You're naked and vulnerable, but you're also feeling extremely confused. Probably that's why you do just about the stupidest thing possible and trot lightly past the bright windows to that corner where the noises are coming from. But you're not so stupid that you just step around it.
You don't have to: a tall figure jumps out and grabs at you, and you yelp as he rips out a fistful of your chest hair. You leap back, but he is too quick, and an instant later has you locked in a tight grip. "Shut him up!" a voice hisses by your ear as he puts you in a headlock.
A hand goes over your mouth, and you find yourself staring into the softly illuminated face of a kid who can't be much older or younger than yourself. His eyes are very bright, and his grin is sharp. "Who is it?" the voice by your ear hisses again.
"A naked kid," the guy in front of you replies. "Maybe it's a frat party."
The other one mutters an indistinct word that sounds very foul. From above, you hear a noise like the clink of footsteps on tile. "That's the signal to get out of here," the voice continues. "Cover my back." The kid in front of you disappears to the side, and you feel yourself frog marched quickly along. You trip and stumble, but your assailant keeps hustling you forward. You make the front sidewalk, and then he forces you into a run. Somehow you manage to keep to your feet and are soon out past the gate. It squeals behind, and closes with a hard clinking sound.
The voice mutters again, and the second guy again swims into view. "Hey," he says in a friendly tone entirely at odds with the iron-like grip his friend has on you. "What's your name?"
You gape, and swallow. "Will," you say in a guarded tone. "Will Prescott."
"Nice to meet you, Will," he says in the same soft, friendly voice. "Pardon the circumstances. Do you live here?" You shake your head. "Us neither. Is there a party going on in there?"
"Joe," the other guy says in a warning tone.
"Hey, you never know," his friend says. "So if you don't mind me asking, how come you're skulking around Aubrey Blackwell's house without any clothes on?"
You wish Aubrey Blackwell were here so you could ask him the same question. "I'm trying to get out of there," you reply. "He had me and some friends locked up in a basement or something."
Joe's eyes widen, and he lets out a soft whistle. "A black magician and a sex maniac. Two great tastes that taste great together." Your bowels loosen. "Where are your friends?"
"Back inside. Uh ..."
"You were going for help?" Joe asks.
"Yeah," you say slowly. These guys don't seem like they're part of a rescue party. Maybe they were planning to break in and rob the place.
"I think you can let him go now, Frank," Joe says. Your captor replies in what definitely sounds like a foreign language. Joe shrugs. "You tell him, you think you're so persuasive."
You feel a mouth by your ear. The voice is low and very threatening. "My brother is going to say something. You will repeat what he says exactly." The grip on you tightens.
"It doesn't work that way," Joe says crossly. "And now you've spoiled it. Will," he says, looking back at you. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"
"Yeah!" Fear has begun to recede, and anger to take its place.
"Let him go, Frank," Joe says. "We'll put him in the truck and go get the others."
Frank keeps a firm grip on you. "Blackwell is still inside," he says. "Maybe," he adds in a very heavy tone.
"Then we reconnoiter," Joe says. "How'd you get out of the house?" he asks you.
"Through a window," you reply. "There's, like, some French doors or something, by where you grabbed me." You struggle a little, but it's useless. "Down next to them. There's a guy and a girl down in, like, a basement."
Joe's eyes light up. "Is the girl naked too? Is she hot?" Frank mutters another foul-sounding word. "Okay, I guess we'll have to see for ourselves."
Frank pushes you toward a truck; Joe opens the passenger-side door, and Frank thrusts you in. You turn, and find yourself face to face with a tall, dark-haired figure. "You stay here," he says. "Don't touch anything, and don't even think about running off." He gives you a hard glare, and slams the door shut. He and Joe disappear toward the gate.
You look around. It's a big pick-up truck, a lot like the ones you and Sean drive. You peer out the windows. It's the only vehicle in front of the house. What happened to Sean's ride?
You settle back, pulling your legs up to keep warm, and to cover your nakedness as best you can. Your head has begun to hurt. The fuck is going on?
You reflect on the afternoon's and evening's events. You went out with Caleb to see this Blackwell guy. A black magician and a sex maniac, the guy named Joe had said. Well, the last seems plausible, you have to grimly admit: two guys and a girl, stripped of clothes, shoved into a basement. Black magician? You take a deep breath. You and Caleb had gone to the house to ask him about that book of magic you'd found; he'd claimed to know something about it. It suddenly seems like a foolhardy move. If someone knows about the book, then they must know what it is supposedly about. Most people--you, for instance, before you'd found it--would have dismissed the idea of a real book of magic as so much horse puckey. But if someone knew that it was real-- And if they were a "black magician"--
You shake your head. And who are these guys you ran into? They look like high school kids. Or maybe college kids, you have to admit. Why are they babbling about "black magicians" and spying on Blackwell?
You're distracted by muffled shouts, and sit up in your seat. The front of the house is dark, and you can barely make out anything; besides, the front wall blocks most of your view. But as you watch, two figures dart out the gate, and the house's porch light springs on. The doors to the truck fly open, and you're squeezed between your rescuers. Frank starts the truck with a roar and peels away from the house. They ignore you, and you shrink down between them. When you're several hundred yards down the road, Frank jerks the truck to a stop. He doesn't turn off the motor, though.
He looks past you at Joe; again, he says something in a foreign language. Joe is grimacing, and when Frank snaps the cab light on you see that he is pale. "I'll be okay," Joe says. "How about you? English, okay?" he adds when Frank replies in that alien tongue.
Frank suffers to give you a quick glance. "Just a bad scare," he says. "You took the brunt of it. What did it do?"
"Gave me a bad scare." Joe draws a sharp breath. "I think I landed on my arm wrong."
"Lemme see," Frank says.
Joe waves him off. "Will, how are you doing?"
You freeze under their direct gaze. "Uh, I'm naked and really freaked out, but-- What happened?"
"Blackwell has a guard dog," Joe says with a tight smile. "We found your friends, but it wasn't a long conversation. You're lucky you ran into us. If the dog didn't get you, Blackwell would've if you'd tried going back in."
"Are you going to try again," you ask.
He turns a satirical eye on you. "We're gonna pretend that's a compliment, aren't we, Frank, and that you're volunteering our services because you like us and trust us."
"I didn't mean--" you start to stammer.
"It's only going to get worse out there." That's Frank talking, and you reluctantly turn toward him. His face is also pale, and he's staring at you hard. "Before we try anything again we need to know who you are and what you were doing at that house."
Before you can reply, you feel a hand on the back of your head; you turn, startled, to find Joe gently stroking your hair. "Don't be such a hard ass, Frank. He's been through a lot. He doesn't know what's going on. Do you, Will?" At first you think it's a rhetorical question, but he doesn't continue until you mumble agreement. "You see? Blackwell's up to no good. Like I said, he's obviously a sex maniac and probably worse. Will and his friends were just at the wrong place at the wrong time." His smile is very warm and reassuring, and the only "off" note is the pain reflected in his eyes.
"I'd still like to know how they managed to get themselves so spectacularly cross-wise with Blackwell," Frank growls.
"Look, who are you guys," you exclaim. You half-expect a curt and ugly reply, but Joe just smiles.
"Would you believe it if we said we're undercover cops investigating a pretty nasty sex abuse ring?" Joe says. You gape. "If you wanna talk about it, we'll have to take you back to our house," he continues. "You in high school or college?"
"High school. Westside."
"Can you stay out till midnight?"
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