Chapter 11

11

It took allof thirty seconds outside the abandoned mill for Clarabelle to realize this likely wasn’t the vampire clan’s headquarters. For one, vampires hated being too close to water, and secondly, no leader interested in clout would live in such a dump.

At the same time, despite the fence, signs of habitation appeared all around. Recent garbage comprised of fast-food wrappers and coffee cups littering the ground. The scent of exhaust lingering on the weedy pavement with clumps of it crushed by traffic. Then there was the overall stench of blood and rot, a sure sign of vampires, and judging by what she saw, most likely the feral types they’d been encountering. Not a place anyone should enter if they valued their lives—and wanted to avoid bloodborne illness. Ferals had been known to cause infection, hence why the protocol to eliminate involved fire.

The exterior of this building appeared to be mostly brick and stone, but she doubted the inside would be fireproof. Not to mention, the plywood over the openings would burn nicely.

As she wandered to her side of the building, she couldn’t help but shake her head at Dracin and his overprotective nature. She’d seen how much he disliked the idea of them splitting up. At the same time, she didn’t need anyone fighting her battles or doing her job.

As she finished her inspection of the building and prepared to return to Dracin, she encountered a human. A vagrant, she thought at first, given his scruffy appearance. Unshaven, his hair a wild mess, his clothing visibly stained, and the smell… unwashed for quite some time.

“What are you doing here?” snapped the man.

“Hello, sir.” She adopted a non-confrontational mien. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for the owner of this place.”

“Ain’t no owner,” he spat. “Can’t you see it’s a rundown dump?”

“And yet here you are, obviously guarding the location.” She angled her head as her gaze dropped to the gun tucked into his waistband.

“I live here, not that it’s any of your business.”

“And who do you live here with?” Clarabelle questioned.

“Friends. Now git. Pretty woman like you don’t want to be here when night falls.”

“Why is that I wonder?” she mused aloud. “Could it be because certain vampires are using this mill as a lair?”

His brows drew together in suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Someone who needs to speak with the head of the vampires. Would you know where to find him? Name of Theodore, I believe.” As she spoke, she cast a spell on the man to force him to reply. It failed, rebounding from the man’s mind, repelled because of the compulsion already in place. A strong one, most likely placed by the clan leader.

“You’re asking an awful lot of questions, and my boss, he don’t like nosy bitches.”

“No need for name calling. I simply wish for a conversation with your boss. Give me an address and I will be out of here.”

“Why are you so desperate to talk to him? You know what he is.”

“I do, and I also know he’s not been following the rules.”

The man snorted. “As if the rules apply to him.”

“Where is he?”

“You want to see him so bad? Fine. We’ll take you.”

We? Before she’d managed to whirl, the balloon full of liquid hit and splatted her. It seemed a gaunt young woman had snuck up behind and lobbed a missile.

Stupid. She’d been careless and now paid the price. Grogginess sapped the strength in her limbs, and she had no time to even call out to Dracin before she lost consciousness.

She woke in a cage. Not the utilitarian kind she’d come across in that parking garage but one gilded in gold, situated beside a throne of the same color in a room that screamed, I have no taste but money to spend. Red velvet and brocade trimmed in gold braid and fringe hung in heavy curtains that draped the space and diluted the light, giving a satanic hue to everything—which the Dark Lord might approve of, but she found annoying. She looked better in cool tones.

The floor appeared to be black marble with some gray veins that must be hell to keep clean, which explained the people on their hands and knees polishing. Naked men and women, young and beautiful and human, most likely.

To her relief, Clarabelle still wore her clothes and appeared unharmed. No bite marks on her wrists. Given she still wore a belt, she didn’t drop her pants to check her inner thigh, another favorite nibbling spot. A quick palpation of her neck showed no sign of chomping on the parts she could touch. A collar impeded her search.

She tugged at it, but it didn’t budge, nor could she find a clasp. The true panic set in when she tried to access her magic and found it gone. That chilled her to the bone because that could only mean one thing: the ring around her neck? Circe’s Collar. An ancient tool used to subdue witches.

How had the vampire leader gotten his hands on one of the rare artifacts? Popular during the Inquisition years, they’d been gathered by the High Coven—the one situated in Europe from which all other covens sprang—and kept under heavy guard, along with other dangerous artifacts. It chilled her to think they might have a traitor. One willing to sell the one thing—other than salt water—that neutered a witch’s powers.

Her plan to confront the vampire leader and take him out took an ominous turn at the realization she could do nothing. Not even light a spark.

The only good thing? She’d not dragged Dracin into this mess. Although he probably went a little nuts when he realized she’d been taken. Hopefully, he’d not look for long or draw attention. She’d hate to see him captured because she’d miscalculated.

“The witch awakens,” mocked a smooth male voice, drawing her eye to a youngish-looking man striding in her direction from a set of stairs that went upwards. He wore an open-necked white shirt and dark slacks, the fabric and cut screaming custom-tailored. He might have been handsome if not for the cruel set of his eyes and lips.

“You’ve made a serious error in taking me,” she boldly stated, holding tight to her fear. Never show trepidation even in the face of adversity or, in this case, a sadistic vampire.

“An error? I don’t think so. After all, capturing a talented witch was on my to-do list. The one I currently own isn’t capable of much.” He waved a hand to a woman who’d been following him. At his gesture, she knelt, head bowed, her brown hair a curtain across her face. “About all she’s good for is sleeping potions. She can barely locate other weaklings like herself, and she didn’t even know we had a dragon in our city.”

“If she’s so useless, why keep her?” Clarabelle queried.

“Because it amuses me. Also, she was helpful in making enough witches disappear to draw your precious coven’s attention. I was delighted when I heard they’d sent someone of much greater strength to investigate. Stronger than even I had anticipated. Impressive how you took out my minions in the garage and then at the dragon’s abode.”

“I’ll kill you too,” she promised.

He arched a brow. “Brave words considering you’re in a cage under my complete control.”

A tug at the collar led to her coolly asking, “Where did you get this?”

“At an auction in Europe. Although, originally, it was covered in glued jewels to hide its true purpose. A good thing I’d done my research and saw past its gaudy exterior.”

A slight relief that he’d not gotten it by bribing the coven, but more disturbing… “You intentionally sought out Circe’s Collar?”

“Oh yes. Imagine my delight when I came across mention of it in the diary of someone alive at that time. Created by the Inquisitors in the sixteenth century, they were the only way to separate a witch from her powers. But the really interesting fact is that power can be tapped by another witch. In this case, one that’s more in tune to my demands.”

It chilled Clarabelle to hear that tidbit because she’d not known of that. This wasn’t good. “Are you the leader then of this clan?” Might as well confirm while he bragged.

“I am. Theodore Beaumont, your new master.”

“Not for long. The coven knows of your misdeeds, as does the vampire council.”

“The council is comprised of fangless old men and women who won’t do anything for fear I’ll come after them. For people who’ve lived centuries, they are very much fearful of death.” Theodore didn’t conceal his disdain for his peers.

“What are you planning? Why do you need magic?” She might not see a way out at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. When she did escape, best she did so well informed so as to stop him.

“It is long past time we emerged from the shadows and took our rightful place as leaders. For far too long we’ve cowered from humans. The shame of it. Letting cows run the world.” Contempt curled his lip. “Unlike my brethren, I am not afraid to fight, to put the humans in their place, kneeling at our feet.”

“You’re insane. The humans outnumber you immensely. They will kill you.” It was the reason why the coven and other nonhumans had so many laws and rules when it came to keeping their powers, and differences, a secret. To prevent their discovery and another Inquisition by humans.

“I’ll admit the cows can be trigger-happy, but they are also self-serving cowards. Threaten them enough and they will fall into line. Hence why I’m building an army of shifters under my complete control. Unlike witches, whose magic can mess with the implant, they are barely more than beasts and perfect slaves.”

“There aren’t that many shifters in the world,” she pointed out.

“A good thing human mercenaries are easily bought. And then there’s the many weapons that money can buy. For everything else…” Theodore offered a cruel smile. “I’ll have your magic to wield.”

He truly was devious.

“If you’re building an army, why auction off the cryptids you’ve captured?” If he wanted to talk, let him spill everything.

“How else am I to raise the funds? The irony is the humans who are showering me with wealth have no idea they will die first. Every one of their purchases is still under my control. When I give the command…” He snapped his fingers. “Their temporary owners will die, and my slaves will return to serve me.”

The very insanity of his serious plot had her realizing she’d gravely miscalculated. This was more than just a case of trafficking and a vampire breaking the rules.

“You won’t get away with it.”

“But I already have. Everything is going according to plan.”

“Is it? Because it seems to me like you lost a good chunk of your vampires, and I know, for a fact, they won’t be easy to replace.” In the movies, they made it seem like transition happened easily. In reality, most attempts failed and the person died. Then there were the ferals, with only a slight few managing to maintain their cognizance into their new undead life.

His lips pinched tight. “Like I said before, I underestimated you. I expected you to be soft, not a warrior who would kill. But now you’re under my control, and soon, the dragon you freed will be too. I expect he’ll come sauntering in soon enough, looking for his witch.”

She snorted, more to ensure he didn’t see the fear in her that he might be right. “Why would be come after me?”

“You’ve been together since his release. At this home, your hotel, then the old mill. Seems to me, he’s got a vested interest in you.”

“Because I paid him to be my bodyguard.” She lied. “He had no interest in helping until I offered him dough and a chance to crack some heads. Now that I’m not there to pay, he’ll lose interest.”

“I guess we’ll soon see.”

With that smug declaration, the vampire left, leaving her to pace the small cage, trying to think. Her options appeared limited. The bars of her prison too thick and solid to bend. The lock on the outside not something she could pick without tools or her usual spells. To use magic, she had to remove the collar, which, ironically, could only be removed with magic, AKA another witch.

Her gaze slewed to the one who’d been kneeling on the floor. She’d moved from her spot when Theodore departed, and now browsed a table laden with food.

“Hello, I’m Clarabelle. What’s your name?” she called out.

The woman at first didn’t reply, although one of the servants scrubbing the floor near the witch did give Clarabelle a side-eye—and got scolded by the witch. “Don’t be shirking your duties.”

Clarabelle’s stomach sank. Those weren’t the words of someone upset with their circumstance, but still, she had to try.

“Hi, I know you can hear me. He’s gone now. We can talk. Maybe find a way out of this mess.”

The witch, not as young as suspected, finally slewed a gaze her way. “Who says I want out?”

“Because you’re a prisoner,” Clarabelle pointed out.

“Not really. Do you see a cage? My lord values my service.”

“Your lord?” Clarabelle sputtered. “You only have one Lord, the dark one, and he won’t be pleased to see you using that name for another.”

“Ah yes, Hades, who’s spurned me at the All Hallows’ Eve orgy because I am not pretty or young enough to suit him.” Her lip curled. “The Dark Lord who barely gave me enough magic to call myself a witch.”

The bitter words made it even less likely she would help. Still… “Do you really think allying yourself with the vampires will end well for you?”

“You heard Theodore. He’s going to give me power to wield.”

“No, he’s going to steal mine. You’ll just be his puppet,” Clarabelle snapped.

The woman shrugged. “And? I’ll still be his witch. Untouchable. Important.” She lifted her chin. “He’s promised me a place in his court.”

“Until someone more useful comes along,” spat Clarabelle. “He’s using you.”

“And aren’t you trying to do that now? We both know you were going to ask me to release you. The answer is no by the way.”

The reply had Clarabelle shaking her head. “Then you will not be spared when they come to rescue me.”

“No one’s coming. No one knows where we are. Theodore is too clever.”

“Thought every despot before being taken down.”

“You’ll see. And you’ll pay,” huffed the witch. “You don’t need to be pretty or even have all your limbs for the magic to work.”

With that threat, the woman stalked off, kicking another mopping servant as she passed. A soul so lost in her bitterness she couldn’t fathom being wrong.

Clarabelle would feel no pity when she killed her.

The first servant she’d kicked approached the cage, holding out a plate of food. “Are you hungry?” lisped the young woman. Barely past her teen years. Her gaunt frame showed she’d not been eating enough to handle the blood taken from the various puncture marks on her body.

“Thank you.” She reached through the bars for the plate. Keeping her strength up would be important. “What’s your name?”

“Beth.”

“I’m Clarabelle. Have you been here long?”

Frail shoulders lifted and dropped. “Hard to tell. A while, I think.”

“Do you have a way to get a message outside?”

Beth shook her head. “We aren’t allowed to go anywhere but this room and where we sleep.”

“What is this place? Do you know where we are?”

“No idea of where, just that it’s a big house and this chamber is underneath the basement. The Lord had it specially built.”

Meaning no windows and no easy exit. Not that Clarabelle would let that daunt her. “I’m going to escape, but I might need help.”

“I’ll try, but I don’t know what I can do,” Beth admitted, sounding chagrinned.

“Don’t give up hope for one. Where there is a will, there is a way.” Because she wasn’t about to let some bitter, angry witch and an egomaniac of a vampire run roughshod over the world. Not to mention, she refused to be bested by the likes of them.

She would find a way out.

Somehow.