15. Ghoul

Chapter 15

Ghoul

T he Collector waits for me in the entrance hall, between two ten foot dragon stone sculptures. She wears a calf-length reptilian patterned dress, a black feather boa, and styles her black hair in a cropped, bouncy style. An old-fashioned hairdo for a beast who worships the Old Ways. A cigarette dangles from a white-gloved right hand and a red high-heeled toe taps on the black and gold marbled tile. Two of her people stand nervously behind her, round-bellied scientist avians, all but wringing their hands and pulling at their collars.

I made her wait much longer than was necessary. I've always loved a good game. Even so, she can't help but sweep her eyes down every inch of my swaggering form. Even fully covered, animas can't help but be drawn towards me. Of course, I can't blame them.

"My lady," I say, sweeping a smooth, leisurely bow.

She holds out a hand for me to kiss. I take it in my gloved hand, fighting the nausea, lean over it to give the back of her hand an air kiss from under my skeleton mask.

"You look well, my lord," she purrs, eyes flashing into their yellow, slitted form and sliding down my body again. I can almost see her licking her long, serrated chops.

"Quite well," I drawl, flashing the tips of my fangs as I grin without humour. "The smell of fear in the air agrees with me."

While her servants shift uncomfortably behind her, the Collector's red-lipped smile is purely reptilian as she replies with a seductive, "I'm sure."

I turn on my heel and lead her party across the expanse of the entrance hall and down a set of shadowy steps to the lower part of the estate. She stiffens, offended that I haven't offered her my arm. Such a funny lady.

"I trust the girl is in workable condition, my lord?" she asks as her heels clack on the stone.

I have to think about it for a second. "Workable enough."

We wind through the old, labyrinthine corridors below the estate until we get to the set of cells that house a single leopard anima.

I open the heavy metal door by using the fingerprint scanner, and it slides open with a satisfying, modern electronic hiss. I allow the Collector and her birdies to stride through before following them in.

Two Clawson tigers sit on stools guarding the girl, springing to their feet upon our entry.

"Who the hell are you?" comes the rasping voice of the anima within the cell.

One of the Clawson tigers lunges forward and shoves his cattle prod between the obsidian bars.

"Speak with respect!" he shouts.

Sabrina shrieks and there's a thump of her thrashing against the stone wall of her cell.

The Collector sashays up to the bars, tsking. "Dear girl, I am the one who holds your freedom in my hands."

I step around the Collector's birdies to survey my prisoner. Sabrina Panthera's hair is a dirty dark brown nest around her head. Mascara and the remnants of makeup are smeared down her cheeks. She only has obsidian shackles on her wrists and ankles now, and last night I threw a linen smock at her to cover her skin. It's the Clawson's responsibility to empty the waste bucket in the corner, but they haven't.

Someone is going to lose a body part tonight.

"Water," Sabrina heaves. "Please. Water."

The Collector darts me a sharp look. I jerk my chin at the tiger closest to the water bottle.

"She's allowed half a litre a day," I shrug. "She's fine."

Sabrina casts me a dark look before snatching the water bottle from the tiger and gulping down most of her day's quota before clutching the bottle to her chest like a child's doll.

"Now, Miss Panthera." The Collector stares hard at Sabrina. "I want you to listen to me."

The Collector outlines what she wants, her eagle servant showing her a few pictures on his phone.

All the blood drains from the little leopard's face. "That—That's impossible!" Sabrina splutters in disbelief. "I'm good at manipulating tiny things, a genius even, but that small? You're all mad." She shakes her head. "Barking mad."

The Clawson tiger shoves his cattle prod through the bars again.

Sabrina violently flinches and grimaces, the pain forcing her back to arch before she slumps down on a pathetic sob. The Clawson prods have a sharper bite than the academy equipment.

"I won't do it!" Sabrina sobs into the stone floor. "I won't! "

The Collector turns around and raises a perfectly sculpted black brow.

I sigh dramatically, taking a set of keys from my pocket and unlocking the cell. "You leave me no choice, spotty cat."

She sticks her chin out stubbornly. I grab her by the arm, but she slumps and folds her legs under her, refusing to walk.

The Clawson tiger grabs her other arm, and together, we carry her like a naughty toddler through a series of corridors, her shins dragging on the floor behind us.

It gets colder down here and quieter. Where it's quieter still, I open a steel door, leading to a wide, bleached white room. One wall is a metal unit containing three rows of large square metal drawers.

"I did my research," I state mildly. "You don't like small spaces."

Sabrina recognises the room immediately. Probably from some crime TV show she watches in her spare time. She thrashes madly in my grip, like prey thinking its last moments are near.

"Do what we ask," I say, pulling open one of the human-sized drawers with my free hand. Normally, these are refrigerated, but I keep this one running at a balmy twelve degrees Celsius. These dragons really do think of everything.

Sabrina screams.

We wrestle her into a lying down position at the bottom of the drawer and I latch metal chains to her four limb shackles to keep her horizontal.

"Do what we ask, "I repeat as I secure her wrist, "and all this stops."

Turning around, I get out my phone and set my timer for three hours. The Collector watches all of this from the doorway, her mouth twisted into a small smile.

"You're insane!" Sabrina sobs, pulling against her restraints. "All of you, insane! "

She has no idea. I shove the cadaver drawer closed with a resounding bang.

Huffing a laugh, I brush my palms together for a job well done.