Two voices shriek—one male, one female—and the pair freezes on the bed.
But me? I’m just trying to process what I’m seeing here.
“What thefuck?” Auggie says from just behind me, taking in the sight of the lovely couple whose nightly escapades we’ve just interrupted—a bloke I assume is Full Metal Jacket, tied to the bedposts in slightly less than Full Metal glory, a spreader bar between his ankles, ball gag shoved into his mouth. And a woman—Kelly, I suppose—dressed in a black thong-and-latex number, straddling him, her arse in his face as she pours hot wax from a lit candle onto his dangly bits.
In the shocked silence that follows, I let out a low whistle. “You make torture look almost fun, mate. And Kelly? Very bold choice, what with the latex around that open flame.”
“Uh, Jude?” Auggie says.
“Who knew shadow magic society members were so adventurous? Guess I didn’t give you enough credit. Which just goes to show, you can’t always judge a—”
“Jude.” Auggie grips my shoulder again, his mouth close to my ear. “That’s not Kelly Obrovski. It’s the fucking doctor. Pomeroy’s mother.”
“Pomeroy’s… Wait. Dr.Eckhardt?” I laugh, but yes, now that he mentioned it, I recognize the woman from Rook’s surveillance films—the woman we caught leaving Hunter’s apartment. “Well. I heard you made house calls, but this is somespecialservice you’re providing to Connie here. Does Kelly know about this clandestine little romp? Perhaps we should give her a ring.”
The suggestion seems to snap them both out of their momentary shock.
Still holding the candle, Eckhardt flings her other hand toward us, likely trying to cast some dark incantation.
Pointless.
Even with my human glamour, I’m faster and stronger andwaymore excited about the prospect of inflicting violence than she seems to be.
I’ve got her yanked off the bed and shoved against the wall with the crowbar across her throat, one of Rook’s dampener cuffs clamped over her wrist before the bitch can even utter another gasp. The candle drops to the floor and sputters out.
Auggie tosses me the rope. While he cuffs our boy, Connie—already restrained, courtesy of the good doctor—I tie the woman to a rickety desk chair and crouch down before her with a grin.
Yeah.Thatgrin.
“Time for us all to have a friendly fireside chat,” I say softly, patting her knee.
Then I bash it with the crowbar.
Right to the point, this particular instrument. That’s what I love about it.
She passes out, naturally.
Connie, however, remains fully aware through it all, moaning and thrashing about like a stuck pig.
Never before have I been so grateful for a ball gag.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the doctor to return to us. When she looks up at me again, her eyes are still sharp, but her skin has lost much of its earlier luster; that latex outfit certainly isn’t doing her any favors now.
“How’s the knee?” I ask. “Looks a bit swollen. Perhaps you should see a doctor?”
Tears spill down her cheeks, but to her credit, she doesn’t moan or complain.
“What… what do you want?” she pants.
“Information, naturally.” With another grin, I say, “But hey—before we get to the meat of the conversation, quick question… I assume Kelly’s in the dark about this, but… does yoursonknow you’re playing a bit of Fifty Shades with his best mate? Far be it from me to judge, but I feel like that could make birthday parties and family barbecuesreallyawkward.”
“My… my son?” she sputters, her eyes widening with new fear. “How do you know my son?”
“Jakey? Oh, Jakey and I gowayback. Alonso, too. Turns out we’ve all got a mutual acquaintance. A witch by the name of Westlyn Ave—oh! I just realized we haven’t properly introduced ourselves. How rude of me.” I offer a slight bow of my head. “I’m Jude Hendrix, and my associate over there keeping your boy-toy company is Augustine Lamont. Go on, Auggie. Wave to the good doctor.”
From his spot beside the bed, Auggie doesn’t wave. Just sighs and rolls his eyes. “FuckingJude. Get on with it, for fuck’s sake.”
Ignoring all this, the doctor says, “Please. My son… Just tell me my son is okay.”
