Lost Hope (Wildcat Wizard Book 6) Page 5

  "She didn't say if anyone was after her? If it was other fae or something else?"

  "There was no time. I took the girls into the other room, but when I returned she was trembling and looked like she was almost on fire. She was struggling with something, some kind of weird magic, and then the room went wobbly."

  "This is crazy. Sasha's pretty much indestructible. What next?"

  "Then the tiny Paths began to pop up, and faery dust spilled out. She warned me to get back but the girls came rushing in and began to shout when the walls wobbled, so they jumped onto the table. Sasha panicked, tried to close the Paths, but one just opened up and swallowed her whole. Then I called you." George shook her shoulders. This was out of her league, way beyond her newbie status as a fledgling witch and inexperienced faery.

  "Okay, let's just stay put and let me think for a minute. This room is way too familiar."

  George studied the library while I dredged through old memories. It was hard. I'd been to so many places, seen so much, survived so much, that it was nigh on impossible to place a single room I may have only been in once. Was it a client's? It looked like the kind of place I'd seen a hundred times before. Wizards loved this type of set-up. Or a collector? Someone I'd stolen from? Could be any of those things, but I didn't think so. This was something else.

  But what?

  "Dad!" whispered George, and I looked in the direction she was staring.

  I grabbed her shoulder and said, "No," as she began to move to Sasha. "Stay here. Don't get any closer. This is not real, this isn't her."

  "What are you talking about? Sasha, it's us, over here." George waved at Sasha who was slowly descending the stairs, running a hand down the rail as it curved.

  She ignored us, eyes downcast, her movements sluggish and forlorn. She was listless, like the life had been sucked out of her, and worst of all, she didn't sparkle. She still had a body any woman would die for and any man would sell his soul to touch, but it had lost that special something, that true spark of youth, vitality, and ageless beauty that was synonymous with many fae but which Sasha had in such abundance it often hurt to look at her.

  Several tiny specks of faery dust danced from her like lint then drifted heavily to the carpet before disappearing, and then Sasha was at the bottom of the stairs, standing there looking so sad I wanted to cry. Still she ignored us.

  The image flickered and then she was gone, a ghost memory, a vibration through the magical ether. It jogged my memory.

  "What's happening?" asked George.

  "It's the memory of her. Magic leaves an imprint, especially in times of stress, and this was where Sasha was the most stressed in her life, or almost. She's not here, though, she's somewhere else.

  "She looked so sad? What happened to her?"

  It all came flooding back, the memories of the first time I saw her, of how I knew, just knew, that I had to do something. That this was a very special woman and I would do all in my power to save her.

  "She was captured, imprisoned. This was where she was held, in this house, made to do awful things, truly awful things. Abused, tortured, everything you can imagine, and a lot you can't."

  "This is that place?"

  "Yeah. But I saved her."

  "Why is this happening? What's going on?"

  "I wish I knew. But we were brought here for a reason. Maybe she's trying to tell us something?"

  "What?"

  I scratched at my beard with the tip of Wand. "I have absolutely no idea."

  Then the room began to wobble and the walls burst in on us. A Path sprang open and knowing we had no choice, I took George's hand and led her through.

  Clutchy Hands

  "I don't like this," George whispered into my ear, so close that it made me jump.

  I settled my nerves as it wouldn't do to act afraid in front of my daughter, and said, "Don't worry, you're Wonder Woman and I'm Batman. Um, or maybe the Joker." I mused on my choice of superheroes, ignoring the fact we were in a damp cellar of some sort. It was large, musty, the rough-hewn stone walls were weeping water, and the floor was nothing but sour straw. It stank of faery bodily excretions. Not a bad smell, sweet and somehow comforting, and that's enough to make you question your life and the things you've done.

  I knew the smell because I'd been here before. I checked behind now my eyes were accustomed to the dark but the Path was gone. Just us, the prison, and the scent of faery poo.

  "This was where Sasha was held captive. Where she spent a lot of her time."

  "How on earth did anyone imprison Sasha? She's super powerful, scary too. But so adorable," George said hurriedly, as if my faery godmother, her tutor in all things fae, might hear.

  "I'm still not a hundred percent sure how it happened. Sasha told me the tale, but even now I find it hard to believe the guy had the balls to do it. Anyway, if she wants to tell you she will, but this is the place. Same building, we're in the basement. It's pretty vast if I recall, a lot of rooms. Plenty of nasty, twisted stuff went on down here. I wonder if the building is actually real. I thought it would be long gone by now. Assumed Sasha would have razed it to the ground."

  I couldn't recall if she had or not. My concern was for her and freeing her, which I did after a rather epic battle and some very smart moves on my part, even if I do say so myself. After she was freed, we talked long into the night in this house, much of it in the library, and she bestowed my gift on me. She became my faery godmother that day and promised to do her best to protect me. Then she went to put her captor through the worst torture she could imagine. It went on for a very long time, months maybe years, and in that time I saw Sasha return to the woman we both knew today.

  Fae are beautiful and some are kind, but all are cruel, and none will stand for an attack on them personally. She'd been defiled, imprisoned, made to do things against her will. Insulted and beaten and many other things I'm not at liberty to divulge, but she hadn't been broken. Her indomitable will was intact, and I was very glad she was on my side.

  So why this place? And how?

  The room suddenly brightened and we gasped as the source of light sharpened then became as real as anything else in this life, albeit only temporary. I guess exactly like life then.

  "This was where I first found her," I told George.

  "In a cage!?"

  "Yes, like a prize animal. Look at her, see what they did to our friend?"

  "This guy was a monster. I hope he suffered."

  I turned to my daughter and waited until she looked at me. "George, he was a terrible man, the worst kind of human imaginable. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he enjoyed it. The things he did to her... Ugh. But, but," I held up my finger, "the things she did, our friend, the beautiful woman who would do anything for us, were much worse."

  "But he deserved it," protested George.

  "Did he? What did he deserve for being cruel and enjoying the torture he inflicted on our friend?"

  "To be punished." I saw the confusion, the wavering of certainty, and it was nothing I hadn't been through myself many, many times over the years and the numerous encounters I'd had with men much more evil than myself.

  "So, to punish someone who is foul, rotten to the core, you inflict the cruelties back on them tenfold?"

  "I guess. Um, I don't know. What should you do? Let them get away with it?"

  "No, of course not. But does torture and the worst kind of treatment as revenge make it any more acceptable than if done by someone who did it for fun?"

  "You're saying Sasha is cruel?"

  "That's not what I'm saying. Okay, it is, and yes, she is. She's fae. Sasha was almost broken when I found her, but she held on and would have until she died, but the things she did to the man who took her really did take her to the edge. She didn't enjoy it, hated it, made her sick to her stomach, but she did it regardless, as she felt he deserved it. But is cruelty justified if the acts are done with a different motive? Is there a difference? It hurts the same, hurts everyone involved.
She was made to suffer twice. Once being a captive, once being the captor. Which one is worse? You tell me, because I don't know."

  "So what's the answer?"

  "Be nice, and don't turn your back on anyone."

  "Kind of bleak."

  "I know, but it stops the bastards shooting you as you walk away."

  The mood darkened further after my lecture. We turned back to stare at the memory ghost of our friend. Sasha was curled up on the floor, clothes ragged, hair dull and unruly, smeared in dirt. There was a pile of excrement in the corner, and the rotten straw was cloying.

  She was shackled hand and foot, her flesh red raw from the manacles. The prison was made of evenly spaced bars, glowing white with magic, there as much to stop magic getting in as her getting out. She was stuck, unable to open a Path, or call for help. Defenseless and alone. Scared.

  Maybe the guy that did this deserved exactly what he got. I'm in no position to judge.

  What's Next?

  Sasha looked up, her head still resting on her knees, and stared at the steel door as it opened. There was nobody there but she flinched as if somebody had spoken, and then she nodded her head and said something.

  There was no sound, as if the scene had been muted, and as she spoke and then began to argue defiantly, it was clear she was having a conversation with her captor, his presence clearly not meant to be shown.

  She was the focus of whatever was going on here, and anyone else was of zero importance. We were witnessing her suffering, maybe memories, maybe ghost images caught in the weird places that occupy the space between the very limited reality most experience.

  Sasha scrambled to the corner of her cell and shook her head, refusing a request. She looked up and shouted something angrily. I'd never seen her so livid. Her features were always soft and full of love, but there was no love there now. Only fear, and a deep, burning hatred.

  And then she was gone. A quick flicker of the image of her in her cell and we were left in a musty room, empty of any sign of what had happened here all those years ago.

  "Poor Sasha," said George.

  "Poor Sasha," I agreed.

  A Path opened in the far corner of the room, a black portal as dark as my thoughts when I recalled this time.

  "Shall we?" I asked.

  "What choice do we have?" asked George, wiping her eyes.

  "There's always a choice, honey. We could open the door, go see if we're really in this building or if it's all a mirage."

  "But we need to find Sasha. We need to help her."

  "We do. But we also need to think about Vicky and the girls. I haven't had chance to tell you, but we had a few issues after we got paid by Juice. He, er, kind of released the Hangman, killed his mum, and we left him outside Vicky's in a very nice sports car."

  "The Hangman?" asked George, confused.

  "No, Juice. Not sure which would be worse to be honest."

  "He really killed his mum? He doted on her. She did everything for him."

  "Guess it was time for a change. Anyway, he might be conscious. Or the Hangman might be coming. Actually, he will be coming. All this might be taking no time at all, you know how Paths work, but it might also be taking ages."

  "What should we do?"

  "What do you think we should do?"

  George thought for about a half second then nodded at me. We both knew what had to be done. "We go check on Vicky and the girls."

  "Right. Sasha is family, but two young girls might need our help. Vicky's tough, and might even be able to handle Juice as he won't expect her to be quite as deranged as she is, but we can't take that risk. Damn, I never wanted the girls anywhere near this stuff. And it's past their bedtime."

  George stepped away, and I was so proud of her for thinking of others rather than herself, as Sasha was her lifeline to Faery. She stilled, then sparkled as she drew magic into herself from places I could never access.

  A Path opened before her, a way back home to our world, our time, and it grew until it was large enough to step through.

  The other Path in the corner of the room began to pulse and throb, as if angry at the competition, so we linked hands, nodded to each other, and ran.

  Into something altogether weirder than my day had already been. And remember, earlier I was watching Vicky doing gross, suggestive things to slimy tentacles.

  Depressing Skies

  "Don't let go," I shouted above the roar of the elements as the wind battered us and debris flew in every direction.

  "Didn't plan on it," George shouted back, gripping my hand with both of hers for dear life.

  I strained against the weight, trying not to picture my arm being pulled from its socket, as I took tiny steps away from the ledge. A few inches more and I would have toppled right over, but I leaned back, managing to counter the weight.

  "Damn, what have you been eating?" I shouted.

  "We had ice cream earlier."

  "What, an ice cream van?" I grunted as I yanked hard, my shoulder screaming in agony. But I wouldn't let go, not for anything. I'd rather lose the arm than my daughter.

  The quick glance I'd had of what lay beneath was enough to ensure I never let her go, because there was nothing, just emptiness. Not darkness, not a long drop, just empty of everything. My guess was, this wasn't what George had in mind with her Path. Something had gone seriously wonky.

  I reached out behind me and felt around on the sheer rock face until I found a crevice I could grip on to. With the extra leverage, I heaved back and George managed to get a knee on the ledge.

  The relief was instant, and then she was there beside me as my hand fell limply to my side and all color drained from my fingers. I shook them out and slowly raised my arm; it was still connected, so yay me.

  George was on all fours, panting and shaking with nervous energy. My head just hurt.

  "What happened?" I gasped, sticking to the rock where the wind wasn't trying to rip me into the abyss.

  George crawled forward and I hauled her up before she backed up against the rock and turned. "Not sure. It felt right, but just as we went through something shifted. Where is this place?"

  "Trust me, you don't want to know."

  "Does that mean you won't tell me, or you will and then I'll freak out."

  "Don't think about it. Can you try again? I think we'll be fine this time. Just focus, don't let this place get to you, and we'll be outta here. And when you get through, tell Juice that if he let's anyone get hurt, he'll have me to answer to. I think he'll behave, and if not, then you have my permission to kill him."

  "Dad, you're talking like you aren't coming."

  "Oh, I have every intention of coming, but I'm wiped out, so you might have to step in. You up for that?"

  "I don't know. I'm not much of a fighter."

  "No, but you're a kick-ass faery and you know your fair share of magic."

  "Okay, I'll give it my best shot. But you'll be all right, you've dealt with worse."

  "Sure have, honey. Come on, let's go."

  The wind picked up; tiny shards of rock, dry leaves, grit, and sand scoured our flesh. We'd be skeletons if this went on much longer. George focused and a new Path opened. This time I knew it would all work out.

  We held hands, and cautiously George led the way. With a single step she was inside. As I was dragged forward and she was sucked through time and space to be transported through the places between places, I felt the connection with the other end. It was home, or Vicky's home, right in the dining room where this had begun.

  I pulled free of George, too late for her to return, and slammed back against the rock.

  The portal contracted to a tiny black dot then winked out of existence.

  I was going solo on this one.

  Searching for Clues

  I scrambled up the rock face, the going tough. Okay, fine, I took bloody hours to go about fifteen feet as I was beyond exhausted, I had next to zero magic, and my arm hurt. Plus, I think I'd done something to my kneecap as
it kept making a grinding noise, a worse one than usual. My heart wasn't in it really. I found it impossible to muster the willpower or the focus and I just couldn't be arsed.

  Not that I was beaten down or anything, and I certainly wasn't about to give up, but I was feeling low and the longer I stayed here the more depressed I got.

  I kept thinking of George, Vicky, and the girls, hoping they were safe. Somehow, I knew they would be. George would do what it took if Juice played up. He may have been a matricidal maniac but he was also terrified of women, and George was so pretty she'd been known to leave men gasping for breath just by walking by.

  What was really getting me down was the place itself. That, and life.

  This was the realm of the Hangman.

  How he'd warped George's Paths so one led here was disturbing, but that's what you get when you screw with beings from the Nolands. And this was the Nolands. A tiny slice of purgatory he could call his own. Where he'd wiled away the centuries ever since he was summoned into reality by some numpty back in the day.

  I guess it was all tied up with Juice bringing him over to our side. He'd been unleashed so his power was usable, and he'd clearly wasted no time.

  Did this mean he'd followed us? Found the turmoil at Vicky's and infiltrated the Paths, used his powers to warp one and drag us here?

  Questions, questions. No bloody answers.

  So I climbed, badly, and did my best not to sink into utter despair. Where was Sasha? How was she? Why the trip down memory lane?

  With those thoughts, I dragged myself over the lip of the embarrassingly short cliff and lay on dusty ground, breathing ragged, praying for some energy. No point asking Wand, he was still out of it and would be until I could spare the time to focus on the Quiet Place and get some much needed magic. And to be honest, his pick-me-up had such a bad comedown I would prefer to suffer than get the high then such a severe low again.

  Why did I stay behind at all? Why didn't I go with George and kick the living daylights out of Juice then figure out how to save Sasha? Because I knew that if the Hangman had called me here, got me here by whatever means he had, then it wouldn't be long before he showed up. He had to be here to have brought us, and that meant he wasn't trying to string the girls up from the trees in the garden.