Possession Page 2

  “Yup. Aren’t you glad I instituted that policy about no refunds?”

  “Eternally,” he replied.

  ***

  The servant only gave her a glass of water, a hunk of bread, and a slice of cheese, but it might as well have been a gourmet feast. Of course, gulping down the water reminded her of her need to visit a ladies’ room. Not knowing the protocol for talking to a servant, she raised her hand and waited for him to speak to her.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to use a bathroom,” she stated meekly.

  The servant rolled his eyes, but didn’t get angry with her. Instead, he took her by the arm again and led her to a tiny powder room she could use.

  Catherine whispered “thank you” and closed herself inside. There was no lock. She couldn’t have tried anything, anyway, since the room only had a sink and a toilet, and no windows.

  It was the first time she’d looked in a mirror since leaving the dorm to meet “Liam”. Her hair was fuzzed out of her braid in spots, her face had bags and bright pink patches, and her clothes were rumpled and dirty.

  At least she was finally untied.

  Catherine gently washed her chafed wrists, then the “x” dug into the inner side of her ankle. Her sock had been rubbing against it since they put her shoes back on to move her.

  The servant rapped on the door. “Time’s up.”

  Catherine came out, and was escorted back to the kitchen, where she was told to sit and wait for “the Master”.

  Julian came in, his eyes always assessing her. “Get enough to eat?”

  Should she be honest? “N-no, sir,” she mumbled.

  He snorted. “Lorcan never did remember the practical things.” He opened the refrigerator, then tossed a carrot on the table. “You’ll be on a strict diet, here. No snacks or sweets or junk. Finish that, and I’ll take you to your room.”

  She was getting her own room?

  Catherine bit off the end of the carrot, wishing it had been peeled first. The outer skin was always a bit bitter.

  Her new captor heated something in a mug, watching her as he sipped it. She supposed he would be handsome, if he didn’t look so stern and cold. She felt like a bug under a microscope.

  “Come on,” he finally barked. “It’s getting early.”

  Catherine wiped her mouth with a napkin and nodded, rising from her seat. He steered her where he wanted to go by putting a firm, strong hand on her shoulder. His grip wasn’t painful, but definitely unyielding. She figured he could probably crush her shoulder with one squeeze if he wanted to.

  They went up two flights of stairs to the top floor and down a long hall. He finally stopped at a door and took a key out of his pocket to unlock it.

  “This door has no internal lock. It will be locked from the outside whenever you are in here until we know you can be trusted. Don’t bother trying to escape out the windows--you can’t.”

  The light flicked on, and Catherine saw a surprisingly pretty bedroom. There was a twin size canopy bed opposite the door, and a matching dresser against the wall, in dark-stained wood. The walls were papered with medium blue brocade, and the linens were cream. There was a pile of boxes in the corner.

  “My things?” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Lorcan was very thorough,” he replied. “The loo is through there. Nothing fancy. Understand, Catherine, that anything can be given or taken away depending on your behavior.”

  “Yes, sir. May I ask a question?”

  He pursed his lips, but nodded consent.

  “What exactly am I here to learn?”

  “Many things. By now, you might’ve guessed you are not among human life as you know it--you’re among demons. As many species of animals on this planet, you’ll find just as many demons, and they range from barely more than animals, themselves, to highly powerful evil beings. In Lorcan’s case, there’s not an ounce of humanity left in him. The pompous bastard likes to make certain appearances, and that’s where you come in. You’ve heard of a courtesan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, in the absence of his sire or his childe, both of which have run off for their own schemes, he chose you. He likes to have a lady on his arm that enjoys the bloodshed as much as he does. That’s where turning you comes into play. But…Lorcan has his games, and so he wants you built up before he tears you down.”

  Catherine’s blood ran cold at the thought. He noticed.

  “Did he hurt you at all before bringing you here?” he asked.

  “Just a cut on my ankle.”

  “Let me see,” he ordered.

  She sat down on the bed and removed her shoe and sock, wincing as the sock pulled the scab away. He grabbed her ankle and turned it so he could properly look at the wound. The edges of the cuts were pink.

  “I’ll send someone up with a first aid kit. This looks on the verge of infection.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. His fingers on her skin were warmer than she expected.

  Julian let go and straightened to his full height. “Get some sleep. Your lessons start this evening.” With that, he left, locking the door behind him.

  Finally alone for the first time in hours, Catherine let her tears fall.

  Chapter 3

  Catherine was left locked up in her room all day.

  In the afternoon, a servant came by with a breakfast tray and an etiquette primer. Breakfast was an egg white omelet filled with vegetables, a glass of orange juice, and a glass of milk. No salt, no butter, and the milk was one-percent.

  He wasn’t kidding about her diet being carefully regulated. Geeze, it wasn’t like she was fat…most people would even call her skinny!

  In spite of feeling vaguely insulted, Catherine gobbled the food up. She skeptically eyed the book. It looked old, from the ‘50s or ‘60s, maybe. Sighing, she started to read, though it wasn’t like she was a cretin, or anything. She knew how to set a table, cross her legs in a skirt, and not slurp her soup.

  At sundown, another servant came to fetch her.

  Catherine followed apprehensively, nervous about what Julian would have in store for her. She was led into a small classroom.

  “Good evening, Miss Mitchell.”

  “Good evening, sir.” She took a seat at a desk.

  Julian turned to a stern-looking elderly woman at his right. “This is Mrs. Crumb. She used to run a finishing school for girls. She will instruct you how to pass in high society. You will do anything she asks of you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. She felt very common beneath the old woman’s stare.

  Julian continued. “When you are not with Mrs. Crumb, you will memorize this book.” He dropped a large volume on the desk. Zezzik’s List of Demons A-Z. “You will be tested on this book in two days. Every wrong answer will result in a demerit.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to protest, then promptly clamped it shut. She raised her hand and waited to be called on.

  “Yes?”

  “Just to clarify, the whole book, sir?”

  “The whole book, Miss Mitchell.” He smirked when she dropped her head in despair. “I’ll leave you in Mrs. Crumb’s capable hands.”

  As soon as he left the room, Mrs. Crumb slapped a ruler on the desk, making Catherine jump.

  “Sit up, child! A lady never has poor posture. Where were you raised?”

  “In California, by my grandmother.”

  “What was your economic status?”

  “We lived well enough.”

  Mrs. Crumb frowned, then asked her next question, jotting everything down on a clipboard. “Years of education?”

  “I was in my freshman year of college, until two days ago,” Catherine said with a touch of bitterness.

  “For what subject?”

  “A major in History, with a minor in British Literature.”

  “And did you carouse with the other children?”

  “No. I was in class, or studying, or with my roommate. There isn’t time for anythi
ng else if you want to pass.”

  Mrs. Crumb glared down her nose at her. “I do not like your tone, Miss Mitchell. Control yourself, or I shall have to inform the master that you are being belligerent.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Swallowing her pride around this old bat wasn’t easy. There was something about her that just rankled Catherine’s insides.

  “Good. Stand up, please. The first thing you need to do is learn how to walk.”

  She had a fair idea of what this entailed. Every American girl had seen something on TV about girls walking with books on their heads. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, especially since Mrs. Crumb insisted she walk at a normal pace with the book still balanced. Every time it fell off, the old woman would snap at her to start again, and again, and again…

  After an hour of that, which had almost brought Catherine to tears, Mrs. Crumb moved on to something else--proper introductions. Every time she used a slang word, the old bat would hit her on the arm with the ruler.

  A new lesson began on the third hour--lunch.

  Catherine discovered the only thing she knew how to do “right” was picking up her silverware from the outside-in toward the plate.

  Her wrist wasn’t graceful enough when she picked up her glass. She cut her food in bites too large. Then, she ate too fast. A meal had never been so excruciating.

  For the forth hour, they went back to the book trick, only in high heels. Catherine was only ever marginal in walking in them in the first place, and that was with an inch-and-a-half heel. Mrs. Crumb made her wear a pair at three inches, and by the end of that lesson, she was ready to beat the old bat to death with them. She was never so grateful to bid a person goodbye, when Mrs. Crumb announced their time together was up.

  The next “class” was a whole new bag. The woman she’d seen last night, Alana, came into the room.

  “Hi! Call me Alana. I don’t bother with that formal crap. People should be allowed to speak their minds. Anyway, I’m here to teach you two subjects. How are you at math, and have you ever had an orgasm before?”

  What?

  “Uh, um, I’m alright at math… Um, why is the other question important?”

  Alana rolled her eyes. “Because I’m going to teach you about sex, silly.”

  “I-I’ve had the sex-ed courses at school.”

  “Which are seriously lacking in instructing boys on the female orgasm, I’d say. Have you had sex?” she asked.

  Catherine blushed. “No… I was waiting for the right guy.”

  “Ohhh, the romantic version. Yeah, that doesn’t pan out in real life too often. I could tell you a story about a troll… Anyway, since Lorcan owns you, you’re going to need to know a lot. He’s over two-hundred years old, you know.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Ya-huh, and that translates to tons of experience. But I don’t want to scare you with all the details. Right now, we’re going to talk Finance, and then I’ll give you your sex homework, ‘kay?”

  As if the past 24 hours haven’t been bewildering enough…

  Alana was completely shameless. She had diagrams, and props, and stories…all displayed matter-of-factly and with complete abandon.

  Catherine had never blushed so much in her life. “TMI” seriously came to mind!

  ***

  Julian watched it all on a monitor in his office. There were cameras in every public room and hallway of the house. He admired the girl’s control over her temper, and laughed at her embarrassment. They’d drive that out of her eventually. You couldn’t be a shrinking violet in a roomful of demons.

  He had a contact monitoring the police bulletins in Los Angeles for any report of a kidnapping. The females he trained usually came here willingly and with a career in mind. Harboring a kidnapped coed was asking for trouble, especially in the digital age. He had to make sure no one took her into the city until she was handed over to Lorcan. Then, it would be his problem.

  Catherine had been in lessons for eight hours, so he sent someone to escort her back to her room to study. He had a camera there, too.

  Julian watched her toss the book on her bed and walk over to the window, gazing out at the grounds for a couple minutes before sighing and turning back to the book. She took out a pair of reading glasses, propped herself against the headboard, and opened the encyclopedia.

  “How do you even pronounce these names?” he heard her murmur. She was even taking notes!

  Lorcan had really found himself a bookworm in this one. Sure, she seemed to have the smarts to take in the knowledge, but could they turn her into a debutante in six weeks? She’d braided her long hair back the same as he’d seen it yesterday, wore no make-up, and walked like a complete klutz in heels. Turning her would take care of the physical grace issue, but Lorcan wanted her finished before that. She needed to learn how to dance and how to fight.

  Julian’s mind drifted briefly to how his ex had moved in everything she did…

  He shook off that tangent right quick.

  Though it had been years since she’d run off to Lorcan, it still hurt that she could toss away what they had so easily, after a hundred years together.

  Running into Alana gave him a purpose, a hobby to fill the time alone. She wanted to create a profitable business, and he had the knowledge for the task. Their first graduates had been demon prostitutes looking for a better life, but soon, they had young ones fresh out of puberty coming to learn the tricks of the trade in order to land a better mate. Upper-class males began to seek them out looking for a companion. Pretty eye candy, as it were.

  Julian let Catherine study for a few hours, then sent a servant to tell her to prepare to go running. He watched her curse as she hunted through the boxes for sweats and sneakers, then went upstairs to fetch her from the room.

  “Four laps around the house is a mile. I want you to do two miles,” he instructed. She grimaced, but started jogging. “And I better not catch you walking any of it!”

  Her pace was slow, even for a human. They’d have to work on that. At the end of eight laps, he listened to her heart rate, then ordered her to do another four. He needed to know the point she would give in to muscle failure.

  She stopped after five miles, not from muscle fatigue, but from wheezing.

  “Are you on medication?”

  Catherine shook her head “no”, unable to speak, yet. England was a lot colder than California and she wasn’t used to this much exercise.

  “Sit, before you fall down, for chrissakes!”

  Humans are so bloody fragile. He tossed her a bottle of water.

  “Go inside and shower. Supper is in thirty minutes.”

  ***

  Catherine nodded and stumbled inside. She barely made it to the third floor. Her legs felt like lead.

  Showering actually meant standing in the old fashioned claw-foot tub and using a spray nozzle to hose off, so she took a bath, instead. And fell asleep.

  Catherine’s eyes opened when she had five minutes to be down in the dining room.

  “Shit!”

  She scrambled to dry off, putting her clothes on from earlier in the day, and ran down the stairs, skidding into the room and her seat just as Julian sat down at the head of the table.

  “You’re late.”

  By seconds, maybe, she grumbled internally.

  “Not on my watch,” Alana chirped. He glared at her, but she only grinned.

  “Dinner, sir,” one of the servants said, setting a plate in front of him. Other servants set plates down in front of the rest at the same time.

  Catherine was served a chicken breast with fresh lemon, steamed vegetables, and a glass of white wine. Was she supposed to drink that? In her mind, she wasn’t old enough for another three years. The others at the table also seemed to have customized dishes.

  She didn’t know who the other women were, let alone what species. One had quills, instead of hair. Another was wrapped in robes, except for her eyes, which were serpent yellow. None of them spoke
, just waited for Julian to start eating before touching their plates.

  She kept her eyes on her food, practicing what Mrs. Crumb had drilled into her head. She could feel Julian’s eyes, watching her.

  Alana chattered away about end-quarter projections, or some such.

  Dessert eventually came--a lime ice for the human--and it was torture for her. Julian and Alana were served rich, gooey, chocolate cake.

  Catherine was painfully reminded that she wouldn’t get to do her nightly stop at the café for hot chocolate and a pastry ever again. She hoped she would be excused at the end of dinner.

  The others got to go watch television when they were done. She was locked in her room with more books. She fell asleep with the demon encyclopedia in her lap.

  ***

  The first week was a blur of lessons, studying, jogging four miles, and more studying. Somehow, she managed to retain enough to satisfy their quizzes.

  The night schedule was hard to adjust to. Her body still wanted to wake up when it was fully light, and she had to force herself back to sleep again. At the end of that week, when she showed up heavy-lidded with dark circles under her eyes, Julian called her on it.

  “You’re not sleeping.”

  “Not well, sir.”

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “The hours, sir. I keep waking up when it’s daylight.”

  He sighed, and paced in front of her for a moment, before declaring, “Your hours will be adjusted.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Julian grumbled and left the classroom.

  A new schedule was on her bed when Catherine came back from her run. It was handwritten in old-fashioned text, with the slant of a leftie.

  Your sleeping hours are now 1:00AM to 9:00AM. Don’t make me regret showing you leniency.

  She sighed in relief and changed clothes for dinner.

  Maybe Julian wasn’t such a bad guy, after all…or maybe he was just protecting the client’s investment. She couldn’t figure him out. He was always stern and bossy, but at times, he almost seemed…compassionate.