Lisa fidgets, but can barely move.
The thick straps of the straitjacket firmly hug her torso. Hanging from her ankles, she slightly swings back and forth, her brown locks dangling only a few inches from the floor. The room around her is dimly lit. There is only one thing she can see: A large red button resting on a small pedestal a few feet away from her.
Before she was locked into the jacket, several electrodes had been placed on her naked body. The transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation, or TENS, machine was designed for neurological therapy and testing. It delivers painful, but ultimately harmless electrical shocks. Sadomasochistic fetishists looking for a new thrill adopted the device.
In her Mistress’ arsenal, it’s the most feared weapon. Lisa experienced it before, but the sheer number of electrodes placed on various areas of her body, some of them quite sensitive, dwarfs anything previously.
The sudden sound of metal scraping on the floor gives her a start. She tries to work her head around to where she can see what’s happening, but darkness obscures all but her immediate surroundings. The noise circles her, just outside her view. No mystery surrounds the source of the sound, but that doesn’t make her feel any better.
Eventually, Penelope drags the metal chair into the light and places it beside the button. The Mistress sits and crosses her shapely legs. Looking the girl over, she slowly moves her hand toward the red toggle. Lisa gasps and braces herself, closing her eyes tight.
After a few moments, she gingerly opens them. Penelope taps a nail on the button but does not press it. Relaxing slightly, Lisa takes a deep breath and tries to calm her nerves. It proves impossible, so long as her Mistress’ finger is on the button.
“I’m not unreasonable,” Penelope finally says. “I know accidents will happen. I don’t expect perfection. Perfection would be boring. I’d never get to punish anyone for anything. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lisa answers with a nervous gulp.
“But not all accidents are created equal. Spilling a drink on me anytime would be unacceptable. Doing it in front of a guest? That’s even worse.” The Mistress pauses for a moment, her finger hovering over the switch and her lips pursed. “Doing it in front of...her.”
Penelope presses down on the button with two fingers. Lisa’s shriek echoes in the mostly empty room. She twists in her restraints, her hair whipping about wildly. Penelope watches the display for a few seconds before releasing the toggle.
Lisa drops down with a gasp. Her Mistress is entirely indifferent to her pain. Penelope circles the button with her finger. “Breathe,” she instructs absently.
Obeying, Lisa takes deep, stabilizing breaths. Her struggles send her swaying side to side. Penelope follows the arc with her emerald eyes. “You just had to spill a drink on me in front of that horrible little monster. She laughed in my face, Lisa. In my face.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Lisa whimpers.
“You know the rules, Lisa. Punishment first, then an apology. You don’t think we’re done already, do you?”
Electricity races through Lisa’s body again. She screams and curls up into a ball. Penelope holds the button down longer, casually checking the fingernails of her free hand. When she halts the shocks, Lisa drops down harder. A whimper escapes her as her weight falls to her ankles. The drop sends her into a wider swing.
“Might want to be careful with those drops,” Penelope suggests. “Don’t want to hurt your ankles. Just the rest of you,” she finishes with a smirk.
“Please, Mistress,” Lisa pleads in between heavy breaths, “I’m sorry.”
Penelope has no response. She only stares and reaches for the button again. Lisa grimaces and prepares herself for another blast. Before the toggle can be activated, light pours into the room as a door swings open and a short, auburn-haired woman rushes in.
“Mistress! Mistress!” she cries, the chain hanging from her collar jingles as she runs. Penelope rises as the submissive comes to a stumbling halt in front of her. “There’s…there’s…there’s…” she stammers, jabbing her finger toward the door.
“Calm down,” the Mistress commands in a hard tone. “What?”
The woman just stares, wide-eyed. “There’s…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Move!” Penelope snaps. She’s not in the mood for hysterics. The submissive hops out of the way and then follows close behind as her Mistress storms past. “I’ll be right back, Lisa,” she assures without looking back. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Lisa only whimpers in impotent anguish as she sways. The slamming of the door sends her back into near-complete darkness.
Penelope’s heels clop through the hallway. “This had better be important,” she warns. No answer comes from the submissive, but Penelope gets the sense that she’s confident it’s worth her Mistress’ time. When they return to the club area, Penelope freezes.
The crowd is gone. Tables are still covered with half-empty drinks and half-full ashtrays, but the people have fled. Her submissives stand around, not certain what to do. Except for Jeremy. He stands tall, defiantly glaring at the only two people who remain.
Adrian Blackwell looks the place over with smug scrutiny. He runs a finger over the bar and inspects it. Matthew is more intrigued by a cushioned piece of furniture whose function he can’t quite figure out. He notes the leather cuffs dangling from various strategic places.
Penelope scowls at her guests. “What is going on here? Who are you?”
With a casual glance, Adrian turns to her. “You must be Penelope Morneau.”
“I know who I am.” The Mistress stalks toward the brothers, her submissives parting before her. “I asked who you are, and I expect an answer.”
“My name is Adrian Blackwell.” Penelope comes to a sudden stop. “This is my brother, Matthew. We have a few questions for you.”
Emerald eyes hold their poise. They focus intently. Magic surges within her. She curses to herself and makes a mental note to slap Eleanor the next time she sees her.
“Blackwell, you say,” she says casually. “I’ve heard of your House.”
“Most have.”
She offers a slight nod. “Why don’t you gentlemen have a seat in my parlor? We can discuss your questions.”
Without waiting for an answer, Penelope makes for her throne, the velvet rope pulled back before her. As she passes Jeremy, she makes meaningful eye contact. Jeremy has been on thin ice for weeks, but he knows her better than any of them. He will know what to do.
Adrian follows, eyeing the submissives that surround him. He senses no magic from any of them, so their numbers are irrelevant. He gestures for Matthew to stay put and his brother nods in compliance. He returns his focus to the odd bench.
Jeremy takes the opportunity to slink away.
Penelope sits on her throne and crosses her legs, calmly placing her hands on her knee. Her guest sits on the adjacent loveseat. “So,” the Mistress begins, “what was it I can do for you?”
“I want to know everything you know about Jessica Blackwell.”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Penelope answered convincingly.
“Really? She was just in here not half an hour ago.”
Penelope shrugs. “It’s a busy night, or at least it was before you arrived. There were many people here. I didn’t know them all.”
An under-appreciated part of being a good liar is being able to tell whether or not the lie is accepted. Penelope’s eyes remain passive, almost bored, but they see everything. At least they would if there was anything to see. Adrian Blackwell is as immovable as stone. His dark eyes stare inscrutably and his handsome features remain hard. If Penelope had been at a poker table, she would have folded. But there is more than chips on the line.
“She’s bound to someone, and I want to know who.”
“Your sister is a demon?”
Adrian narrows his eyes. “She’s not my sister, and you know damn well what she is.”
Even as Penelope shakes her head in faux aggravation, she prepares to unleash a spell on her interrogator. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Blackwell. I think it best if you leave.”
Prepared as she was, Adrian catches her off-guard as he shoots out of his seat like a bullet and seizes her by the neck. The surprise causes her to react with little more than a stunned gasp. She clutches his wrist and futilely tries to pry his hand away.
Try as she might, she can’t help but give in to fear. Adrian’s eyes burn with fury and her breaths grow difficult. He speaks in a thunderous tone. “I want a name, Morneau! Who is she bound to?”
With a sudden jerk, Adrian takes the Mistress from her throne and casts her out into the club. Penelope tumbles across the floor to the outrage and terror of her subs. A few step toward Adrian, but a simple gesture sends them to their backs. Burgundy hair whips as Penelope jerks her head up from the floor with a terrible scowl.
“Stay back! All of you!” she orders as she rises to face Blackwell. Power flows to her hands as she prepares a counterattack. In her zeal, she forgets he isn’t alone.
Soft blue light rounds her wrists. Identical energy dances at Matthew’s fingertips. He spreads his arms out wide and Penelope’s limbs follow suit. The magic flows off the younger Blackwell’s hands. The circles mirror the actions, stretching Penelope’s frame.
A curse of pain escapes her as her arms are pulled to their very limits. Adrian steps up to her and takes a handful of dark red locks. Yanking the Mistress’ head to the side produces another painful outburst, this time followed by a defiant growl.
“Name!” he demands.
“Go to hell!” Penny spits.
A hard slap sends Penelope’s head lolling. She tries to fight the arcane restraint that holds her, but the spell is powerful and a dizzy sensation is not going to help. Seemingly knowing this, Adrian delivers another shot across her cheek.
The Mistress focuses enough to locate her attacker and responds in a non-magical way. Adrian jerks back as spit splatters on his face. Quickly wiping away the saliva, Adrian fumes and balls up his fist. Before his closed-fist strike can land, Jeremy rushes back into the room and smashes a liquor bottle over his head.
“No!” Penelope screams. “Jeremy, get back!”
Jeremy stares in shock as Adrian slowly turns to face him, none the worse for wear. Powerful arms snap out and seize Jeremy’s head. Adrian roughly spins to face Penelope, dragging Jeremy along. He glares at her with an impatient scowl. “Give me a name or I will pop his head off. And that will only be the beginning.”
Rage courses through Penelope, but has nowhere to go. Their issues aside, Jeremy is dear to her. She will tear Adrian’s heart out if he hurts him.
But Eleanor is her friend. She was in love with her once. Part of her still is. The last thing she wants to do is sic the dogs on her. Then again, Jeremy is helpless. Eleanor can defend herself. Sure, the Blackwells are more powerful than her, but so were Cassandra Crane, Jon Lassiter, and Morgan Cross.
Still, Eleanor buried them all.
“Warwick,” she finally answers, hanging her head. “Eleanor Warwick.”
Adrian narrows his eyes, searching her for deceit. Satisfied, he nods. “Warwick, huh? I’ve heard the name. Thank you for your cooperation.”
With a sudden, effortless motion, Adrian twists Jeremy’s head around to its snapping point.
Penelope’s emerald eyes widen in horrifying shock. Her submissives howl in terror and rage. A few charge Adrian, but they don’t get far. Adrian meets them and maliciously smashes his way through the group.
Jeremy’s lifeless body stares up at Penelope from the floor. A single tear runs down her soft cheek before the sounds of the violence snap her out of it.
Adrian seizes her doorman by the throat and slams his head against the floor hard enough for a splattering crack to ring through the club. His blood lust unsatisfied, he turns his attention to those who choose to cower. He pops his knuckles as he looms menacingly over them.
A furious growl escapes Penelope as power churns within her. Pain tingles at Matthew’s fingertips. He grits his teeth as his spell shudders. Finally, the bonds holding the Mistress shatter. Matthew stumbles backward, tripping over a chair.
As soon as her heels hit the floor, Penelope rushes toward Adrian. A quick spell morphs her hand into a sharp blade and she drives it toward him with deadly intent. The blade is inches from Adrian’s skin when he spins and catches the Mistress’ wrist.
Penelope gasps, her eyes bulging, as he drives his fist into her stomach. She drops to her hands and knees, struggling to catch her breath. A hard kick to her ribs sends the Mistress tumbling across the floor.
Adrian approaches slowly, rotating his neck. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the intense pain in her side, Penelope bursts into flames. Adrian takes a step back as the Mistress rises to her feet, tall and defiant. Fire dances along her figure, a bright orange-red light pouring from her eyes. Her hair gives way to a writhing tangle of flames.
The display is frightening, even to one such as Adrian Blackwell. Such is the power of fire. The very sight of it conjures a trepidation that has accompanied humanity since the caves. Fire is useful, necessary even, but it is also capricious, turning on its creator at a moment’s notice. Its inferno spares no one and devours everything. As dangerous as it is as a foe, fire is far more dangerous when one considers it an ally.
Before Penelope can take a single step forward, she feels a strange tremble wash over her as another’s magic slips beneath hers. She jerks her head around to glare at Matthew just as the younger Blackwell snaps his fingers.
Penelope shrieks in spite of herself as a burst of energy cast the fires away from her. The flames leap out, licking the walls, furniture, and drapery around them. Penelope, her image returning to normal, staggers momentarily. It’s more time than Adrian needs. He sets upon her and delivers a hard strike to her temple.
The world melts away from Penelope before she hits the ground.
Adrian stares down at her, his knuckles red with blood. He glances at the flames that began to spread through the club. “Let’s go,” he says to Matthew. “Let her burn.”
He steps over the fallen Mistress, and the brothers Blackwell leave as flames swallow House Morneau.
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