Page 32 of Her Psycho Beasts

Damien’s voice comes from high above us, and we all look up to see a small circle of light and the shadow of a head that must be his. “If you won’t give up your illicit electric devices, I will render them inactive with the water. Fair is fair.”

“Jokes on him,” Stacey mutters, “Mine’s in my bra.”

So is mine, and Yeti palmed his to Minnie, so she has one in each cup. We’re left in complete darkness, teeth chattering, clutching to each other for warmth, for an estimated fifteen minutes before Damien’s voice sneers from above us. “Last chance!”

Stacey’s grip on me tightens. She’s the second shortest of us after Minnie. “He’s not going to?—”

But he does. Our cage begins its descent anew and the water level creeps up our bodies, and I have no choice but to take myphone out of my bra and hold it above my head. Stacey has no choice but to hand me her phone and tread water, and I’m glad Minnie is safe on Yeti’s shoulders or else we’d be in trouble.

The water is at my chin, my toes bobbing above the cage floor, before we’re shrieking at them to stop for Stacey’s sake. Connor ends up grabbing our lioness, and she piggybacks him in tears. We’re all shivering now, noses dribbling, and my entire body is now numb.

“Heisgoing to drown us,” Minnie says in disbelief from above me. “He’s actually out to kill us.”

Chapter 15

Ghoul

The Collector waits for me in the entrance hall, between two ten foot dragon stone sculptures. She wears a calf-length reptilian patterned dress, a black feather boa, and styles her black hair in a cropped, bouncy style. An old-fashioned hairdo for a beast who worships the Old Ways. A cigarette dangles from a white-gloved right hand and a red high-heeled toe taps on the black and gold marbled tile. Two of her people stand nervously behind her, round-bellied scientist avians, all but wringing their hands and pulling at their collars.

I made her wait much longer than was necessary. I’ve always loved a good game. Even so, she can’t help but sweep her eyes down every inch of my swaggering form. Even fully covered, animas can’t help but be drawn towards me. Of course, I can’t blame them.

“My lady,” I say, sweeping a smooth, leisurely bow.

She holds out a hand for me to kiss. I take it in my gloved hand, fighting the nausea, lean over it to give the back of her hand an air kiss from under my skeleton mask.

“You look well, my lord,” she purrs, eyes flashing into their yellow, slitted form and sliding down my body again. I can almost see her licking her long, serrated chops.

“Quite well,” I drawl, flashing the tips of my fangs as I grin without humour. “The smell of fear in the air agrees with me.”

While her servants shift uncomfortably behind her, the Collector’s red-lipped smile is purely reptilian as she replies with a seductive, “I’m sure.”

I turn on my heel and lead her party across the expanse of the entrance hall and down a set of shadowy steps to the lower part of the estate. She stiffens, offended that I haven’t offered her my arm. Such a funny lady.

“I trust the girl is in workable condition, my lord?” she asks as her heels clack on the stone.

I have to think about it for a second. “Workable enough.”

We wind through the old, labyrinthine corridors below the estate until we get to the set of cells that house a single leopard anima.

I open the heavy metal door by using the fingerprint scanner, and it slides open with a satisfying, modern electronic hiss. I allow the Collector and her birdies to stride through before following them in.

Two Clawson tigers sit on stools guarding the girl, springing to their feet upon our entry.

“Who the hell are you?” comes the rasping voice of the anima within the cell.

One of the Clawson tigers lunges forward and shoves his cattle prod between the obsidian bars.

“Speak with respect!” he shouts.

Sabrina shrieks and there’s a thump of her thrashing against the stone wall of her cell.

The Collector sashays up to the bars, tsking. “Dear girl, I am the one who holds your freedom in my hands.”

I step around the Collector’s birdies to survey my prisoner. Sabrina Panthera’s hair is a dirty dark brown nest around her head. Mascara and the remnants of makeup are smeared downher cheeks. She only has obsidian shackles on her wrists and ankles now, and last night I threw a linen smock at her to cover her skin. It’s the Clawson’s responsibility to empty the waste bucket in the corner, but they haven’t.

Someone is going to lose a body part tonight.

“Water,” Sabrina heaves. “Please. Water.”

---