Chapter 2 Maeve
Maeve
Iglanced around. Somehow, after ten days of captivity where nothing much seemed to happen, I’d found my Zen. Or my PTSD or Stockholm syndrome, or whatever. My mood was very que sera, sera… I couldn’t change this situation. And apparently, I couldn’t fight it.
I just had to wait for whatever was going to happen next.
There were two of us here now. There’d been three, but they kept taking Ciara away. No, that was a lie. There were occasionally more than three, but only Ciara ever came back. She might not this time, though. I had no idea where they took her or why.
Of course, her being in the room with us was always interesting. She’d called the man they’d tried to put us with a vampire. I cackled out a laugh at the memory, and Penelope looked up.
“What’s tickled you? One of the ghosts?” She rolled her eyes.
She’d left me in no doubt over how she felt about the paranormal. She was truly a disbeliever—even when I’d explained about my blog and all the things I’d heard and seen as a paranormal investigator.
Penelope joked about Ciara and the vampire comment when she wasn’t here, even though I itched for Ciara to repeat her claims and explain to me why she thought the utterly mad man we’d met was an actual honest-to-God creature of the night.
But Penelope’s jokes kept us sane. Well, sane-ish. For abductees. And as she said, she was entirely sane because she didn’t believe in vampires. She didn’t believe in ghosts or werewolves, either.
I’d asked her about it, and how—living here, in a city literally soaked in witchcraft and voodoo—she could continue to not believe.
She’d tossed her hair. Not just a flip. A full-on toss, the movement filled with unconcealed scorn, but her honesty was refreshing. She didn’t give a shit what I thought about her opinion,
“So New Orleans has a creepy undertone, sometimes,” she said, “but that’s just the gruesome history of murders in the city and the numerous paranormal explorers and ghost hunters who crowd some of our oldest buildings with their vintage tape recorders and motion sensors.
It’s just dumb tourists who go missing while wandering unaccompanied around a cemetery or in the bayou.
That’s just asking for trouble if you ask me. ”
And I did ask her. Often. Because hearing her talk was better than silence. Even if everything she said went against everything I believed.
More than belief. I’d seen things, and my Granny used to tell me stories about Ireland.
Stories about the fae folk and the other side.
Granny had believed in it—and in her own abilities to read tea leaves and contact spirit guides.
She’d lived it. She’d been wise and she’d always known things there was no way she could have known. But I’d learned not to question that.
And there’s always been something comforting about it. The idea that something existed beyond our knowledge. Like we had a safety net. A hammock we lazed in. Something was wrapped around us, and it had the ability to keep us safe.
Of course, it also had the ability to harm us, so I kept investigating and exploring because that sort of knowledge was power. What else was out there? What did I need to protect against or avoid?
And why, apart from the fact Ciara had named him vampire, did I see that man’s eyes in my dreams? Why did I feel turmoil when I thought of him? I needed to find out more.
Something about him called to me. Instinct told me he wasn’t like the other, entirely cold beings in this house, even if Ciara didn’t like him.
“It’s quiet today.” Penelope’s face was drawn and pale. The correct term was probably pinched. Perhaps she even had a couple more gray hairs than she’d had two weeks ago. But I got that.
I’d spent the first half of our time here a wreck. I’d searched every corner of the room, looking for a way out. I’d banged on the windows and doors, and I’d yelled until my throat was raw and my voice was hoarse.
“I prefer it quiet,” I murmured. “Maybe they’ll forget about us.”
“And then what? What the hell would we do when they’ve forgotten about us?”
“Escape?” I made it sound so easy.
“Haven’t you tried that?” Penelope’s tone was dry as she lifted an eyebrow.
“I’d try harder.” After all, there must be something I hadn’t done.
There was always something new to try or do.
That was how humanity advanced. Because we didn’t give up.
We weren’t quitters. “I’d try something else,” I clarified.
The door had to give at some point. It wasn’t like they’d magicked it shut.
Same with the windows.
“You think they’ll feed us soon?” Penelope laid her head on the dusty pillow as she spoke.
I was pretty tired too, but we were both trying to keep to a normal routine. It would be too easy to lose ourselves to sleep and spending the days unconscious out of fear and boredom.
“I hope so.” They rarely brought us much of nutritional value—mainly slightly stale bread or things that just tasted old, although I truly believed artificially yellow sponge cakes filled with fake cream might outlast the human race.
Still, we never left even a crumb. We needed the energy to stay awake.
There was a noise at the door. “Maybe that’s a meal now?”
But we both scrambled to the places we always took when someone opened the door, partially shielded by the heavy furniture in the room.
“Get back in there then. If you can.” The pale man with the impossibly blond hair shoved Ciara through the doorway, his show of strength unnecessary. He smiled, and my insides twisted at the malevolence playing on his lips.
“Damn you.” Ciara almost spat the words at him, and rage seethed from her. “Damn all of you.”
But the man’s smile merely widened as he nodded. “And the same to you, my dear. Eternally, no?”
The door closed behind him again and Ciara wrapped her arms around herself, her face pale as she looked at us. “You both doing okay?”
I started toward her but she stepped back, pressing herself against the wall. I stopped and glanced at Penelope. “We’re both okay. But where did they take you? Are you hurt?”
Ciara shook her head and she looked at the door like she could still see the guy who’d just brought her back. “No, they wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not sure they can.” She shivered.
“You’re cold.” Penelope stood and walked from behind the dresser. “Come and get in the bed. Get warm.”
But Ciara shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a bit…” She grimaced. “I’m just a bit hungry.”
Penelope threw her hands in the air. “Same, girl. These guys have a real problem feeding us, right?” Then she wandered to the window and looked out.
“I don’t even know what they want with us.
Why are we still here?” She tapped gently on the glass.
“I mean, it’s obvious there are bodies buried out there.
Look at the uneven ground. Are we next?” When she turned, her eyes were wide and fear-filled.
I shrugged.
“I’ll protect you.” Ciara’s voice was gritty, her words full of determination, and I resisted the urge to laugh.
“You’re no stronger than either of us. We’re all tired. All hungry. Our best chance is making a plan to escape.” I stopped speaking, though, because that seemed like such a dumb thing to say.
How would that plan look? Could we rush one of the guys the next time they opened the door? Break a window? Even if one of us escaped, the other two would be left here with God knows what in terms of life expectancy.
“That’s Francois’s garden.” Ciara waved a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about ending up in it. I will protect you.”
My mind buzzed. “Francois?”
She nodded. “They put him with us at first.”
Penelope laughed, the sound sharp and abrasive, caught between amusement and horror. “The guy you said was a vampire? The monster?”
I moved closer. This was the kind of information that would make my blog blow up.
But Ciara just waved her hand. “He is a monster,” she said.
“That much is obvious. You can see the garden. But for now, we should rest. If we’re going to figure out a plan, we should all be strong.
” She lay on the bed, pulled the comforter around herself like she was a Tootsie Roll, and closed her eyes.
“But is he actually a vampire?” I whispered the words so Penelope wouldn’t also hear.
I’d been called a crank many times for my obsession with the paranormal, but something about the way Ciara had reacted to the man before, and the way he’d behaved…
That hadn’t seemed fake. There had been an energy between them that I rarely saw.
I liked to tell myself it was the frisson of truth.
The same thing that got my spidey senses really tingling when I followed any lead I believed in.
“Ciara?” I whispered again, hoping to jolt a response from her but her eyes remained closed and she didn’t move. I touched her because it was like she’d died, she was so still.
“Must be tired.” Penelope’s voice interrupted my thoughts of the paranormal as I watched the sleeping woman.
“Hm. Maybe,” I said, and returned my attention to the door.
Surely someone would bring us some food soon.