The Dark Side of Eleanor Warwick
BURNS

As painful as the shocks were, the darkness is worse.

Lisa sways back and forth, a lightheaded feeling beginning to creep over her. When the door suddenly opens, she flinches. Much to her surprise, it’s not her Mistress who enters.

Jeremy throws the switch on a winch along the wall. With a jerk, Lisa begins to slowly lower to the floor. He hurries over to ease her down.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Be quiet,” he snaps. “Just listen. There are men here, and they aren’t messing around. Mistress is in danger. We all are.”

“What? Is she okay?”

“For now.” Jeremy unhooks her ankles and pulls her up to her feet. “They’ve rounded everyone up. I have to get back in there before they notice I’m gone, but they haven’t seen you.” Forcefully turning Lisa, he goes to work releasing the straps of her jacket, fastened at her back. “You have to get Mistress’ phone and call Warwick and Willard.”

With a leathery scrape, the long belts that hold Lisa’s arms across her body slide free of their bindings. Before Lisa can say anything, Jeremy roughly spins her back around to face him. “Do you understand?” he asks, clutching her shoulders. Lisa nods unconvincingly.

“Good. Go.” He gives her a shove toward the door. Lisa stumbles slightly before she rushes out of the room. The long straps dangle from the sleeves of her jacket, occasionally slapping her bare legs as she runs. She reaches an intersection of the halls, and she has to choose to move toward her Mistress’ room, where the phone is, or move toward the club proper, where her Mistress herself is.

If Mistress Penelope is in danger, Lisa wants to go to her. She wants to protect her, regardless of how ridiculous the idea is. Forcing herself to accept the rational course, Lisa dashes down the corridor to Penelope’s bedroom.

The phone sits on the Mistress’ vanity. When Lisa reaches out to snatch it up, she quickly realizes a flaw in the plan. Jeremy released her arms, but her hands are still inside the thick sleeves of the straitjacket.

After a quick curse, Lisa wrestles with the sleeves until one of her fingers can press out enough to navigate the phone. She replaces Eleanor Warwick’s number as quickly as she can manage, which is not particularly fast. As it rings, Lisa presses each palm against either side of the phone’s frame. She carefully lifts it and holds it awkwardly against her face.

She wants to let out a cry when Eleanor’s voicemail picks up. Determining that no message will bring Warwick in time, she hangs up but presses the big red button with a little too much frustrated force. The phone tumbles from her hands. It hits the carpet and bounces under the bed.

With a shriek, Lisa drops to the floor and crawls after it. Her leather-encased finger works its way back through the device’s menu. Finding Henry Willard’s number, she presses her head down on the phone.

“Mr. Willard! It’s Lisa!” she cries with a wobbling, terrified voice. “There are men here! They’re going to hurt Mistress Penelope! You have to help! Please!” She listens, nodding slightly. “Yes, sir. Please hurry!”

Lisa uses her nose to hang up and then lies there wondering what to do next. As she does, she wipes beads of sweat from her face. It is suddenly very hot. Scooting out from under the bed, Lisa glances around but sees nothing out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, she can feel the heat on her face and bare legs. Rising, she hurries out into the hall and freezes, wide-eyed.

Flames engulf the end of the hallway. Lisa’s first instinct is to back away, but she stops herself before she can get far. Her Mistress is beyond the fire. Dancing flames reflect off her large brown eyes as she stares. If the wall of flame is thin, she can dash through, perhaps only suffering minor burns. Of course, there’s no way of knowing if what lay beyond the fire is more fire.

Setting her jaw, Lisa dashes forward. As she approaches the flames, she lets out a war cry that sounds far more akin to a terrified scream. She bursts through the wall and trips on a toppled candelabrum that waits on the other side.

Pain spikes in her barefoot and she plops down onto the warm club floor. A small whimper escapes her, but her foot is quickly forgotten when she looks up into the lifeless face of the tall, handsome doorman and lets out a horrified scream. Covering her mouth with her sleeved hand, Lisa slowly rises. More death surrounds her. Tears run and her lip trembles as she replaces more and more bodies.

For a moment she allows herself to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t spilled Mistress’ drink on her. She would have been out there with all of them and would very likely be dead. The thought makes her nauseous so she quickly chases it away.

She feels a strange sting when she spots Jeremy. He became an obnoxious jackass recently, but Lisa remembers a supportive, patient man who used to walk the halls of House Morneau. He was a loyal servant, but he allowed himself to start thinking he knew better than his Mistress. In his zeal to protect Penelope from the perceived threat of association with Eleanor Warwick, he went from a loving guard dog to a nasty animal that would snap at everyone who even came near his owner. In time, Lisa would mourn the man he once was.

A slight wave of relief washes over Lisa when she fails to replace Mistress Penelope among the dead, but it’s very temporary. She squints against the light and heat of the flames as she scans the room. Flames completely swallow the bar, not even the basic structure can be made out. A wall obscures the entryway, but Lisa feels confident she could make it through if she keeps moving.

Then, in a clearing in the inferno, she spots Mistress Penelope. She lays face down, her burgundy hair sprawled out. A few shouts of her name prompt no reaction. Without taking time to think about it, Lisa leaps through another partition of fire. Flames kiss her bare legs, but she ignores the stinging pain, only taking a moment to rub her skin with the leather of her sleeves.

“Mistress?” Lisa rolls her over, lolling her head about in an attempt to wake her. A deep contusion darkens Penelope’s flawless skin. Lisa thrills at the sight of her Mistress’ chest rising. She’s alive. Before she can get too excited, Lisa breaks out into violent coughing. Very soon, her Mistress being capable of breathing will be irrelevant. There will be nothing to breathe.

With a groan of effort, Lisa tries to lift the much taller Penelope but quickly falters. The thought she could be dragged out is quickly dismissed. Lisa would have to drag her through fire. Kneeling, Lisa struggles to get her Mistress across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She tries to take a deep breath before attempting to lift, but a hacking cough is all she can manage. Gritting her teeth, Lisa summons every ounce of muscle she has and slowly stands.

A tear runs down her cheek as she stares at the flames blocking their escape. She can’t move too fast or risk dropping her Mistress. She has to be slow, calm, and steady. Which means the flames would torment her bare skin.

Another hoarse cough encourages Lisa to get a move on. Holding Penelope tight, Lisa takes step after careful step. She bites her lip and closes her eyes as tightly as she can when her pace takes her into the blaze.

Both gestures prove futile as her brown eyes pop open wide and a shrieking howl escapes her the moment she steps into the fire. Her knees try to buckle, but she doesn’t let them. Burning agony races up from the pads of her feet and does not cease until near her hip. Hot, wet tears run down her hot, dry cheeks. As she presses further into the inferno, the edges of the hostess’ vision begin to darken.

Growling, Lisa summons a will that lay dormant inside her all her life. It didn’t help her stop other kids at school from bullying her. It didn’t help her be the presentable daughter her politician father needed her to be. It didn’t help her survive on her own when he sent her away.

But by God, it’s going to help her save her Mistress.

Chasing away the encroaching dark, Lisa quickens her pace. The going is still slow, but progress increases. Despite her renewed vigor, her legs tremble as they’re racked with pain and damage that Lisa doesn’t even want to think about. Her limbs are just about to give out when she sees the end of her trek. The hallway leading from the club proper to the front door is burning as well, but it remains along the wall. The floors are largely clear.

Letting out a tortured scream, Lisa pushes forward with everything she has. The fire’s end grows closer as her weeping bellows grow louder. Finally, her legs have had enough. A numbness washes over them and Lisa replaces herself falling forward. With a shout of strength she has never conjured before, she extends her arms and shoves Penelope off her shoulders.

Penelope clears the flames and tumbles down on the plush carpets of her foyer. Collapsing, Lisa lies face down, her legs still in the flames. Fading eyes look up to see her Mistress is as safe as she could make her. With Mistress Penelope out of immediate danger, her mission is complete, and she’s happy to rest her head on the carpet and fade away.

Sensation rushes back to her. Someone is touching her face. Lisa snaps back to the waking world and desperately clutches the hands. “Mistress!” she tries to shout, a hoarse scraping sound emerging instead.

“Lisa,” Henry says quietly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Lisa lolls her head about. The fires are gone, but the damage is done. The hallway is largely intact, but the club beyond is a blackened ruin. She looks to her Mistress lying nearby, safe. “Is she...?”

“She’s alright. Thanks to you, I suspect.”

“My...my legs. I can’t feel my legs.”

She tries to sit up, but Henry places a firm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t look.”

His warning makes Lisa burst into tears. She covers her face with her sleeves. “Am I g-going to...lose them?”

“I’m not going to sugar-coat it, Lisa. I’ve never tried to heal damage this extensive. I’m confident I can get you back on your feet, but I don’t know what the long-term effects will be.”

“Do it. Please.”

Without a word, Henry gestures his hands over her legs. With a few practiced words, he casts a healing spell. Lisa gasps as the sensation returns to her limbs. Unfortunately, it comes in the feeling of thousands of needles sticking up and down her legs. She grasps Henry’s ankle. When the feeling subsides, she lays back a moment, staring at the ceiling.

“Well,” Henry says, “time for the moment of truth.” He offers his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Lisa takes it.