Chapter 10

Imogen’s head was in a fog - she felt hungover. She panicked when she realized her situation: tied to a chair and gagged in a mostly empty room with two people, a computer, and various magical writings and implements.

“Did you make the call?” One of them said, sounding surprised. It was a man with a sort of nerdy vibe despite a shaved head, neck tattoo, and sunglasses. He was sitting on the floor leaning into the computer - also on the floor - watching some sort of video.

“No, not yet,” a woman replied. She was right behind Imogen, out of sight.

“How did she find us? The dog?” The man asked.

“Probably our blood,” the woman answered. “No matter - we’re ready.”

Imogen’s mouth was uncomfortably dry and her jaw was sore. The gag was cloth, tied tightly enough to force her cheeks between her teeth. Her back hurt, too.

She had been on her way to see Ken: a nice ordinary hookup with no intractable moral or philosophical questions. She didn’t remember being attacked or anything about how she got here, but she was certain she had been drugged.

“What’s she doing?” The woman asked.

“She just found the boundary of the demon ward,” the man said. “Sorry, doggo - you don’t get to attend this party. Looks like she’s ordering it to hide and wait - we’ll have to take precautions when we leave.”

Imogen struggled and tried to scream. She couldn’t manage much sound and couldn’t move at all.

“Sorry, dear,” the woman said, walking in front of her. She would have looked like an elementary school teacher if she hadn’t been holding a gun. “You should have chosen your friends more carefully.” She turned to her companion. “What now?”

“She’s burning a packet of herbs and inhaling the smoke.”

“Christianson’s?” The woman speculated.

“Mmm, no,” the man replied. “This is...” He knocked on the floor while he thought. “Something South African. I remember studying it. Nothing that concerns us. Alright, she’s heading this way. I’m going to go downstairs to wait for her.”

The man left the room. The woman went back behind Imogen. The chair she was tied to was positioned conspicuously in the middle of the house’s master bedroom, pointed toward the door. She was a human shield. The house was rundown and had clearly been uninhabited for quite some time.

The pain in Imogen’s head throbbed with the heavy beats of her heart. She was scared, for sure, but far more confused. She was powerless in a life-threatening situation. She might die very soon. Yet part of her tried to explain away the danger. Maybe this wasn’t serious at all, but just the wizard equivalent of a simple bar fight. It was an appealing notion despite how unbelievably stupid it was. But why would Laurel charge into a trap if the stakes were so high? Why wasn’t it a SWAT team entering the house instead?

Time passed and the silence grew thick. The woman behind her was stirring - maybe restlessly. “Eldon?” She shouted loudly enough to be heard downstairs. “Eldon, what’s your status?”

After a few seconds, Imogen felt metal pressing into the back of her head. “Laurel,” she shouted, “you’ve got ten seconds to show yourself before your friend loses weight above the shoulders.”

The woman began counting down. Someone was actually counting down the seconds of Imogen’s life. She was going to die. The gun was pointed straight at her brain stem. She wouldn’t feel it - she wouldn’t even know. At one - or maybe zero - she would just be dead.

“ ... four, three, two...”

Laurel sidestepped into the doorway on two, looking as frightened as Imogen felt. Her hands were raised in surrender.

For some reason, Laurel continued the countdown, sort of. “One, one, two, three, five,” she began, barely able to get the words out. Some of her fingers twitched nervously.

The woman joined Laurel in reciting numbers: “eight, thirteen, twenty-one...” Laurel’s hands came down, and she began making grand sweeping movements with her whole body like some sort of exotic dance.

Laurel stopped speaking but the woman continued: “thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine...” Laurel dashed over behind Imogen, and the metal pressure at the back of her head was gone. A moment later the gun slid across the floor toward the side of the room. Thirty seconds after that, there was the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground, and the woman stopped reciting numbers.

Then Laurel was at her side, cutting her gag and ropes with scissors. “I am so sorry,” she barely managed to say through rapid breaths.

Once Imogen was free she sprang to her feet. “Holy shit, Laurel!”

Laurel handed her a box of latex gloves. Laurel was already wearing some. “P-put these on before you t-touch anything,” she stuttered.

Imogen blindly obeyed and then looked around. The woman was on the ground, with her hands tied behind her back. Her feet and knees were similarly bound. It wasn’t rope that held her though - it looked like green finger-width bamboo stalks had somehow been tied like rope to secure her. Laurel had a backpack like a high-school kid might use, and there were several more similar stalks protruding from inside.