Pathetic, she thought to herself, checking the door the guard had been stood in front. Fishing the keycard out of the guard’s pocket, she slid it into the lock and pushed it open, dragging the guard in after her and depositing him roughly in the corner, shutting the door after her and checking around the storeroom. She had to be quick, there was a routine patrol every 20 minutes and she was certain they’d notice his absence. She checked her watch, making a note of the time and then pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. It was an inventory number for one of these crates. She scanned along the list.
D3X-100-32-45-E
She strode purposefully forwards, checking the numbers on the crates until she found the right aisle, then stalked along it, ears pricked for any sound… then she stopped suddenly.
Was that… whimpering?
Progressing more slowly now, she kept her ears open. As she got closer to her target crate, the noises got louder too. She stopped right in front of the crate, gazing uncertainly at it. It wasn’t that long, maybe 3 or 4 feet long, a foot wide and maybe 10 inches or so deep and as she put a hand on it, she felt a shivering going through the wood, like something inside was trembling.
She checked her scratched Invicta watch. 5 of her 20 minutes had elapsed. She ought to just grab the crate and run, it was going to be bulky to carry out, but she could balance it on one shoulder and still run. At the same time, there was something alive in there, and, from a purely practical point of view if it moved while she was carrying it, she would most likely drop it, not to mention the stress she’d put it through. If it died while in transit, she wouldn’t forgive herself.
She slid the crate towards her. It took a considerable effort to make it slide as the board were pretty thick, and whatever was in there had to be a good 80/90 pounds inside. She felt the box shudder again and heard a soft cry from within. Ignoring the pain that lanced through her heart at that she forced herself to examine the crate. It was nailed shut. Why would you nail in a living thing? There were no obvious openings. So how were they feeding or cleaning out the thing in there?
She checked her watch again. 6 Minutes down. She needed to hurry up. She scanned the area around her and saw a crowbar nearby. Hefting it up, she slid the end under the boards and heaved. The nails were pretty short, probably to make this process easier, so it didn’t take her long to wrench off the first board…
And a horrible smell coshed her in the face. She knew that smell. Knew it intimately, and for a moment, the cellar door creaked open in her mind. It was the stench of old blood and fear. She forced herself to get a hold on herself… then, peered inside. She caught the sight of white skin, white cloth, and a lot of dark brown, almost black, blood. Systematically, dread growing in her heart, she managed to wrench the rest of the boards off and looked in.
It was what remained of a young man, his blonde hair slick with grease and blood, plastered to his mutilated face. His eyes and mouth had been sewn shut with neat, surgically precise stitches, but he’d clearly fought against them, dried blood crusting his cheeks and chin, a shock against his blanched skin. His face wasn’t even the worst part though. He was stripped totally naked, except for the bandages criss-crossing his damaged body, and while they did at least keep him decent, it in no way disguised the horror beneath them. His arms and legs had been sawn off. The legs ended just below his hips, his arms just below his shoulder joints. Each of the stubs had been neatly bandaged up, but they were now encrusted in blood.
She swore in fluent Russian, arms braced on the sides of the crate, anger flaming inside her. Anger at the way the boy had been treated, anger at herself for accepting this job, anger at her buyer for going against her strict codes. She didn’t do human transport. She never had. The boy flinched away from the unfamiliar sound, shivering as the cold air played over his defenceless body. And she felt a pang of regret, looking at his face again.
It was emaciated, hollows where his cheeks should be, but as he moved, she recognised him. They’d never exactly met, but she knew exactly who this young man was.
“Dex?” She demanded softly. “Goddamnit Dex. So this is where you vanished to.”
The boy inside writhed softly, making inarticulate pleading noises through his sewn up lips.
“It’s okay, I’m going to get you out of here,” She assured him softly. “Now, I’m going to lift you. I need you try to stay as still as possible for me because I don’t want to hurt you.”
He nodded. She shucked off her jacket, feeling the cold air of the warehouse playing over her bare arms and gently half-lifted Dex, sliding the jacket under him and wrapping him up in it, before easily lifting him into her arms as if he were a baby. He hissed in pain as she did, but she tried to be as gentle as possible, cradling his mutilated head.
“Now, I’m on a strict schedule, so we’re going to have to run,” She informed him. “Just relax, and please don’t wriggle too much.”
He clearly didn’t much like this idea, but she wasn’t giving him the choice. She checked her watch again. 15 minutes down. Crap. She was going to have to run.
“Here we go.”
Getting out of the compound was much harder than getting in, especially carrying the mutilated torso of a young man, but she managed. She had been expecting to be carrying a bulky crate, so she’d already set up the easy way out. By the time the guards set off the alarm, she was already in the grounds, racing for the perimeter fence, and the section she’d cut out of it earlier that day. She ducked under it, cradling Dex carefully away from the ragged edges, then wound her way through the wood beyond until she found the clearing with her van. She wrenched open the door and propped Dex in the passenger’s seat, strapping him in with the seatbelt, then ran around to the driver’s side.
Dex was making soft pained noises like a wounded animal, but they weren’t safe yet. They quite literally weren’t out of the woods.
“I know this sucks for you, but bear with me, okay?” she told him softly. “I need to get us to a safe place, then I’ll explain what’s going on.”
She wasn’t entirely sure that Dex had heard her, he was limply hanging from the seatbelt, lank hanks of his blonde hair hanging around his face. She was glad it was early in the morning. She didn’t much fancy getting pulled over by the cops to explain what was going on. She took a slightly more scenic route, avoiding towns and cameras, before pulling into one of her hiding spots.
She clambered out to shut the garage door behind her, then opened the passenger door. Dex seemed to come too slightly as the cold, early morning air washed over him. He’d flopped over to one side during the journey and feebly tried to pull himself back into a sitting position.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” She lifted him gently and carried him across to a nearby table. “Now, let’s get these stitches out, and then we can deal with introductions.”
She laid him on the wooden table, still wrapped up in her jacket and pulled her medical kit towards her. She pulled out a scalpel, a pair of tweezers and an antiseptic wipe. Eyes or mouth first, she wondered. Mouth, she finally decided on. It would make him feel less defenceless at least.
“Hold still for me, this will hurt, but I bet you’re used to that.”
She cut the first stitch with a touch of the scalpel and pulled the plastic-like thread out with the tweezers with a practised motion. The moment the last stitch was out, Dex opened his mouth wide, face contorting in what was clearly a silent scream. She reached forward and gripped the top of his shoulder tightly, bracing him.
“Come on, hold it together for me,” she murmured. “Come on Dex. You’re okay now. Come on.”
Tears started to well up in his sewn-shut eyes as he dragged in a breath, and then another.
“Fuck…” He whispered in a broken, shuddering voice.
She very gently lifted him and wrapped her arms around his shaking chest, patting his back softly.
“Go for it mate,” She said resignedly. “Let it go.”
To her utter surprise, Dex gave a shuddering laugh through his tears.
“What?” She demanded.
“Nothing, just a standing joke.”
She rolled her eyes behind her visor and lowered him back to the table.
“You could have picked a softer table,” Dex complained, partially jokingly. “They always have to be wood, or stainless steel – something freezing and rock solid.”
“Oh I am sorry, I’ll remember to have a pressure-relieving surgical trolley available for next time,” she replied sarcastically. “Come on, this is only the second time I’ve ever had to rescue a bloke, give me a break.”
She started work on his right eye, making much more care about slicing the stitches.
“I thought you were Oksana at first,” Dex said, wincing as a stitch came out. “But your accent’s different, and less prominent.”
“Russia’s a big country,” she observed calmly. “It’d be a bit like saying all Americans sound the same.”
“You know her though?”
“Not personally. We’ve met in passing, but we run in very different circles,” She observed. “I deal in objects rather than people.”
She cut the last stitch on his right eye, then started on the left. To her surprise, Dex kept both of his eyes shut while she worked. She was glad though, it did make things easier.
“Have we ever met?” Dex asked. “It’s just, you seem to know me.”
“I make a point to know all the crimefighters when I enter an area,” She observed. “It’s always better to know your possible opposition.”
“You’re… you’re a villain then?” Dex asked uncertainly.
She laughed, a low throaty chuckle that was totally different to the normal laugh he heard when he was lying helpless on the table.
“Well, if you’re going to insist on being black and white about this kind of thing, yes, I probably am,” She remarked. “You shouldn’t judge villians so badly, some of us are okay.”
“And some of you are psychotic bastards who like to rip me apart on a daily basis.”
“Point taken,” She cut the last thread and pulled it away. “Okay, keep them shut a second.”
She carefully wiped his eyes and mouth with the antiseptic wipe. Dex hissed softly at the soft sting, then slowly opened his eyes. All he saw above him was a tin-roof, but as he looked around he saw the woman stood to one side and his eyes widened.
A tall, easily 6 foot woman with conker-coloured dark brown hair, pulled up into a plait, then a bun, her face severe-looking with a long nose and hard jaw… and half-covered by a skiing visor with a rainbow-like sheen. She was wearing a leather utility belt over close-fitting black trousers, combat boots and a black tank-top, which left her muscled arms bare. The whole ensemble showed that she was ripped. Not like Val, who was a wall of muscle, but more like a climber, her muscles clearly defined and well-toned, clearly some-one who valued strength as well as flexibility.
As he looked at her, she smiled reassuringly at him.
“Um… please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t have a clue who you are.”
She laughed again, a low soft chuckle that showed that she was in no way offended.
“No offense taken,” She assured him. “I’m known as the Needle. I’m a thief for hire. As you mostly deal with supervillains, I guess I must be under your radar.”
Needle. He had heard the name, distantly.
“Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but why were you there?”
“Stealing something,” She said, as if that should have been obvious. “Now, I know you’re a self-regenerative healer, what do I need to do to help you put yourself back together?”
Dex turned over lazily and stretched, yawning. His muscles felt stiff and slightly sore, he must tell Val to ease up on their workouts… Only… he hadn’t been working out with Val. He’d been…
Dex sat up suddenly, the duvet falling off him. The world spun dizzingly around him and he nearly fell back down. The last thing he remembered was being dismembered and sealed in a crate… He glanced down at his arms, flexing his fingers, then pulled up the duvet to check on his feet. All ten piggies waved back at him. He tried desperately to remember what had happened since.
Of course. The Needle. He remembered the tall brunette Russian with her calm, soothing voice. She’d rescued him from the box and then… he ran a hand over his face, then rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace.
She’d asked him what he had needed, and then had been ruthless in carrying it out. The bandages wrapped around his arms and leg stumps had formed a tourniquet, stopping him being able to regenerate, and he needed them off. Unfortunately, quite a lot of blood had soaked through onto them and dried there, so it had been pure agony having them ripped away. And she had ripped them. The rational part of his brain had known she was being as kind as she could be, doing it fast, but it hadn’t felt kind. He’d been begging and pleading and screaming for her to stop until it felt like his lungs would burst, but she had kept going until he had passed out.
Looking at his whole, undamaged limbs, she’d obviously kept going even while he’d been unconscious. He made a mental note not to make any joking requests around Needle. She clearly took that shit seriously.
But they’d been in a tin-roofed shed, not a house. Dex looked around the opulent bedroom. He was in the most gorgeously comfy kingsize bed with a thick fluffy duvet and plump squishy cushions. The sheets were clean and freshly pressed, so gloriously smooth and crisp it made his heart sing. Maybe this was her way of making up for all that pain earlier. The room was carpeted in deep blue carpet, so thick you’d probably sink into it up to your ankles, the walls covered in gold and blue patterned paper. There was a clearly antique bureau-style desk to one side, a matching hardwood wardrobe that was begging to be a portal to Narnia and a chest of drawers. There was one door directly opposite him that seemed to lead into an ensuite, and to the right, another door which was carefully closed.
He slowly started to slide out of the bed. While he’d been out, some-one had washed and dressed him. He wasn’t sure if that was creepy or considerate. He was wearing a pair of pastel-blue pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt, both slightly too large for him and his blonde hair had been carefully washed and braided up, and as he sniffed it, there was the tell-tale smell of rosemary oil. Some-one who clearly thought the same way as Sapph.
He put his feet on the floor and wriggled his toes in the thick carpet, then cautiously slipped off the mattress. His legs seemed a little shaky, but they held his weight. Keeping a cautious hand on the bed he slowly walked to the bottom of the bed, then continued to investigate the room. The wardrobe and chest of drawers were full of clothes, clothes in exactly his size and preferred style. The only thing missing were shoes.
Dex closed the wardrobe door, then nearly jumped out of his skin. The door had silently opened and a smartly dressed young man was stood in the doorway.
“Crap on a cracker, you scared the living daylights out of me!” Dex squeaked, then coughed awkwardly. “Uh. Hi.”
The man just looked back at Dex. There was something… strange about him. It was like he was slightly out of focus, Dex couldn’t have told you much about him, even while staring at him from point blank range. His hair was dark brown and curly and Dex thought he probably had dark eyes, but he wasn’t sure. He was dressed in an impeccably neat black suit though, and he was carrying a silver tray in one white-gloved hand. A letter was lying on the tray.
“Are you like… a butler or something?” he asked uncertainly. “Um… where exactly am I?”
The man didn’t respond, he just held the silver tray out to Dex. Dex took it uncertainly and looked at it. It was made of some thick white paper and his name was written in ornate handwriting in midnight blue ink. He looked up to ask the butler something, but the guy had already gone, and the bedroom door was shut behind him. Like he’d never even been there.
“Okay, creepy.”
Dex sat back down on the bed and opened the letter. More of that graceful handwriting was on the paper inside.
Dear Dex,
If you feel up to it, we’d be honoured if you’d join us on the balcony for breakfast.
Yours Most Sincerely
Florence Jemima Hopkirk
Florence Jemima Hopkirk
“Florence Jemima Hopkirk?” Dex snorted. “Owch.”
He sighed, then got up and got changed. Feeling better in clean clothes he cautiously opened the door into the hall. The other doors around him were all shut, but he could hear the sound of voices from nearby. Following the sound along the hallway, he found himself in an opulent entrance hall. He was on the first floor, the ground floor visible down a sweeping set of marble stairs, leading to a pair of majestic front doors. There was a rich royal blue carpet leading from the front door, up the stairs and to the balcony where he was.
The talking though, seemed to be coming from his left, and at the top of the stairs was a set of delicate wrought-iron patio doors, leading out to a large hemi-circle balcony, ringed with a marble handrail. There was a metal table bathed in the warm morning sunshine, three women sat around it. One was undeniably the Needle and Dex felt himself relax slightly. She’d changed too, looking much more casual in a pair of blue jeans, crimson camisole-style top and a golden leather jacket. Her hair had been released from it’s bun, but the heavy plait still sat on one shoulder, and while the visor had gone, it had been replaced by mirrored sunglasses.
“Needle!” he started forwards.
She looked up at him with a benevolent smile.
“Hello Dex, you’re looking a lot better,” A shadow crossed her face. “I wasn’t sure that you were going to forgive me after what happened earlier.”
“Of course I do,” he beamed at her, then his attention was sidetracked by what was on the table. “Pancakes!”
“Help yourself,” Said the woman directly opposite him.
Dex dived into the remaining empty seat and started loading his plate with just about everything sweet on the table. As he took a bite out of his first pancake, he took the chance to look at the other two women in front of him.
The one opposite him was still in her own pyjamas, a fluffy pink nightgown around her shoulders and her long black hair loosely curling around her face. The other young woman seemed to be dressed for a business meeting. She had perfectly straight caramel-blonde hair pulled up into a French pleat, and was wearing a dark purple silk shirt, a pin-striped tailored waistcoat, tailored to her hourglass form and a matching pinstriped wiggle skirt, her feet in purple high heels. She smiled a sultry smile at Dex, who suddenly realised that maple syrup was dripping all over his hand.
“I’m Florence Jemima Hopkirk,” The dark haired lady in the dressing gown announced. “This is my associate Ms Rosamund Edgerton, who you will know as the Needle,” Needle nodded to him. “And this is Ms. Azlyn Teagan, a reporter from the Daily Shroud Newspaper.”
“Hi,” Dex said thickly, trying to clear up the mess of syrup.
Needle handed him a napkin with a wry expression.
“Thanks,” he mopped up the goo from his hand.
“I’ve been following your exploits,” Azlyn said brightly. “I’ve devoted many a column to you and Valthura, I’d love to have an interview some time, if you’d be available?”
Dex looked across at Azlyn.
“Uh, yeah, maybe…” he stammered uncertainly, looked away and off the balcony and stared, stunned. “Where are we?”
“You’re on my family’s estate,” Florence explained.
“Which is…”
“Somewhere safe.”
Off the balcony, Dex could see paradise. There was a white-sand beach, with waves lapping against the shore, ranks of green fields and… not a sign of civilisation. He was startled back from staring as Needle rose to her feet.
“Well, now I’m sure you’re okay, I’d better be off,” She said matter-of-factly. “I’m supposed to be meeting my boyfriend’s parents this evening and he’ll never forgive me if I miss it.” Needle paused and squeezed Dex’s shoulder gently. “Ms Hopkirk has a proposition to put to you Dex,” Needle said quietly. “And if I were you, I’d really and seriously consider accepting it.”
Needle turned back to Florence, pointing a warning finger at her.
“You remember your promise,” she said warningly.
Florence nodded and Needle nodded back.
“See you around Dex,” She said cheerfully. “Or not, as the case should be.”
Dex watched her leave, and turned back to the two other women with a slight feeling of foreboding.
“She must like you,” Florence observed cheerily. “She was adamant she wasn’t leaving until she’d seen you. Interesting woman, and so very useful. Now, Dex, the reason I brought you here…”
“You brought me?” Dex demanded, sitting up.
“Of course it was me,” Florence said calmly. “Azlyn and myself have been trying to track you down for some time, ever since you vanished. I’m sorry to hear what happened to you, there was nothing I could do to prevent it.”
“Eventually I managed to track you down, and Florence was able to hire the Needle to get you out,” Azlyn continued. “It was… difficult. The Needle has a strict policy against human trafficking, she doesn’t usually get involved with picking up any human cargo, so we’ve both been blacklisted by her in future. She understood why we did it of course.”
“Why did you do it?”
The two women looked at each other.
“Have you ever heard of the Knights of Gore?” Florence asked quietly.
Dex leaned forwards. He might not be a particularly experienced crime fighter, but he knew the name of a supervillain group when he heard it.
“They’re a particularly disturbing cult,” Azlyn said quietly. “I did a lot of research into them and wrote a huge expose, but it was hushed up and I was told that if I ever published I would never work in the industry again, and… that I would be the next victim.”
“Azlyn and I have been friends for a long time,” Florence continued. “And we were discussing it one day, and then you can on the video. Something about a massive plant monster destroying a city. Anyway, we saw you fall off the top of a building and just walk it off, and we knew. Just knew, that the Knights would be gunning for you next.”
“You’re perfect for them,” Azlyn said earnestly. “The perfect scream-toy that would just keep healing and healing and healing…”
Dex shuddered.
“Yeah,” Azlyn nodded. “They have a… gruesome… ritual, I suppose. Goretober. All through the month of October they abduct people and mutilate, murder and rape them. Every day has a different punishment. And they could do them all to you.”
Dex looked down at his syrup-covered plate, his insides roiling slightly.
“And you want me to stop them?” He asked.
“What?” The two women stared at him. “No!”
“While that’s very brave of you Dex,” Florence began.
“It’s phenomenally stupid,” Azlyn said brusquely.
“What we want is to keep you safe,” Florence said quietly, leaning forwards, her face wide and honest. “We want to stop you getting hurt.”
Dex stared at the two women.
“Why?” He demanded. “You don’t know me…”
“I do,” Azlyn said instantly. “I’ve been writing about you for months. I’ve been learning about you and everything I’ve learned is that you’re an adorable fluffy bunny who is too soft – too pure for this world.”
“Hey! I’m a kickass superhero whose job is to be out there fighting crime!” Dex protested.
“And instead ends up getting tortured and mutilated on a virtually daily basis,” Azlyn pointed out.
“It’s not daily…”
Azlyn sighed and leant back in her chair.
“Jack, Manticore, Cereberus, Emma Thorne…” Azlyn recited. “Tell me one bad guy you walked away from without having to resort to your healing power.”
Dex thought about it, and then struck a blank. He turned to Florence.
“Why do you care then?”
Florence gave a faint smile.
“There are so few superhumans out there, I couldn’t stand by to let another one get tortured into insanity,” Florence remarked.
Dex looked at her.
“You’re special?” He demanded.
She nodded, then looked down at her pyjama clad form.
“Don’t look it, do I?” She asked mildly.
“What can you do?” He asked.
Florence smiled.
“Oh, nothing as amazing as yours,” She waved the question away. “Look, Dex, I want you to stay here with me until the end of October. First of November I’ll happily charter you a flight and drop you home, right on your doorstep.”
“Look, thanks for the warning, but Val’ll protect me…”
“Like she has the last couple of times?” Azlyn asked. “Look, in the politest possible way Dex, don’t you think she deserves a break?”
Dex looked at her in surprise.
“Val’s spent all of her time recently crimefighting and protecting you,” Azlyn pointed out. “That’s 2 full time jobs ontop of her actual job. Don’t you think giving her a month to chill and get her life back under control is exactly what she needs right now?”
That hit home. Dex felt a dark stab of guilt.
“Look ladies, I really appreciate the offer and all the help you’ve given me, I really do, but I’m a crimefighter and I am not going to run away.”
Azlyn and Florence looked at each other, then Florence delved into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out a crisp 10 pound note, laying it on Azlyn’s outstretched hand.
“We made a bet,” Florence said heavily. “Azlyn said that there was no way you’d go along with it. I said we could persuade you. I hate being wrong.”
“Which means,” Azlyn smoothed the note and tucked it into her waistcoat, grinning a satisfied, and not very nice, smile. “We get to do it my way.”
Dex stood up uncertainly.
“What’s your way?”
Azlyn’s grin got nastier.
“We protect you whether you like it or not.”
Dex backed up a step. Now was definitely the time to nope straight out of here… and his back hit solid wall. He turned and his jaw dropped. Where there had been a door before, was a solid wall. There was no sign that there had ever been a door at all, just smooth stonework. He turned back to Florence and saw that her eyes were glowing slightly.
“Nice trick,” He remarked. “You’re an illusionist?”
“A psychoprojective telepath,” Florence explained softly. “It’s not just a light-show Dex.”
When he whacked his hand against it, it seemed pretty solid. Dex put both hands against the wall and pushed. Maybe he was in the wrong spot. He moved further along the wall, but all of the wall was as unyielding.
“Like I said, it’s real enough, Dex,” Florence said quietly. “The scientists that tested on me for years found that out pretty quickly. It doesn’t matter that it’s all in my head.”
Dex scanned the balcony and ran towards the balustrade, maybe he could… And he saw Florence’s eyes flash. The world seemed to be hit by lightning, the whole world dazzled momentarily by bright white light and then the whole balcony had changed. The layout was the same, the table, the plates, the 2 women… but instead of a balustrade there was a massive metal cage, foot-long metal spikes pointing inwards. Dex staggered backwards and shivered. Even the weather had changed, it was now overcast and chilly. He looked beyond the bars and saw that a graveyard had replaced the beach, a crow cawing from the nearest tombstone.
“If I don’t have your word that you’ll stay here with us, I’m going to have to make you stay,” Florence said quietly. “I can do it, you know.”
“You’ll need more than magic tricks to hold me here,” Dex quipped, dredging up the remains of his bravado.
“Really?” Florence demanded, raising an eyebrow.
There was another flash like lightning, and the balcony reverted to how it had been originally, sunshine, beach, door… Dex made a dive for the door, only to find that his legs wouldn’t obey him. He fell into cushions that most certainly hadn’t been there before and looked back to see that his legs had been strapped together with thick leather belts. Belts with no buckles. A chain ran from the bottom of the lowest strap to an eyebolt sunk deep into the balcony floor.
“If you can break free of my ‘magic tricks’ then you’re welcome to leave,” Florence said quietly. “Until then, you’re my guest.”
Dex kicked out, struggling against the belts, trying to shove them down, but they were not going anywhere.
“Look – you’re trying to stop me being held against my will,” Dex pointed out. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to stop you getting hurt,” Florence said quietly. “I said nothing about holding you against your will.”
Azlyn got up and pulled a bag out from where it had been sat by the patio doors, and pulled out a canvas straightjacket.
“Nice choice,” She remarked, looking at Florence, then at Dex. “She promised that if I won the bet, I could tie you up.”
“Lady, you are all shades of crazy.”
Azlyn grinned at him.
“Oh, I know,” She straddled his legs. “But look on the bright side. I have an entire month to get that interview from you…”
Dex flailed and struggled as she forced him into the straight jacket, but this woman clearly knew what she was doing. A couple of minutes later, she straightened up, blowing her caramel-coloured hair out of her face and beaming at him. Dex tugged at the straight-jacket, but it was sturdy, his arms wrapped around his waist in a strict, but not uncomfortable, hug, a strap running between his legs to hold it in place. Azlyn delved into the bag and pulled out a lead and collar, buckling it around his neck.
Standing up, she took a firm hold on his upper arms and pulled him back to his feet. To his surprise, the belts around his legs had melted away and she tucked his arm firmly through the crook of his and pulled him away.
“Come on, let’s get started.”
“Do you usually conduct your interviews with the other person in bondage?”
“Every opportunity I get!”
Florence leant back in her chair and blew out a long breath. The room seemed to… melt slightly, like some-one had washed the surface away to reveal what was really beneath. The beach vanished to make way for the sweeping countryside, roads patterning the fields, and a small town appearing in the distance, the sunshine fading to a much fainter wash-out yellow rather than the brilliant golden light of before. Florence herself looked much more tired, silver shadows under her eyes, previously hidden scars patterning her face, making silver stars over her temples.
She carefully moved her plate out of the way, folded her arms on the tabletop and put her head ontop of them, forcing herself to breathe steadily. A pair of hands fell on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. She looked up to see her butler stood there. Only she could see what Dex had been unable to see. She saw his handsome face with it’s dark olive skin and wide dark eyes, long nose and full lips… and she also saw the thick, cord-like scars around his mouth and over his throat. They didn’t horrify her anymore, but they did always make her sad.
“Don’t worry about me Ramone,” She patted his hand. “I’m fine.”
He raised an eyebrow and she smiled.
“Okay, I’m exhausted.”
He gently took her arm and draped it around his neck, lifting her out of the chair and into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his neck, enjoying the rocking sensation as he carried her back to her room.
“What would I do without you?” She asked softly.
He just gave her a gentle squeeze in reply.
“Good afternoon Valthura.”
Val spun around, instantly dropping into a defensive stance. The tall woman behind her, with her dark brown hair and rainbow visor raised her hands in a sign of peace.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Val demanded.
“I am the Needle, and you really don’t want to know,” Needle assured her. “I’m here to bring you a message from Dex.”
“You know where he is?”
“Yes and no,” Needle said slowly. “He’s with an acquaintance of mine, and while I’ve seen him alive and well, I’m afraid I couldn’t take you back there if you paid me. You have to be invited to be able to find the house. I just wanted to tell you he’s okay, and he’ll fill you in on the details when he gets back, he’s just staying with some friends for a while.”
“When will he be back?”
“November the 1st.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever heard of the Gore Knights?”