Wuthering Frights (Dulcie O'Neil)

  "Christina, I would like you to meet two of my colleagues," my father said. He faced us both as I felt like choking on his description of us as "colleagues." "Minion" would've been more fitting, or in Quillan’s case, "groveling, ass-kissing puppet."

  The woman spun around and smiled at us both, her front side just as attractive as the back. Quillan had apparently come to the same realization as his eyes raked her up and down wolfishly. She offered him her hand and smiled politely as he shook it. Then she approached me and offered her hand again with another practiced and radiant smile. As soon as I shook her hand, I felt a sense of familiarity welling up within me. She had a certain power within her that spoke to the same power within me.

  "You're a fairy," I said in surprise, having only ever met one other fairy in my lifetime—the fairy hooker, Zara. Even as the words left my mouth, I had to question them, because as far as I could tell, Christina didn't have wings. And in the Netherworld, all fairies had wings.

  Her eyebrows raised in surprise as her smile widened. Her large eyes were nearly as dark as her hair and framed with perfectly shaped, dark brown brows. She was probably around the same age as me, maybe twenty-six, twenty-eight, with a young face. Her sensuality radiated out of her and I could only imagine how popular she was with the boys. But strangely enough, even dressed to the nines as she was now, something about her didn't seem totally girlie. Something about her hinted to the possibility that she could get muddy and do so happily.

  "That's a true gift you have," she said, her dark eyes dancing. "And, yes, you're right; I am a fairy."

  I frowned. "Where are your wings?" At the mention of "wings," mine suddenly unfurled. And like a Jack Russell on Red Bull, they began beating in full-steam-ahead-mode until I had to grab the chair back to keep myself grounded. Mortified, I could only assume I looked completely ridiculous.

  "I have a special device in my jacket, which keeps them under control," Christina started as she dropped her gaze and tried to hide a smile. "It's one of the less-than-thrilling side effects we fairies have to suffer in the Netherworld." She waited for my wings to calm down and added, "I'm Christina Sabbiondo, pleased to meet you."

  I smiled in return, finding her easy affability refreshing. I had to remind myself that she had some kind of relationship with my father and, as such, I shouldn't like her. "Dulcie O'Neil," I said abruptly.

  Christina's eyebrows stretched for the ceiling as she turned back to face my father and said: "O'Neil? As in a relative of yours, Melchior?"

  He nodded with the expression of a proud father. It was something which didn't suit him and it made me want to throw up all over Christina's expensive shoes.

  "Yes, Dulcie is my daughter," he said, glancing at me as if I were a prize winning sow. I glared at him as I muttered something unintelligible, while my wings continued to imitate a hummingbird on fast forward.

  Christina faced me again and seemed to be studying me. "Ahhh, I can absolutely see the resemblance. You both have stunning green eyes."

  I failed to reply because I was all out of pleasantries. Besides, where my father was concerned, it was better to hold my tongue than piss him off again. Especially since he didn’t hesitate in reminding me that Knight's safety was always on the line.

  "I wanted to introduce the three of you," Melchior started, "because I am tasking all of you with a team project."

  A fucking team project? I said to myself, suddenly feeling like I was an unenthusiastic candidate on "The Apprentice."

  No one replied, we just glanced back and forth at one another, waiting for Melchior to continue. He walked across his office to a coat closet in the corner of the room. Upon opening it, he reached for something and returned with a white Styrofoam box which looked like an organ transporting device. He opened the box and I almost expected him to pull out a lung. Instead, he placed a vial on his desk. It was about the width and height of my index finger, and filled with white pills that looked like Tic-Tacs. Melchior popped the cap and offered each of us a pill.

  "What is it?" I demanded, feeling my heart drop. As a veteran ANC Regulator, I'd busted plenty of potions traffickers on the black market, and I was very familiar with illegal narcotics. But I'd never laid eyes on this small white pill before.

  "It's an antidote, or should I say, an anti-buzz," Melchior said softly.

  "An antidote to what?" I inquired, my tone of voice sounding less than thrilled as I continued to study the white pill.

  "To Draoidheil," my father answered, as if the very word would ring a bell or two in my head. But, at the moment, the only thing ringing inside me was my temper.

  "What is that?" Christina asked, sounding like an eager student. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who hadn't seen nor heard of Draoidheil before, much less the white pill.

  Melchior reached inside the box again and produced another vial. This one was filled with what looked like iridescent glitter, although the particles were far smaller, almost like very fine sand. He handed the vial to Quill, who inspected it before handing it to Christina. She started to uncork the vial, but stopped when Melchior "tsked" her.

  "I would not do that," he said simply.

  Christina's eyebrows raised as she gulped and handed the vial to me; but I wanted none of it and simply shook my head. She gave me a strange expression before handing it back to Melchior.

  "What does it do?" she asked.

  "In Gaelic, Draoidheil means magic," Melchior said simply. "And that is precisely what it is and what it does."

  "Magic?" I asked in a droll tone, feeling like I'd just found a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. 'Course, I would've exchanged Melchior for Willy in a split second. And I didn't even like sweets.

  My father faced me and frowned. "If I were to open this vial and hold it beneath your nose, with one whiff, you would be under the influence of Draoidheil. As simple as smelling a flower, whatever you most wanted in life would be yours."

  "What?" I asked, frowning helplessly as fear began uncoiling within me. I'd never heard of a narcotic being activated by merely smelling it. Inhaling, yes, smelling, no. "What does that even mean, whatever I most wanted in life would be mine?"

  "Not in actuality, of course," Melchior backpedaled. "But its influence would convince you that whatever you most desired; love, money, companionship, fame, intelligence ... was yours."

  "And that's the narcotic's high?" Quillan asked, although it was really more of a statement. He glanced at the vial again with shock in his eyes. I'd never heard of anything like this before and apparently neither had he.

  Thoughts started swarming through my head, causing alarm bells to peal through my entire body. "If I were to throw that vial into the air, with all of us in here," I started.

  "We would all be under its influence," Melchior finished for me.

  "For how long?"

  "Perhaps five hours," Melchior responded, his countenance eerily casual and calm.

  "How long does one vial of Draoidheil last?" I persisted.

  Melchior held the vial up to his eyes, as if he were inspecting it. "The narcotic was designed to have an expiration date of two days after the uncorking of the vial."

  "And let me guess, it's incredibly addictive?" I continued, the frown on my lips drooping all the way to my feet.

  My father glanced from the vial to me and smiled pleasantly. "Precisely so."

  A short shelf-life with an addictive chemical would predicate incredible demand. From a capitalistic standpoint, it seemed a winner. But from a humanistic standpoint, it was anything but.

  "And how addictive is addictive?" Quillan asked cautiously.

  "Currently, the most addictive potion on the market," Melchior answered. "One whiff and you would be at the mercy of the Draoidheil." I felt my mouth drop open in shock as Melchior held up the vial with the white pills in it. "That's why these little specimens are so important."

  "Those pills invalidate the power of the potion?" Christina asked, her tone revealing she was as s
haken as the rest of us.

  "Yes, if taken right before or after exposing oneself to the Draoidheil," Melchior continued, "they nullify its effects." He glanced at Christina, then at me, adding: "I call it Snake Oil."

  "Fitting," I said snidely, my heart racing as I began to put the pieces together. "This isn't on the streets," I said softly. "I've never seen it before."

  My father's eyes narrowed on me. "Precisely so." He smiled then. "I am tasking the three of you with the mission of introducing and distributing it."

  Ten

  No one said anything for at least five seconds—and the cloying silence in the room became uncomfortable. I was still in shock, allowing my father's words to sink in. I just couldn't come to grips with the idea that A, there was a potion available as dangerous and potentially devastating as Draoidheil; and B, that I was now in charge of distributing it. I could already imagine what that would entail—widespread addiction. It was the recipe for a large-scale disaster, the outcome of which would be absolute dictatorship for my father. Why? Because it would mean an immense amount of unlimited money—unlimited because the stuff was so addictive. And of course, Melchior had designed it that way for exactly that reason—to ensure his own tyranny.

  The more I considered it, the more it concerned me. It wasn't farfetched to imagine half the population, on Earth and in the Netherworld, addicted to this stuff. One sniff and boom, you were hopelessly addicted! Actually, half the population was probably being conservative. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to imagine that eventually, everyone could become addicted since the stuff was basically airborne. Yep, this really was the perfect seedbed to Netherworld dominion, as far as Melchior was concerned.

  "And does it work on humans?" Christina asked, her tone curious but wary.

  I hadn't even considered that side of things and gulped hard. Most Netherworld potions didn't have any effect on humans (with the exception of one or two). Likewise, things like heroin, marijuana, cocaine and meth, for instance, did nothing to my kind.

  Melchior shook his head and relief washed over me. "Not so far."

  That meant he was working on it. My sense of relief was short-lived and soon disappeared. The human market was probably where Melchior ultimately wanted to lay claim. There were far more humans in existence than Netherworld creatures, so he had to look at them like unmilked cash cows.

  It seemed every time I turned around, I sunk deeper and deeper into the quagmire known as the illegal potions trade. If I thought I was up to my neck before, now I was up to my eyes and it was becoming increasingly difficult to invent a way out. But I still hadn't given up. I wouldn't give up now, knowing Draoidheil was on its way. I had to prevent this; somehow, I had to stop Melchior. But the question was how?

  "Perhaps you would care to see a demonstration of the potency of Draoidheil?" my father asked. He said it with such ease and nonchalance, like we were on a field trip and he was going to show us how to pan for gold.

  "Okay," Christina said nervously, her eyes suddenly going wide as she probably wondered if she'd just offered herself as a guinea pig.

  My father smiled at her warmly and shook his head, as if to say, "Calm down and relax." Then he picked up the headset to his phone and dialed. His secretary answered almost immediately.

  "Barbara? Will you come in for a moment?" he asked, sounding casual, but matter-of-fact.

  "Of course," she answered in a chirpy voice as Melchior hung up.

  Then he picked up the vial of white pills and emptied them into his palm, taking out one before replacing the others. He brought the pill to his tongue and swallowed it in an instant, turning to face the three of us. "Now would be a good time to take yours."

  I'd nearly forgotten the white pill I clutched in my hand. For a split second, I thought the pill might be something entirely different than an antidote; and maybe this was some sort of setup. But after witnessing my father swallowing his and confident that I wanted nothing to do with the Draoidheil, I swallowed mine, hoping for the best. With last minute panic, I glanced at Quill and Christina, and relaxed a little after noticing they had both taken theirs.

  At the sound of a hesitant knock on the door, I saw Barbara poke her head in. She was a redhead with a plain, non-descript prettiness about her face—like with the right makeup she might even be considered beautiful.

  "Come in," my father greeted her warmly. I watched as she closed the door behind her and approached us, smiling curiously before settling her gaze on my father. She was probably in her mid thirties and maybe five foot six, if I had to guess. She was dressed conservatively in a slim fitting, two-piece grey skirt suit, but it was still obvious that she had a good figure.

  She approached my father and then paused, as if awaiting his instruction. He simply pulled out the vial of Draoidheil and handed it to her as my stomach dropped. It just seemed so wrong that he'd lured his trusting secretary to be his test subject. Why that should have surprised me was curious since there was really nothing redeeming about my father at all … A sobering thought.

  "We are researching new scents," he started, sounding like he was the chairman for a perfumery. "Our panel seems to agree upon this one." He paused. "We thought we'd ask your opinion."

  I desperately wanted to stop her from reaching for the vial, but I knew I couldn't. Instead, I stood there with my heart lodged in my throat and watched her bring the vial to her nose and sniff it. At first nothing happened. Her face appeared to go blank, and I thought maybe she hadn't gotten the scent of anything. She started to move the vial toward her nose again, as if she needed another sniff, when the Draoidheil appeared to have hit her.

  She sort of hobbled back a few steps, at which time Melchior grabbed the vial from her, to stop her from spilling it. Then a momentary look of bewilderment pasted itself across her pale face. She closed her eyes as a huge smile widened her mouth. When she opened her eyes again, she focused on Melchior and her pupils were dilated.

  She definitely looked like she was on something.

  "Melchior," she said in soft voice, closing the gap between them. She took one of his hands in hers while running the fingers of her other hand through his hair. At that moment, it was pretty obvious what she most desired—my father.

  Yuck in a basket.

  My father seemed slightly uncomfortable, although not surprised by her display of affection. He eyed the three of us almost apologetically before taking control of the situation and turning it into a show-and-tell again. He smiled at Barbara, something she must have taken as an invitation because she suddenly tried to kiss him. He pulled away.

  "What do you most desire, Barbara?" he goaded her, obviously still trying to prove a point.

  "You," she responded automatically. "You've always known that. I just never imagined you'd ever give in to your feelings for me."

  He looked at us again, holding Barbara's wrists to keep her at arm's length. "The Draoidheil makes you believe that whatever you most desire is yours," he said to the three of us. He focused on Barbara again. "Case in point."

  "Point taken," I grumbled, hating that Barbara's secret was being so blatantly flaunted in front of people she didn't even know. I couldn't imagine how mortified she'd be if she had any idea what she was saying and doing at the moment. Hopefully, the Draoidheil would mess with her memory. When my father made no move to end his little show, I attempted to. "I think we've seen enough," I said, trying to sound calm and even-keeled. "Give her the antidote ... please."

  Melchior said nothing. He merely nodded and shook the vial of pills over his palm, before selecting one pill and handing it to Barbara. She stopped attempting to sexually harass him and eyed the pill curiously, making no motion to put it in her mouth.

  "Swallow it," my father said abruptly.

  Barbara dutifully placed the pill on her tongue, and a second or so later, swallowed. I assumed it would take the antidote at least a few minutes to work, depending on how long it took to reach her bloodstream, but I was wrong. Almost instantly, her
demeanor changed, the lovelorn look in her eyes was replaced with perplexity as she glanced around the room in utter confusion.

  "Do you feel well?" Melchior asked, studying her in a detached, clinical sort of way. I felt extremely sorry for her, knowing that she was in love with my father who was incapable of loving another person. Of that, I was convinced; he was entirely too much in love with himself.

  She faced him and shook her head, bringing her hand to her cheeks then her forehead. "It's strange but I feel a bit flushed, I'm not sure why."

  "Perhaps you should leave early today, Barbara," Melchior said, patting her back as he escorted her to the door. "Sit down at your desk for a while before you drive, though, will you?"

  She nodded obediently as he closed the door behind her. He faced us again and slapped his hands together like he'd just proven his thesis. "Any questions?" he asked.

  I didn't say anything. I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. I saw Quillan simply shake his head, with the look of defeat on his face. Christina was the only one of us who seemed at all interested, and although she didn't have any questions, this new project seemed to excite her, all the same.

  "If you don't mind showing yourselves out, I still have important business that demands my attention," my father said. He returned to his gargantuan desk, took a seat and faced his computer as we started for the door. None of us said a word as we traipsed down the hallway to the bank of elevators. Even our ride down was silent. Once we reached the lobby, I cleared my throat and Quillan sighed.