The Sorceress (30 page)

“Yes. It's a deal,” the boy readily agreed. “Now, let's make arrangements for their demise. First, we need to dress you, Eris, so you can give the appearance of being a human mortal. As for Boozer…well, not even the finest clothes will help his image. He'll have to be kept hidden.” He stared at Eris challengingly.

“Fine. But Boozer has his needs and the governess may not be enough for him. Where is the rest of your household staff? Boozer needs a generous supply of women.”

The boy arched a brow. “The cook should be here by now.”

“Boozer already had the cook. Aren't there others?”

Oh, no! What did she mean by,
had
the cook? What happened to Carmen? Something really bad,
Jen surmised. Suddenly forlorn, her shoulders slumped. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep. All hope was gone. Carmen would not be huffing up the stairs accompanied by a SWAT team dressed in battle gear and equipped with lethal weapons.

“No, my parents keep a small staff. The maid is scheduled to work tomorrow. He'll have to suppress his appetite until then.” Ethan lifted a brow. “That is…unless you're willing to share her.” He nodded his oversized head in Jen's direction.

“No, I need her. She's mine.”

Jen felt lightheaded, close to swooning. The discussion between Ethan and the naked woman was sheer lunacy—something from the
Twilight Zone,
but until she escaped Jen would have to co-exist with them in this twisted, altered reality. There was nothing she could do except stay alert and attempt to stay alive.

Eris turned her scary eyes on Jen. “Let's go select my new wardrobe, shall we? I hope the mistress of this house has refined taste.”

Away from Ethan's earshot, Jen started rambling. “I know there's something here that can fit him. He shouldn't have to stay caged in the basement. We don't get many women here at the house, but there are hordes of them who roam the streets at night. If he goes out after dark, no one will suspect that he's not quite human.”

Eris's eyes lit with hostility. Irritated, she motioned for Jen to lead the way.

W
ith the naked ghost lady at her side, Jen exited Ethan's bedroom, giving a swift backward glance at Boozer. To Jen's relief, he was not tagging along. He glowered and snarled at Jen, but at least he was staying put. Jen figured the woman must have given the brute a warning signal to keep an eye on Ethan.
Good!
Without the assistance of the cloven-foot beast, the ghost lady might not be a strong opponent. Perhaps Jen could subdue her, outrun her, or outsmart her and get her hands on a phone.

Heart in her throat, Jen moved from one room to the next, frantically plotting an escape. Buying time, she slowly…mechanically searched closets, trunks, bureau drawers, and as expected, continually came up empty handed.

She knew there was nothing in the house that the big ogre could even fit an arm or a leg inside. He was monstrously large. Without meaning to, Jen conjured up an image of Boozer.

She grimaced at the thought of those claws, the tarnished sharp teeth, the hooves…and that big furry dick.
Eew!

On second thought, she preferred Boozer to be dressed and out of the house as quickly as possible.

Yes, it was terrible to unleash such a hellish terror upon society. And it was an act of cowardice to try to spare herself while Boozer
rampaged through the populace of Philadelphia and the entire tri-state area, she admitted, somewhat ashamed.

But…she'd never claimed to be a humanitarian; she simply wasn't brave enough or kind enough to deliberately martyr herself to save many. Wanting him, or
it
, or whatever Boozer was…far, far away from her, Jen began an enthusiastic search for jumbo-sized male attire.

Eris sighed impatiently. “Forget about Boozer. I want to be fitted in the mistress's finest garments.”

The title Madame Vice President was going to be difficult enough for Jen to stomach, but referring to Catherine as
mistress
was really taking her bossy employer's status a bit too far.

Misery loves company and Jen truly wished Catherine was home right now, experiencing this horror-show right alongside of her. But she wasn't. That hussy was somewhere visiting the troops, and enjoying the fawning press and the thunderous applause that erupted whenever she made an appearance.

With her lips turned down in defeat, Jen muttered miserably, “Sure, follow me, I'll show you the mistress's wardrobe.”

Eris swept into Catherine's grand bedroom as if it were her very own. Her eyes sparkled in delight, dancing over the sights of the luxurious and well-made bed, the Moroccan rug, the sleek furnishings, and the silk drapes that hung at the windows.

“This is lovely. Almost as lovely as my personal quarters on the Goddess Realm.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Goddess Realm—my true home.”

“Okay…”

“I'm a goddess,” Eris spat, insulted that Jen hadn't recognized her goddess-like qualities. Jen stared dumbly. Eris gawked at her if she were a blithering idiot who needed to be told a fact that should have been apparent.

“Oh, you're a goddess?”

“I'm Eris, the goddess of destruction.”

“I see.”

“You don't see. Your effort at humoring me is contemptuous.” Tiny sparks of fury flickered from Eris's eyes.

More frightened than ever, Jen calmed the quick-to-anger goddess. “I knew there was something special about you,” she placated Eris as she led her to an adjacent room that closely resembled a posh boutique. Catherine's luxurious walk-in closet— featured suspended shelving, and a dressing area with excessive mirrors.

“These are her power suits!” Jen exclaimed and pointed to a multitude of tailored separates in an array of colors and textures. Owning only a meager wardrobe, Jen was no fashionista, but even she, with her predilection for comfort rather than frill, knew that Catherine Provost's wardrobe was stuffy and conservative. She hoped witchy woman wouldn't mind.

Frowning, Eris cradled her chin as she took inventory of Catherine's business suits.

Near the open door was shelving and drawers that contained accessories, sweaters, and other clothing items. Jen meandered over to a stack of pastel-colored cardigans. Needing something to do with her nervous hands, she lifted a random stack of sweaters and anxiously squeezed, crumpling the perfectly folded pile.

Her eyes bounced around and lingered longingly at the threshold she yearned to sprint across. Maybe she should disable Eris and then escape. She surveyed the room in search of an object to bash the wicked woman upside the head.

She needed something heavy enough to cause severe head trauma or, better yet, a death so swift and permanent, the creature would be cast back inside the computer or back to that “realm” she called home. But Jen saw nothing except satin
clothes hangers, wimpy power suits, and plushy soft sweaters.

Her eyes shot over to the many rows of shoes arranged in cubbies. Jen scanned them, hopeful. But the shoes were totally useless. All sensible pumps and flats. Not one pair of pointy, killer stilettos among the many pairs of conservative footwear.

She struggled with the impulse to dash out of there. She was a strong runner; she could get downstairs and out the front door in record time.

But she didn't know what powers Eris possessed. Her claim of being a goddess could be true for all Jen knew. Being a goddess, maybe she didn't need to run fast. Maybe she would take flight, whipping through the air in pursuit of Jen.

Anything was possible in this household that had suddenly become a three-ring circus…a loony bin. No, the Provost home had become far worse; it was a haunted house with evildoers from other realms.

If she thought hard enough about her grave circumstances, or gave in to her fears, she would pee her pants again, faint, or succumb to a fatal heart attack. But survival instincts would not allow her to give up without a fight.

So, instead of running, Jen thought it a better idea to try to slip past Eris while she browsed through Catherine's clothes. She stared at the door and then at Eris, who was sweeping through the sea of suits.

Calculating her stealthy movements, Jen's eyes shifted around, making sure Eris was preoccupied. She was, but not with the wardrobe. For some inexplicable reason, she'd shifted her attention to her hands and was holding them up to her face, flipping them back and forth, smiling a wicked smile as she marveled at her palms and then at the backs of her hands as if they were precious stolen goods that she'd cunningly confiscated.

They were nice enough hands with long, slender fingers, but really...what was the big deal? Jen shrugged. Seizing the opportunity, she promptly returned the rainbow hues of cashmere inside the lavender-scented drawer. With the toes of her left foot pointed, she prepared to make her sneaky move.

“These garments are deplorable!” Eris's voice suddenly filled the quiet room. “Where's the mistress's finery?”

Caught in the act, Jen took in a harsh gasp of breath. Her heart fluttered erratically. “Her finery?”' she asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

Ghost lady had her furious bright blue eyes fixated on her, and Jen, too intimidated and too guilty to meet her gaze, hung her head low. Her escape attempt was thwarted but, too absorbed in her repulsion, Eris didn't seem to notice Jen's outstretched leg.

Resignedly, Jen lowered her foot. She was stuck. There'd be no making a run for it or any stealthy tip-toeing out of there.

Strutting around the well-organized room with an air of confidence not typically associated with someone in dire need of clothing, Eris made a flourishing gesture with her long arm. “There nothing suitable here. When I take my trip to Roanoke, I want to be swathed in the finest lady-like apparel. I refuse to be seen in any of these unsightly garments. There's not even a decent frock in sight.”

Pants and skirt suits lay in a colorful heap on the floor. Wearing an expression of loathing, Eris dropped a black skirt and fitted jacket combo on top of the discarded pile of business wear with such force, a gust of air fluttered and lifted Jen's bangs from her forehead.

What the hell is a frock?
Jen scratched her head.
Oh!
Suddenly illuminated, she realized that Eris was stuck in slavery times and wanted to wear a dress, but not just any dress…she wanted something
fancy like a Scarlett O'Hara, belle-of-the-ball type gown. A gaudy little number with a brocade fitted top, cinched waist and layers and layers of voluminous satiny skirts. Why would a black woman, even a partially dead one, yearn for such a crude reminder of high times in the Antebellum South? Jen almost shook her head in disgust, but caught herself. She dared not risk making a gesture that would possibly raise the hackles of the ill-tempered goddess.

“I thought you wanted…you know, something casual. Catherine keeps her gowns separate.”

As if expecting the ball gowns to be as humdrum of the rest of the gear, Eris gave a contemptuous snort. “Well…where are the frocks?”

“This way.” Jen led Eris to the opposite side of the vast room. “Her evening gowns are stored in air-tight bags,” Jen explained, forcing a smile that strove to please.

Jen swung open the double doors of a heavy closet. Eris was right behind Jen. So close, her naked breasts pressed into Jen's back. Her nipples felt like daggers, giving Jen the willies. Eris was completely comfortable in her nudity, desiring clothing only so she could make her journey to Roanoke.

Feeling an urgent need to get the goddess dressed and her pointy boobies properly covered, Jen unzipped a clothing bag.

“Oh shit,” she muttered softly. It was the gown Catherine was planning to wear to the Inaugural Ball. The lady of the house would shit bricks if something happened to the gown.

Reminding herself that this was a matter of life or death, Jen yanked the gown out of the bag, handling the delicate fabric roughly in her haste to accommodate Eris's finicky taste. “What do you think?” She held the plain mauve chiffon gown up for inspection.

Eris sneered at the chiffon dress.

Sweating bullets, Jen unzipped six or seven airtight bags containing smooth, sleek, and flowing chenille, satin, silk, and chiffon ballroom finery. Eris turned up her nose at each offering and unceremoniously flung the dresses to the floor.

Jen's face lit when she remembered a costume that Catherine had planned to wear to a Halloween party tonight. That was before she been offered the nomination. Now off somewhere with the troops, Catherine had no need for the costume that was the perfect frock for this pesky witch.

It wasn't an Antebellum era gown; it was from the Victorian period. But what the heck. She displayed the gaudy costume.

A flicker of a smile crossed Eris's face.

Great!
While the goddess caressed the fabric, Jen investigated the path to her escape. There were no cumbersome items to jump over or negotiate around. The door was wide open and she had a clear path. It was time to make her move.