be in danger. Symeon is the kind of man who wouldn’t want to lose what he considers to be his property. If he had any clue that Damon had turned to us for help, he’d want to kill him.”
Dominic shivered. He wouldn’t want to be in Damon’s shoes. “I hope he’s okay.” He meant it and that surprised him a bit. Coryn leaned across the table. He gave Dominic’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“At least we know he’ll be of little interest to the witches—he has no power of his own and Symeon uses him as a tool, nothing more. Felix will keep a very close eye on him, as will Nathaniel.”
“Okay.” Dominic didn’t miss the suggestion that Nathaniel had more than a passing interest in Damon. He chuckled. “I’m glad.” He fixed his gaze on Nathaniel, who blushed just a little. “We should invite him to join our club, Coryn.”
Coryn nodded. “He’d be an asset.”
“What club is this? And I know I’m going to regret the question,” Nathaniel asked.
“Support group for the long-suffering life partners of dommy warlocks,” Coryn replied with a chuckle. “Membership is very selective.”
Nathaniel shot a panicked look at Gregory. “They’re ganging up on us!”
“You want to try and stop them?” Gregory shrugged. “Best to just go with the flow. Your life will be a whole lot easier.” Gregory sipped his coffee reflectively. “I don’t deny this plan of ours is going to be unpleasant for you, Dominic. It’s a great deal to ask, but I can see no other way.”
“I don’t care what Symeon, or the Octis Coven, do to me if it means we can save Evrain. I just want him back, so tell me what I need to do.”
“Fine. It’s getting late.”
Shadow yowled her agreement then retreated to the armchair next to the fire with a green-eyed stare at Gregory. Gregory flicked his fingers, sparking the wood in the hearth into a renewed blaze. Dominic could have sworn the cat nodded before settling into the chair.
“Do you have what you need to brew some agrimony into a strong tea?” Gregory asked.
“Sure. I think there’s some dried leaves in the herb cupboard. I just need to steep it in boiling water for an hour or two. It’s a fairly potent herb so it won’t take too long. But even if I can get near Evrain, how will I be able to smuggle him a drink?”
“I think we’ll need to be a little more subtle than that.” Gregory smiled. “You go ahead and brew that tea. Let me worry about how to get it into Evrain. In the meantime, would you mind heading into town and finding some takeout, Nathaniel? Coryn can go with you.”
It told Dominic a lot that Gregory would entrust Nathaniel with Coryn’s safety.
“Sure.” Nathaniel pushed his chair back then stood. “We’ll do a bit of scouting around at the same time. Check to see if there’s anyone, or anything, lurking in the undergrowth.” He licked his lips as if relishing the idea of finding something. Or maybe it was just the anticipation of food.
Chapter Nine
Evrain’s first awareness when he regained consciousness was of pain. Unrelenting, agonizing pain. Every inch of his body seemed to burn with the after-effects of whatever Symeon had done to him. Evrain imagined the punishment must have continued long after he’d blacked out. His first attempt to open his eyes resulted in daggers of light stabbing into his head. He clamped his lids shut and attempted to unscramble his thoughts. Gradually his mind registered that the ache in his wrists and forearms was more severe than the burning along his thigh. Against his better judgment, he forced his eyes open again. Everything was white and for a moment he thought his sight had been damaged. He blinked a few times, eyes watering, and gradually made out a few details. The space he was in was white. All he could see was white. The walls, ceiling and floor were all the same color, almost merging together. The brightness hurt his eyes.
He concentrated on the shadows that marked out corners and gradually the room took shape. It wasn’t large, just a cube roughly ten feet on each side. The surfaces had a slight sheen, reflecting the light from glowing panels set in the ceiling. Evrain attempted to feel his surroundings through his power but got nothing. He was still blocked.
He tilted his head back, which told him that Symeon’s collar was still around his neck. His arms were stretched above his head, his wrists bound with plastic cable ties, which in turn were linked to a length of thick nylon rope, attached to a plastic eyelet in the ceiling. His arms were streaked with blood from where the ties had cut into his skin. The red was almost a relief amidst all the white that surrounded him. As he moved, his body twisted a little. His bare feet were only just touching the floor and all his weight was hanging from his arms. It was excruciatingly painful and he realized that he must have been hanging for some time, though there was no way of telling how long. His watch and clothes were gone, replaced by a white nylon jumpsuit of sorts. The sleeves were cut off so his arms were bare. It could have been worse. They, whoever they were, could have stripped him naked. They’d left him his dignity, but he did wonder how long that would last. Someone had taken his clothes and put him in the overalls. He didn’t enjoy the idea that members of the Octis Coven may have seen him in all his glory.
You deserve this, you idiot, how could you be so fucking stupid? A range of curses flashed through Evrain’s head. He’d been complacent and Symeon Malus had taken full advantage. He prayed that Dominic was still safe. Gregory was going to be furious and rightly so.
There were no windows, no door, no air vents and no plausible means of escape from his clinical prison that Evrain could detect. The air was cool but not cold so he knew that there had to be some form of temperature control. He also guessed that someone was probably watching him but that any instruments or cameras were placed well out of his view or behind concealment spells.
He jerked his arms hard, testing the robustness of the bindings around his wrists, but only succeeded in making the plastic dig even further into his flesh. He moaned as his body swung helplessly from side to side while he attempted to regain his balance on his toes. A warm trickle of fresh blood slid down one arm. It was somewhat ironic that the Coven was after his blood and here he was, donating freely.
Gregory had warned him that the Octis Coven was not to be taken lightly. Their resources were all too apparent in the prison they’d created for him. They understood that an elemental warlock would not be able to take advantage of his power without access to natural resources, collared or not. Even the air in the claustrophobic space was recycled, though Evrain suspected he might be able to manipulate it anyway. The precautions seemed extreme considering the blocking collar around his neck. Someone wanted him to suffer.
As he hung there, helpless, he tried to focus his mind on something other than the pain he was in. He had to fight down a rising sense of panic. His captivity had been planned with care and he could see no obvious way out—even if he hadn’t been suspended like a fish on a hook. Octis had gone to great deal of trouble to contain him. It made sense that they must also understand that for him to channel, Dominic would have to be close by. They would need to take Dominic as well. Evrain’s head ached viciously and the edges of his vision began to close in. His last thought before the darkness claimed him again was of Dominic and the danger that he must be in.
* * * *
Evrain’s second journey back into the light was accompanied by the gloating sound of Symeon’s voice—though the man himself was not present, his rasping tones filled the room. Evrain had the feeling Symeon had been talking for a while. He was glad he’d missed at least some of h
is monologue.
“How are you feeling, Evrain? Uncomfortable, I hope.”
Evrain ignored the taunting and remained silent. Discomfort did not begin to describe the pain he was in. He wondered if he would ever feel his arms again. As a practitioner of bondage he was very aware of the dangers of misplaced knots and pressure against arteries and nerves. He doubted anyone would have checked when they were suspending him.
“I’m sure you would like the pain to end, though I myself would prefer that it continue as long as possible.” Symeon’s cackle lived up to the stereotype of every evil villain ever created. It made Evrain remember a horror movie marathon he and Dominic had enjoyed one night. Vincent Price and Peter Cushing had nothing on Symeon Malus.
“It’s just a matter of time and I will have that pretty little boyfriend of yours to play with again. I made him very beautiful, didn’t I? Do you think of me every time you fuck him?”
Evrain did not give Symeon the satisfaction of a reaction, though it was all he could do to maintain a blank expression. Instead he ran through all the ways it might be possible for Symeon to die—slowly and painfully.
“There’s no escape for you, Evrain. Your cell has been very carefully designed. These bitches want you badly. They’ll bleed you dry and I’ll laugh while they do it.” He paused, presumably for effect. “What, no witty come back, no sharp retort? I’m disappointed in you.”
Not as much as I’m disappointed in myself.
“I’ve waited patiently for this. You must have known that I would take my revenge for what you and the aging excuse for a warlock, Gregory, did to me that day in Inkcap Glade. The two of you were lucky. I killed your grandmother easily enough. A whelp like you is hardly a worthy challenge.”
Evrain had to hide his shock that Symeon had admitted to Agatha’s murder with such nonchalance. He’d suspected it, of course, though he still didn’t know how Symeon had managed it. The confirmation of his suspicions turned his blood to ice.
“You know, seeing you helpless like this will fuel my wet dreams for months to come.” Symeon’s conversational tone was sickening. “I’ll be thinking of you when I fuck Damon’s useless ass. After I’ve given him the whipping he deserves, of course.”
Evrain moaned at the unwanted picture that invaded his mind. “Christ, Symeon, can’t you just torture me in a more traditional way? Get the electrodes out or something, but don’t subject to me to thoughts of you and Damon together, that’s just too cruel.” Evrain hoped Damon was still safe with Nathaniel.
“Fuck you, Evrain. Say what you will, this time the last word will be mine.”
There was a click, then silence. Evrain heaved a sigh of relief. He would rather face the whole Octis Coven and whatever torture they had in store than listen to Symeon for a second longer. Symeon’s absence did have a downside—there was nothing to distract Evrain from his aching body or his fear for Dominic. He gritted his teeth and amused himself by imagining all the things he would do to Symeon once he got free. Some of them were impossible, even using magic, but it was amusing to picture him with a tail or staked out as lunch for a nest of fire ants. Evisceration had potential, as did melting or crushing by a tornado-flung house. He was straying into Oz territory. The pain had to be affecting his mind.
In front of him a thin vertical line appeared on the wall. At first Evrain thought he was imagining things but then a panel slid sideways with a hiss. The door had been so well shielded it had been invisible—to him at least. Three women entered his prison, one standing slightly in front of the other two. The door slid closed behind them.
“Mr. Brookes, my name is Imelda Krenick. I can only offer my deepest apologies for the way you have been treated. Get him down from there immediately.” She gestured and her two companions stepped forward. One gripped Evrain’s hips while the other reached up to cut the plastic ties around his wrists.
Even with support, Evrain dropped heavily. The women did their best to catch him and as a result he didn’t hit the floor too hard, but the fire that rushed through his arms, combined with fatigue, turned his vision red then black.
When he came around, Evrain found himself lying on a low cot. He was handcuffed but the cuffs were made of heavy plastic rather than metal. Beneath the cuffs his wrists had been lightly bandaged and the streaks of blood had been washed from his arms.
“The restraints are a precaution, but necessary to protect my colleagues.” Imelda stood as if she were at attention on a military parade ground, not a single muscle relaxed. “You are a powerful young man, Mr. Brookes, and I’m afraid Symeon Malus has cast my coven in an extremely poor light—something I regret. I would not blame you for being furious.”
Evrain sat up with care. He still hurt everywhere but had no desire to be sitting while Imelda loomed over him. He stood then met her cold blue eyes with an unwavering gaze of his own.
“Your friends have left? How long was I out?”
“Just a few minutes,” Imelda replied. “I wanted to talk to you alone. I thought you might be more comfortable that way.”
And to demonstrate your position of power. Evrain shrugged and immediately regretted the action. The abused muscles in his arms, neck and shoulders were united in their disapproval of movement. “Your apologies are meaningless while you keep me here against my will. Kidnap and imprisonment are federal crimes in this country, I believe.”
“And you and I both know it is not in our interest to involve law enforcement agencies in our business.”
“What do you want, Imelda? You didn’t come in here for small talk and you certainly didn’t go to all this effort”—he gestured with his bound hands—“to contain me, without some end game in mind. This place and enlisting Symeon’s help must have cost you a fortune, so what’s the payoff?”
“Perhaps it is better to get straight to the point, but first I’m sure you would like to freshen up. I will arrange some food, then we’ll talk. Please don’t attempt to resist my colleagues. You’re weak. The collar you have on blocks your power. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to but if you attempt to escape, I won’t hesitate.”
The same two women Evrain had seen before he’d blacked out came back into the room, leaving the door open. They both held slender batons, which Evrain eyed with suspicion.
“The advances in electroshock equipment have been quite remarkable in recent years,” Imelda said. “These won’t kill you but you won’t enjoy the sensation, so please don’t do anything to encourage their use.”
Evrain sighed. He was in no condition to fight a teddy bear, let alone two armed women with a fetish for abusing warlocks. “A trip to the bathroom would be welcome,” he said. “A meal even more so. I promise to behave.” For a while at least.
The trip to the facilities revealed little. A short plastic-coated passage led to a washroom capsule made from molded acrylic, similar to the pods he’d seen in cheap European motels. There was nothing Evrain could use as a weapon. He was given some privacy to use the toilet and splash water on his face. He wondered if he could manipulate the water and attempted to reach for his power. All he got for his trouble was a stabbing pain behind his eyes and the collar around his neck warmed to an uncomfortable heat. It was an effective block. He was then escorted back to his cell. Two plastic chairs had been added to the furnishings. Imelda occupied one. On her knees was a tray holding a plastic-wrapped sandwich, a bag of chips and a polystyrene beaker of water.
“I realize that under normal circumstances you could kill me with the water,” she said.
Evrain took the other seat then accepted the drink she held out to him. “Yes, I could.”
“But you wouldn’t because you were brought up with morals and since coming into your power you’ve been guided by people with strong ethical values.”
“Even very patient people can be driven to extreme actions, Imelda.” Evrain drank the water. He didn’t think Imelda would stoop to drugging him and he was thirsty. The sandwich was fresh and hunger made him
eat with undignified haste. “How long have I been here?”
“A few hours. Symeon neglected to tell me of your arrival…for some time.” Imelda did not sound impressed.
“Why are you working with that worm?”
“He has his uses. Only another warlock could get that collar on you. Gregory Thanet is your godfather. Nathaniel Alberich is his ally. I was left with little option, but Malus has served his purpose. He got you here but our association is temporary, regardless of what he might think.”
“You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”
“No, I haven’t. It’s very simple. I need your blood.”
Evrain snorted. “So do I, Imelda.”
Her parody of a smile didn’t reach her eyes. “A single drop of warlock’s blood can increase the potency of a potion one hundred fold. I don’t want much, I’m not greedy. A few vials will suffice—certainly not more than you can spare.”
“And I suppose your use of these potions is entirely altruistic?” Evrain knew better. The Coven sought influence and power. How they got it didn’t matter.
Imelda shrugged. “The way I conduct my business is not your concern.”
“If you just wanted blood you could have taken it when I was unconscious.” Evrain checked his bare arms but there was no sign of puncture marks.
“That’s because I need you to be channeling when I take it.”
“You have to be kidding me?” Evrain gave a short, harsh laugh. “Never going to happen.”
“And that’s why I couldn’t just waltz up to your front door and ask you politely.” Imelda stood then brushed a microscopic piece of lint from her pants.
“You could have tried! This is not the best way to go about securing my cooperation.”
“Which is why Symeon is earning his keep at this very moment. I know you need your partner to channel. Symeon will bring Dominic Castine here. Then we will talk again.”
Elemental Hope Page 10
