Chapter 27: The Irish Witch & The Dark King
In which Simon Fassell learns about Harry Potter, Maura learns about doing the hard thing, and James is an unflappably smooth bastard.
Pawing through Maura's open suitcase, Fassell pulled out a lacy pair of undies. Putting the fabric to his nose for an appreciative sniff, he chuckled as he watched her lip curl in disgust. Waving with his gun hand, he ordered one of the men, "Bring all the bitch's stuff. We're going to have a fashion show, MacLaren! My little golden snatch."
The guard closing her suitcase suddenly chuckled. He paled when Third in Command's glare turned on him. "What's so fucking funny?" Fassell snarled.
"Uh, Harry Potter, sir. It was funny- the Golden Snatch?" The man was beginning to sweat. "Y'know, Quidditch? The Golden Snitch? The Golden Snatch? Brilliant, Mr. Fassell."
Head tilted as he stared at his guard blankly, Fassell suddenly burst into laughter. "That is pretty fucking funny." Walking back over to Maura, he took the panties he was still holding and shoved them in her mouth, pushing her jaw closed. "Now, slut, we're walking out the front door and you're going to keep that pretty pink mouth closed and behave like a lady. If I see even a peek of those panties, I'm shooting fucking Pine in both knees. Am I clear?"
Maura hissed around her gag, making him chuckle indulgently. Looking over her shoulder at O'Connell's still form as they yanked her from the suite, she thought desperately,Please, you stubborn Irishman! Don't be dead - someone will find you soon - don't you dare die!
She was marched out of the hotel and directly onto a small boat tethered in the resort's dock. To her disgust, Fassell insisted on putting her on his lap for the boat ride out to the yacht. Zip-tying her hands together, he squeezed her breasts tauntingly, laughing at her sneer. The yacht was gigantic- the largest in the bay, covered in gilt and gold leaf.
Fassell hustled Maura down the hallway, passing a huge stateroom where several Saudis were taking tea. "Be with you in a moment, gentlemen." He reached over to painfully squeeze a breast. "Just getting my little troublemaker below deck." She narrowed her eyes, the men staring back at her with indifference or lust.
One of the guards opened a cabin door and Fassell yanked her inside. Throwing Maura onto the bed, he held out an impatient hand to Nicholas, who handed him a brown leather kit. "You've made quite a mess, you fucking bitch, so I've got some fires to put out with our investors. Why don't you just relax? You're going to need your energy." He reverently opened James's medical kit. "I've always wanted my own living, breathing flesh doll..."
Seeing the glint of the hypo, Maura twisted violently, breaking the needle off in her hip. "No! No no nononoo..." Her voice faded, her protests with it as she fell down the rabbit hole again.
***
"Fuck!" Fassell hissed irritably, yanking the broken piece of the needle from her, wiping at the trickle of blood with the sheet. He looked at the syringe, about half the dose was still there. "How long did a full dose of Pine's Pussy Juice keep this bitch under?"
Nicholas licked his lips nervously. "It was timed for about twelve hours of unconsciousness and another two, maybe three hours of immobility."
"Immobile, huh?" Fassell mused, a loathsome grin spreading across his face. "She can't move. But she can feel everything, right? Sight, hearing, taste all intact?"
Nicholas tried not to shudder. "Yes, Sir."
"Excellent," Fassell crooned. Nicholas noticed queasily that his boss was hugely hard. "Hmmm. I got the sheets all bloody. Not to worry-" he leaned down and ran a long sloppy lick up the side of Maura's face. "-the sheets are going to be soaking in your blood before I'm finished with you, my golden snatch."
Good humor restored, he chuckled and walked from the cabin’s door. Looking down, he saw Nicholas crouching in the hallway with his head in his hands. "Fucking pussy!" Fassell said contemptuously, "Watch the bitch. No one goes in without my order. Got it? GOT IT?" he snapped, kicking Nicholas hard in the ribs when he didn't respond quickly enough.
"Y -yes, Mr. Fassell," he groaned painfully. "Understood."
"Excellent." Fassell straightened his tie. "You might be worth keeping alive after all." Cheerfully whistling "Hail, Britannia," he walked up the stairs and disappeared on to the deck.
***
Walking through their old Belfast apartment, Maura looked around in confusion. This wasn't one of her nightmares she recognized; the place was quiet, she was alone.
"I must confess, girl. I've been picturing a bit more menace. More fire."
Maura spun around her heart in her throat. Squatting on the floor like a pile of black rags was a woman. Tsk'ing, her visitor rose to her feet, a good seven feet tall with hair, lips, and eyes black as pitch. "Queen Morrighan?" she gasped reverently. Her Gran told her so many stories about the Irish Witch she'd been named for that she knew the Black Queen as surely she knew herself.
"Indeed." The Queen circled her. "I must confess to some disappointment, my namesake. Are ye always so meek? Just layin' here as they torture your King?"
"That bastard Fassell- he drugged me! I have to wake up and find James!" Maura protested.
"An' yet, here you are..." Morrighan dragged a blackened talon along Maura's cheek. "Ye' fear to do the dark thing, the hard thing, lass? Perhaps you are not one o' mine, then."
"I killed my Da, and let my Ma do herself in, my Queen. I've done the hard thing!" Maura protested, both ashamed and angry. "I've killed men to save my partner-"
An imperious wave shut her up. "Not easy choices, lass, but clear ones. I saw ye cower today when your King made the choice as ye stood back."
Maura buried her fingers in her own hair, digging her nails into her scalp in frustration. "How much blood has to be shed! Must we drown in it?"
