Chapter Twelve
“Boss, this is really something like out ofSaw.”
Cadmus figured that was a compliment. Billy Bob’s voice was filled with awe as he surveyed the root cellar. With Jordy’s help, Cadmus had installed a shiny new work prep table that he was able to locate in a restaurant supply depot. It was long and sturdy. Thinking of the man-wolf’s large torso, it would be enough for his purposes. Especially as he had purchased a set of premium tools for butchery, and a small rack on wheels on which to have them laid out for use.
At the same store, he was able to find freestanding candleholders in a design that he could tolerate. No doubt they were meant for restaurant decor, but he would repurpose them for his dark needs, the large pillar candles already inscribed with forbidden symbols and anointed with oils specially blended with the ingredients he had to wait so patiently for.
He had Jordy bring in earth from the grounds outside, and together they spread it in a circle around the metal table, sprinkling in some more of the dried roots and powders he had acquired. Fortunately all of the prep work, which had necessitated various incantations and mapping out of the cardinal points, was done before Billy Bob showed up, his errands completed. The brain-challenged duncekept chattering as if that would excuse his failure.
He was unable to find the tranq dart cartridges they had used.
He didn’t know if it was because of Billy Bob’s incompetence, or because it was impossible to find such tiny items in the wild. There was a tiny, infinitesimal chance that the man-wolf had gone back to find it, but even with that improbability, the problem would be solved once Cadmus tracked him down. Soon.
Themagick’dtracking amulet would be the last item on the agenda tonight. Cadmus didn’t miss the smirk of satisfaction on Jordy’s face at Billy Bob’s failure. He made a note of that competitiveness and drive to succeed at another’s expense. Such a petty flaw, but one that would make her easy to manipulate.
At least in Billy Bob’s babbling there was one piece of good news. Like the man-wolf, the surrounding areas were teeming with fit young men, some of whom as solitary hikers would not even be reported missing right away. Better still, some might not even be from the local area, which would further delay reports of their disappearance.
It was another point in this area’s favor for the Relocation Sweepstakes.
Jordy was paying close attention, and Cadmus took care to emphasize how pleased he would be if this new ritual space would see many young men brought into it, putting the newly acquired table and tools to good use. He pointedly praised Billy Bob for that piece of intel, and was satisfied to see Jordy sneaking some of the filled tranq darts that he had her move into the root cellar from upstairs.
She was such a weakling. So easy to manipulate.
He made sure to speak coldly and dismissively to her when she had to leave to start her work shift at the Faire, acting as if he were questioning his decision to bring her on. He also praised Billy Bob to the heavens. Billy Bob stood there beaming, believing that Cadmus meant it. Cadmus had to choke back his sarcastic tone, but it was worth it. He could tell that Jordy was dying inside.
Not literally, of course. That would be a waste of a potential recruit. But exacting torment, whether psychological or physical, was delicious to him. And he was going to make sure she was tethered to him through his deft handling of her insecurities.
She finally left, with one last, lingering look filled with woe.
It was too bad for her that she wouldn’t get to hang around and watch what was about to take place in the root cellar.
Bound and gagged, and slowly coming to, was the tranquilized form of a male hiker in his twenties. He was fit, although only a shadow of the magnificent man-wolf’s muscularity or height. But he would do. Cadmus picked up one of the new blades, beginning the incantation that would consecrate it for ritual purpose. As the flickering candlelight glinted off the sharp metal edge, the male’s eyes widened.
“He’s awake, Boss!” Billy Bob announced helpfully.
The male began to scream against the filthy cloth tied around his mouth.
* * *
“I will not waste one minute of my time with this ‘behavior coach’!”
The words rang out in the largest, most beautiful kitchen that Lily had ever walked into. She finally heard his voice, the voice that went along with that electrifying look – only to have it shatter her illusions.
She should have expected it, guessed what he was all along. After all, she’d been instantly drawn to him, so what else would he be?
Asshole.
And then the three that had started all this, with their overgrown five-year-old act in the Staff Caff, decided to surpass themselves.
They all started hollering at once, a cacophony of deep, male voices saying things like:Mine eyes are blinded by your beauty! Surely the heavens are missing a celestial being! Hast thou emergeth from a flamepit? Because thou art a source of heat! Aside from being comely, how dost thee while thy hours?
This had to be a joke. A cruel, elaborate joke. Or maybe Simon was trying out a new act for the Faire.Let’s see how Medieval Catcalling will go over for the dinner crowd!But then she caught Simon’s stricken look. The pleading in his eyes to not just turn around and leave. He couldn’t be that good an actor. And besides, she needed the money. She’d play along. Or maybe even take what he had said to her at face value. It certainly sounded legit at the time, although granted being offered triple pay and she would have believed the earth was flat.
Simon had said these bodyguards came from a mysterious country in Europe but he couldn’t tell her anything more, because they were political refugees. Something hush hush involving a federal agency usually referred to by three initials, and it wasn’t the IRS.
Her job would be to help them assimilate, so they would blend in and not be easily tracked down by an equivalent agency from their country. Given that they already stood out, with their builds and heights, not to mention a propensity for being loud and attention getting, she had quite the task on her hands.
But…political refugees. That spoke to some pain, some realistic expectation of persecution for being what they were, what they believed in. She had to respect that, and possibly, like her preschoolers they were acting this way as a mechanism to deal with fear, grief, rage.
