Chapter Twenty-One: Prelude to Revenge

We rolled through the Bryce's estate for perhaps a mile - it was, I would learn, a large estate - perhaps half the size of all of St. Circe's. I might have escaped my bindings - I definitely could have. But I didn't, because... then what? Could I escape the Bryces, too? If I revealed my ability at witchcraft and was then apprehended, I was well and truly fucked. Rowan Bryce might well kill me just to rid himself of the problem. So I lay there, bound, gagged, and blinded, jostled by the gentle hills. Eventually, the car stopped and the rear hatch swung open.

"Take her to the guest suite downstairs," I heard Rowan Bryce say.

"She doesn't deserve the suite," Katherine said.

"I know, dear. It's just for tonight."

Strong arms carried me again. Lucian's? I wasn't sure, but probably not - my transporter was perfunctory and professional, carrying me securely and without a single inappropriate grope. Hardly what I'd expect from Lucian. They lay me down on a soft surface and left, the door clicking shut as they exited.

I struggled a bit, managing to prop myself upon some pillows, and then I waited. I waited for two or three hours, probably. Long enough that my bladder was unhappy and I'd long since grown used to having itches I couldn't scratch. If I needed to, I suppose, I could have unbound myself, taken care of business, and then wrapped myself up again - I'd never tried it. If I'd been smart, I would have anticipated something like this and gone before the graduation ceremony. Oh well - for the moment, I was a cocoon. The door clicked open.

"In here?" I heard a woman's voice say, as high as my own and softer.

"Yes, in there."

The door clicked closed. There were gentle hands upon me, followed by the snip-snip-snip of fabric scissors. The cutter was careful, clipping the black binding fabric away without harming my St. Circe's uniform. Once my arms were free, I worked at the bindings myself, unwrapping my shoulders and head, shaking my mass of matted hair free and loose.

"Thank you," I said.

I took in the room - a large and stately bedchamber, mostly done up in maroon, ochre, and gold with a few too many elaborations and flourishes, perhaps an overindulgent recreation of a Louis XIV chamber from the American gilded age. The woman sitting at the foot of the bed, scissors still in hand, was small - not too much larger than me - and pretty, perhaps in her early thirties. Her maid's uniform I recognized well, for it was virtually identical to the service uniforms employed at St. Circe's - black and white, a bit too brief, form-fitting, and old-fashioned to be professional. Her eyes were strangely familiar and ice-blue.

"Master Bryce wants me to get you ready," she said in a small voice.

"Ready for what?"

She shrugged, eyes cast downward. "He says you're a very bad person."

"I'm not."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "A good servant obeys her betters. I do as I'm told."

I scooted forward on the bed, seating myself cross-legged... it felt good to bend my knees after hours pinioned like a mummy. I brought her gaze to meet mine, her blue eyes reluctant, her tawny hair turned brown in the room's dim lighting.

"Master Bryce sent you to St. Circe's? Who were you before that?"

"I shouldn't..."

"What's your name?"

"Elizabeth, miss."

"I am your better, Elizabeth," I stated - I felt guilty about manipulating her, but it was the easiest way to do this and I might not have much time. "I am your better, and you will tell me. Who were you before your master sent you to St. Circe's?"

"I... I hardly remember. His cousin?" Elizabeth's lip quivered. "Yes... his cousin."

If Elizabeth Bryce(?) was in her early thirties, as she looked to be, that meant she'd been like this for fifteen years. And, if I had to guess, she'd been de-aged in much the same way that Amanda had - after all, Rowan Bryce was in his fifties or beyond (age being the malleable thing it is to witches and warlocks). They hadn't sold Elizabeth to the most depraved whoremonger that Rowan could find, but they'd definitely cowed the poor woman with a decade and a half of servitude. How much of the woman's former self was even left in there? I'd find out.

"I'm going to perform a ritual to bring back as much of the old you as I can," I said. "You'll need to give me a drop of your blood..."

"Master Rowan wouldn't want it..."

"Elizabeth Bryce would want it. Now... will you indulge me, or shall I get cross?"

She wouldn't have with me getting cross - magical bindings or not, I was clearly a guest in the guest suite, and therefore to be afforded some degree of respect. I rooted around the room for a moment and, while I didn't find all of the reagents listed in Bloom's 'The Minor Rituals', I found things that were close enough to pull something like the ritual off - an enterprising young witch learns to improvise. I found dried flower petals, ink from a pen, a feather from one of the pillows, and a sash of golden satin torn from the drapes - Elizabeth gasped when I tore it but made no move to stop me. I set up the ritual circle and then tied our left hands together at the wrist with the strip of satin. Finally, I pulled a coppery pin from my lock of rose-gold hair, pricked my bound thumb, and gestured for her to do likewise on her hand. I had to coax her, but she did it of her own accord - that's all that mattered. We pressed our thumbs together, and then I leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"I... what happened, miss?" she asked - she'd felt the shift, too.

"I've unlocked your old self - or whatever's left of it. I can't undo whatever conditioning's been put in place since then, but I hope you'll be strong enough to fight it. Can you feel the old Elizabeth in there, dribbling back out?"

Elizabeth nodded and wiped back a tear. "She's very unhappy."

"I'm sorry, but you find yourself in a very unhappy life. Believe it or not, I've done you a great favor, and I expect a favor - a very small favor - as payment."

"I haven't got any money," she said in a small voice. "I… I haven't got anything..."

I'd torn a small envelope in half and was already tracing the symbols upon it - sympathetically-linked cards. I handed half of the pair to her.

"You've got your free will," I said. "And I'm asking a favor of you - not as a command, but as a request to be followed freely. When you feel this card wiggle, I expect you to distract Rowan Bryce - it need only be for a minute. Two minutes if you can. Will you do that for me?"

"When the card... wiggles?"

I nodded. "When it wiggles. Now... let's get me ready before brother Rowan gets cross at the both of us."

+++++

Getting ready was about what you'd expect - a bath with scented oils, my hair done up in an elaborate braided bun (not a day for the pigtails, it seemed), a thorough application of make-up, and a dozen different jeweled piercings. I was given a bowl of bland, vaguely unpleasant porridge to sate my hunger - this, I was told, was all the indentured servants were allowed to eat. I tried to imagine Elizabeth Bryce and her fifteen years on the unappetizing stuff. All the while, her expressions fidgeted, little frowns and confused pouts flitting across her face. Presumably, that was from dribs and drabs of her old personality coming out and finding itself none too happy with the state of her life. But, whatever her inner turmoil, she said nothing of it. My meal done and make-up painted to perfection, she got to the piercings.

"Your ears aren't pierced," she stated, holding a little sapphire pendant earring up to the lobe.

"Oh, right," I sighed. That was a pretty basic transformation to make - you could add a piercing just about anywhere in ten seconds flat if you knew the right transform - a couple in each ear, one in the nostril, one in the tongue, one through each nipple, and one in the belly-button. While I was at it, I whisked my tattoos away - they'd crept back in sometime while I was bundled up, and it wouldn't do to have Rowan Bryce seeing them yet - tabula rasa for Natalie Bryce.

"One more piercing... one down below," Elizabeth added, gesturing toward my crotch.

I sighed and added another one through my clit. I didn't care for the sensation - that one would be the first to go. Her cool hands expertly clipped a little stud into place, eliciting a shrill yelp from me.  "What would you have done if I wasn't magically pierced seven ways to Sunday?" I asked, shifting uneasily.

She shrugged. "Master... Rowan..." she dropped the master with some difficulty. "Rowan gave me a device... he's used it on me before. It's quite painful, but the wound heals in minutes."

Always thinking ahead, that Rowan. We'd soon see how far ahead. My skin, hair, and piercings tended to, I was then clothed. There wasn't much to it - a translucent red teddy and a lacy red thong, all of my important bits clearly visible if you looked closely enough, the metal of my erogenous piercings glittering through the gauzy little film of lace. Then Elizabeth painted my nails and, finally, strapped red heels around my tiny size 4 feet, securing them with a little leather band around my ankle. I wobbled a bit, being unused to such heels, but not too much - I'd worn heels before and my balance was excellent. With those heels, I was a bit taller than Elizabeth in her flats, towering probably a hair over five feet tall.

"I'll inform Mas... Rowan... that you're ready," Elizabeth said. "You should find a place to hide your card."

I couldn't very well hide it on my person - it would be visible through my immodest clothes. I could, I considered, hide it inside myself... not an ideal option. Under the sole of my shoes... that was doable. Or in my hair. I had plenty of that, and it was all braided up. I folded the card in half three times over and inserted it between some of the bigger twists of my braided hair. I preened over my coif in the mirror - you couldn't see that anything was amiss. And, from a certain perspective, nothing was amiss at all - I'd never been made up so expertly or provocatively before and, sweet baby Jesus, was I hot. Cute and adorable I had in spades, as always, even when I wasn't dressed like the sultan's concubine. But I now possessed a preternatural desirability, too - innocent, fecund, and utterly flawless. Hell, it was getting me aroused and I...

"My cousin will see you now," Elizabeth said, swishing back into the room. "Follow me, miss."

The Bryce's mansion was like a cathedral - high ceilings, warm colors in the dim light, sunlight streaming in from windows high overhead. I wondered at the insane wealth of the family, at what I could possibly do against a man with such power - and a warlock to boot. I began to doubt my plan... and then, perhaps, sensing my anxiety, Elizabeth Bryce reached out and squeezed my hand.

"I'll wait for your signal," she whispered and, in a louder voice, announced: "Master Bryce, young Natalie is here to see you."

+++++

The predatory gleam of the Bryce men may well have been a family patent: old Byron had it, his son had it, and his grandson had it. Currently, it was plastered over the face of Rowan Bryce, watching with predatory greed as I minced into his study, his cruel and ice-blue eyes upon me.

"Elizabeth has outdone herself," he said reverentially. "She had a fine St. Circe's canvas to work from, I suppose."

Rowan stood from his study and made a circuit around me, as was his way. His fingers trailed the hem of my lacy teddy, slid along the shiny braids of my hair, right over where I had my hidden trump card. Was he going to take me right there in his study - right there with the door open and his enslaved cousin peeking in? I wouldn't have put it past him and, if he did, I'd have to take it. His hand went to my throat, tracing along the smooth skin and applying enough gradual pressure that I stumbled back, my butt bumping into his desk.

"Put this on," he said.

It was a control collar, black and chrome with a locking clasp.

"Yes sir," I said.

I took the collar from his hand and fitted it around my neck, securing it with a little click. As is the way with magical garments, it fit me perfectly - snug, but not so tight that it hurt. Then Rowan traced his finger around the thing, his talent and technique such that he didn't need a control solution. He simply made the magical transformation and imbued the collar with his will.

That control clamped over me like a vise. Marie and Cecilia, when they had controlled me, had been easily resisted. Even Cassie, heads above those two talent-wise, was easy enough to overcome. Not so with Rowan Bryce - he had a lot more talent than I'd expected and a few decades of experience. I worried that I wouldn't be able to do a single goddamn thing against him. Presently, I stood motionless, ramrod straight as he leaned into me, running strong fingers over my slim shoulders, silky skin exposed by the strappy little teddy I wore.

"I'd take you myself, but Katherine has reservations," he snorted. "She thinks I'll take a shine to you. She needn't worry - your beauty means nothing to me. The only place you hold in my heart is a cold rage for what you did to Amanda… and for what you made me do to Amanda. But I'm a patient man... we'll work to that. For now, you're mine to give as I see fit. Tonight, you'll be a present for one of my most loyal associates - barely a warlock, that man, but loyalty bears rewarding. Tell me honestly, will you gladly serve him?"

"No, sir," I said - I'd thought about lying... I'd meant to lie... but it had just come out. Bloody control collar.

"Good," he chuckled. "But you'll serve him, regardless?"

"Of course, sir," I said.

"Good. But, just to make certain, I'll be the one to run you through the paces with him. Follow me, bitch."

"Yes, sir," I said, my cheeks burning.

Gaze down, I followed after him, following up a stairwell and down a sunlit hallway, the walls lined with probably-priceless artworks. As I did, I fought his control and found doing so difficult. I could slow my paces and speed them up, could adjust my arms for balance, could glance away from my head's forward-facing, and - most importantly - could wiggle my fingers around. Not much to go on, but it might be enough.

"I hope you'll understand if I don't trust you to do the right thing," Rowan said.

"Of course, sir."

He opened a bedroom and ushered me inside, his hand at the small of my back. Inside sat a half-dressed man, dark-haired, bearded, and slightly overweight. If I had to guess, he was in his late forties or early fifties, just a bit older than Rowan Bryce's appearance and just a bit younger than Byron's. His dark eyes turned to take me in and he gasped - overwhelmed by my appearance, it would seem.

"George, this is the present I promised you," Rowan stated, bringing me further toward the man.

We were in a bedroom not unlike the one I'd been brought in upon my arrival, except that it had better lighting and brighter colors - cream, silver, and turquoise aplenty, a floor of glossy white marble streaked through with chocolate brown. George rose to his feet and took a step toward me, his breathing fast, his gaze bordering on disbelief.

"She's... for me?"

"For tonight, to thank you for all you've done for my family."

George wore only a tank top and suspenders, the rest of his clothes sitting in a neat pile to the side of the pillowy bed. He ran a meaty hand along my flank, giving my thigh a little squeeze.

"What's in it for you, dear?" he asked.

"He's making me," I stated.

George didn't seem to have a problem with that. "Debts must be paid," he said.

"Quite right," Rowan agreed. "And to make sure Natalie pays hers and properly, I'd like to stay here a while to see her through her paces. Is that all right, George?"

He chuckled and gave my butt a little smack. My instinct was to slap him but Rowan's control held my arm down, motionless. "Why wouldn't it be all right?" he said. "We're not simpering prudes. If I like her, what then?"

"Then I expect you'll be around more often. She's not for sale - not yet. But I'm not taking anything off the table - barring permanent injuries, you may do anything you like."

"Good," George said hungrily. "Off with that teddy, darling."

My hands crept down and slowly lifted the garment, letting it pool to the floor. At Rowan's command, I cocked my hips to the side. There I stood, Rowan watching and controlling me from behind as he lounged on a divan, George's meaty hands twitching in anticipation. And there I was, dolled up and posing between them, nude save for a little red thong and my strappy red heels.

"Aren't you a treat," George said. I just stood there, smiling happily as he reached for my breasts. He gave them a squeeze, clammy fingers sinking in just enough to hurt, and I did nothing to stop him. But my fingers were twitching around, tracing out symbols to activate the card in my hair.

There was a knock on the door and Elizabeth Bryce came scurrying in, shielding her eyes from George and myself. She curtsied to Rowan and whispered loud enough for my keen ears to pick it up:

"We've had an emergency in the kitchen and we fear that one of the cooks is badly hurt, sir. I don't know what to do..."

Rowan sighed. "I'll be back in a minute George. Think you can control your little treat?"

"I don't imagine it'll be a problem," he said.

+++++

George whisked his finger around the collar and I felt the control lift. It was still there, I suppose, but it had been transferred to him. He was so much weaker than Rowan Bryce that it hardly counted. With a gesture and a pulse of command, he ordered me over to the bed, to climb up and spread my legs, waiting. I wasn't about to indulge him. With my own gesture, I brought my tattoos back, green, purple, and pink twists snaking across my body and resuming their normal configuration with Magnus's special little oak shield fading in right beneath my navel. Piercings pinged off of my body as I snapped the piercing holes away... well, the one stud was still caught in my thong.

"Oh George, I don't think so," I said.

For those who know a bit of witchcraft and then a bit more, a control collar works both ways. All things being equal, the 'controller' is in charge by virtue of the volitional element of putting the collar on. But with any real differential in power, the more talented user can always assume control - as I did presently. George stood still, his eyes nervously tracking me as I sauntered over to the bedroom's little study nook and helped myself to the letter opener - a fairly sharp one the length of my small hand, it was made out to look like the sword Excalibur. I placed the blade in his palm, as if inviting him to attack me. He was welcome to try.

"What part of 'he's making me' did you not understand?" I said. "You were going to rape me. Did you think that was acceptable? Speak."

"N-no," he said. "But... but I thought I could."

"Well... I don't care for that. I don't care for that at all, George whatever-your-last-name-is, and so I want you to take this letter opener and unman yourself. Go ahead and just cut your dick and balls off for me."

"N...no," he said, but his hand, clutching the letter opener, was already moving toward his groin. He tried to stop it, his hand trembling slightly, but the control I exerted over him was far stronger than what Rowan Bryce had managed over me. "Please."

"If you can't control your little treat, you don't deserve to have it. Cut it off. Now."

He did - or at least started to. He let out an anguished howl, plunging the point into his groin and cutting with the semi-sharp blade. Almost immediately, there was a lot of blood. As quickly as I could, I pulled George's neatly-folded, too-large dress shirt off the chair and around myself before making my way to the window, unlocking it with my hair-pin and a simple bit of witchcraft. Then Rowan Bryce burst into the room.

He looked to his friend, howling, still cutting, and bleeding copiously all over the floor. "You bitch! What the fuck did you do?"

"Save your friend or grab the girl who neutered him... decisions, decisions," I said. "Ain't witchcraft a bitch?"

With that, I unclasped the control collar, leaned out of the window, and tumbled out of the Bryce's mansion.

+++++

Of course I'd looked out the window before I dropped out - I wasn't suicidal. It was a ten foot drop to the red clay tiles of the Bryce's solarium roof, which then slanted down to a manageable drop to the grounds below. I hit the roof on my feet, almost broke both ankles on account of the high heels, and managed to break the fall just enough that I was only slightly bruised. I unstrapped the shoes as quickly as I could, dropped down to ground level, and then I was off.

As I said, the Bryces had a pretty big estate - and I wasn't quite sure about the way out of it, either. I picked the biggest, best-paved road and started running. I ran past a spa and past a guest house the size of my childhood home (three bedrooms, and two stories tall). I was sprinting past the stables when I heard the horn - a bleating hunting horn that I immediately recognized. Shit. That meant Rowan had summoned the dark riders to track me down - they were fast and they were relentless. They were probably one of those dangerous twelve-symbol summonings. I picked up my pace.

My conditioning was pretty good on account of gymnastics and physical conditioning class (which had some calisthenics elements to it), but I couldn't sprint forever. The Bryces had an estate of scraggly copses, meadow, and meandering little rivers. There were lots of little hills, and in the distance there were white-capped mountains. I thought I might be in Montana or south-central Canada. The middle of nowhere, in any case... who knew how far it was to the estate's standing stones...

And I heard the hoofbeats of the riders. I didn't see them behind me, but that didn't mean anything. They could come out of nowhere and that nowhere was closing in on me. I ran...

Suddenly one of the riders leapt over a hillock, sailing over a scraggly bush, and landed right in front of me. I screamed out of pure reflex. I backed away and started to flee down the road when another galloped up the road behind me. A third one trotted to the top of the hillock, looking down at me with its black, empty face.

Then they all reached out and started spinning black stuff around me, mystical black fabric to entrap and envelop me. They'd wrap me up in a little cocoon, carry me back to Rowan Bryce, and then he'd clip my wings in ways that I couldn't yet imagine. My legs were bound, my arms were getting bound, and in an instant, my head would be wrapped, blinded, and gagged. Rowan was very, very unhappy with me, and now I'd be his forever… No. Like hell I would. I was Natalia Cadence Storm.

What can be done with magic can be undone. I started signing with my fingers, signing as quickly and precisely as I could, and the wrappings flew off of me - one at a time at first, but accelerating until my body was free and the mystical fabric was swirling about like a maelstrom.

"Let's see how you like it, assholes," I said.

I shot the fabric out, grabbing the white cotton of George's dress shirt, hanging over my shoulders like a mantle, and infusing the essence of the garment into the magical fabric, strengthening it further. It flew around the first rider, coal-black infused with little crisscrosses of white cotton, binding both rider and horse. I wrapped the other two in rapid succession. Three dark-rider-dark-horse fabric burritos. I heard the fabric to the first one rip, and a gaunt, wiry hand wormed its way out. I'd stopped them, but they wouldn't stay stopped for long.

I took off running, ran over the next little hill, and found myself at a line of standing stones. Wonderful. I heard the whinny of a horse - at least one of them was free. I didn't have time for a traveling ritual... nor did I need one. I was a full-fledged witch, not some fumbling initiate. I picked up a stick, drew the traveler's dyad in the dirt and, just as the horses came thundering over the hill, I enveloped the dyad with a hexadic ring - using pure symbology to co-opt the ritual's material component. I touched Lily's ring to the stone and stepped across the threshold...

No more riders. No more meadows, no more distant mountains. I was in Lily's woods and I was safe. Before I even had a chance to catch my breath and start on down the path, Lily strolled around the corner, nodding in recognition.

"I thought you might be along," she said with a smile. I rushed to her, wrapping her in a great big hug, George's way-too-big shirt bunching at my shoulders and elbows. "Had a busy first day on your own, have you?"

I nodded and laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I tricked Rowan Bryce, un-cursed his cousin... well, half-way... and made a rapey guy named George-something cut his own business off. And I got away from the riders just now."

"That sounds a little too exciting," she said, giving my forehead a little kiss. "Come on, Simone and Cassie are waiting. We'll get you some tea and some clothes. You can worry about what comes next tomorrow."

I walked with Lily through the dappled sunlight of the woods, through the warm fragrance of her garden. I was glad to be safe, but I wasn't done yet, not by a long shot. Too many people - Rowan Bryce and a half-dozen others - richly deserved justice, likely thought they were above justice. But they'd get a big old taste of my size fours (okay, perhaps not the most intimidating threat) and some next level witchcraft. But for now, it would have to wait until teatime with my friends was over. And I needed a shower. And a nap. And I needed a plan beyond 'Natalie hurt bad man'.

"Are you coming inside or not?"

"Sorry," I said. "Lost in my own thoughts."

No more Miss Nice-witch - if they didn't care for me on my best behavior, they definitely wouldn't care for what was coming next.

THE END