Out."
They walked at a brisk pace and he had to sprint a couple of times to keep up. He worried that they would get away before his people could get into position, but as they approached an alley on their right, a black van roared up in front of them and screeched to a halt, blocking their path. He stopped and watched as the side door opened and three men jumped out, making a grab for them. They didn't freeze or panic, but started backing away immediately, wary and tense, ready to fight or run. However, four more men came out of the nearest shop behind them, grabbed them, and pushed them towards the van. They put up a fight, each knocking one man down before the rest could subdue them; the one with the ponytail especially seemed strong and capable, and she needed four of the assailants to keep her under control. They threw them into the van, got in, and closed the door as it sped off, tires squealing, past him down the street. He pivoted and watched it turn left at the next street and disappear around the corner.
Smiling, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Mr. X should be pleased, they had caught the sisters in record time. He hit a speed-dial button and it rang a couple of times before a message machine picked up.
"Yes, this message is for Mr. Palmer Versely. I have Penelope and Patricia Pornstarr. If you wish to see them again, with their virginity intact, you will make $100 million dollars ready for transfer to a Swiss bank account. I will contact you in a few hours."
He hung up, and checked the other saved numbers X had provided. There were a number of people who might be interested in paying for the sisters.
A bidding war just might be a good thing about now, he thought.
From "Shenanigans"
"You know, Dribble, it wouldn't hurt you to get stuffed now and then."
Differel felt her irritation flare. "Well, we can't all be slags like you, Maggot."
Rather than get angry Margaret smiled in triumph. Differel scowled; she always did know how to press her buttons. She was more frenemy than companion, so it was a mystery to her how they had become confidants. Yet they had shared an adventure when they were twelve that nearly got both of them killed, and from that they developed a rapport of mutual respect. Even so, their banter betrayed an underlying antagonism they both acknowledged with their nicknames.
"Seriously, you can't tell me you haven't fantasized about being shagged by someone like him." She pointed to the magazine between them. Peer's Quarterly had come out with its annual issue of the most eligible bachelors in the British aristocracy, and it lay open to the page on Lord Solsberry, the eldest son of the Marquess of Montmury, posing shirtless with a bow tie around his neck.
"Hmph. Like he'd have either one of us."
Margaret leaned back against the headboard and stretched out in a languid manner, her arms folded behind her head. "I doubt that would be a problem for me." They were both fifteen, but she had matured faster. She already sported a prominent bosom for her age and the rest of her figure had started to fill out. Her bouncy, billowing cinnamon-sorrel hair, cute round face, and exotic copperish eyes added to the allure. Differel had no doubt she would be very sexy when she finished growing up.
In contrast, her own stick-figure body had undergone a recent growth spurt that obscured whatever slight development had accompanied it. She was all arms, legs, waist, and neck, with a flat chest and scrawny thighs. She looked too much like a boy to like it, especially from the back. Her bullet-shaped face was too striking to be pretty, with its pointed nose and chin and prominent cheekbones, and not only did her gray hair and eyes make her resemble an elderly matron, the former was so lifeless and stringy she couldn't do anything with it except let it hang straight and loose down to her hips. Her big round glasses certainly didn't help.
She smirked. "Like you have much experience being a charver."
Margaret laughed as she lowered her hands to her stomach. "Oh, Dribble! I was deflowered on my last birthday!" She rubbed her hands over her belly. "A little gift I gave myself when father refused to buy me that Ferrari 348 I wanted. Since then, I haven't had any problem finding boys to jump."
Embarrassed, Differel blushed and glanced away. Margaret was the daughter and only child of the Duke of Anglin, the premier peer of the United Kingdom and the third most powerful government official after Her Majesty and the Lord President of the Privy Council.
And she never let anyone forget it.
Margaret sat up and crossed her legs. "I think it's about time you were, too. You don't want to die an old maid, do you?"
"I have a few years yet before that becomes a threat."
Margaret flashed a lopsided grin. "In your line of work? You could be dead tomorrow." She referred to her being head of the Caerleon Order, Britain's premier monster hunting organization.
"Not if I can help it," a deep bass voice rumbled. A cloud of shadow flowed out from under the bed, rose up, and coalesced into a humanoid figure. It dissipated to reveal her quasi-slave, Vlad Drakulya. Despite the quality of his voice, he was very tall and rail-thin, with a block-shaped face, domed forehead, square jaw, blunt chin, Alexandrian nose, and long ropey iron-gray hair and moustache. He was dressed in a great coat over a shirt, vest, and trousers, and a wide-brimmed hat, all black, with the only spots of color being his blood-red hatband, cravat, and gloves, which matched his ruddy complexion.
"Do you mind?!" She and Margaret only wore nightshirts and socks. It had been a few years since either of them wore pajamas.
"Not at all." He gave her an insolent grin.
"Just get the bloody hell out!"
"No, let him stay." Despite her shock and terror when she first met the Vampire two and a half years before, Margaret had warmed to him since. Differel sometimes wondered what her exact interest was, but they did seem to be kindred spirits. In some ways, he was as big a bully as she was, though for different reasons.
"Oh, bother. Very well, but behave yourself, Thrall. Clear?"
"Crystal, My Master."
"I really think it would do you a world of good, Dribble."
"Hmph. Maybe; someday."
"Why not tonight?"
Her heart stuttered. "Tonight?! You must be off your nut!"
"No, I'm serious. This would be the best time. If you put if off until later, you may get cold feet and chicken out."
"I believe she is right," Vlad said.
"If I want your opinion I'll ask for it."
"I am not expressing an opinion, I am supporting Lady Margaret's."
She palmed her face. "Oh, shut it, you bloodsucking wanker."
She directed her attention back to Margaret. "I appreciate your concern, Maggot, but it's not something I'm prepared to discuss."
"Why not? You're not scared, are you?"
"Oh, please. You really think you can goad me into this with such a childish taunt?"
"Hey, whatever works. But you sidestepped the question: why not?"
"All right. First of all, where would this occur?"
Margaret spread her hands. "Why not here?"
Differel gazed around out of reflex. They were in the children's bedroom on the third story of her ancestral manor. Every time Margaret came to visit, Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget had an extra bed moved in so she could stay with her.
"It would look suspicious if you slept in another room."
She flashed a grinning leer. "I plan on staying right here."
She felt her indignation flare. "If you think I'd let you watch, you're moony!"
"Actually, I thought I'd join you."
Her mind skipped a track. "Not in the same bed!?"
She sneered. "You're not my type, Dribble. I meant if you're getting stuffed, there's no reason why I can't either. Besides, I don't do menages; I don't like sharing."
She willed herself to be calm. "Hmph. And just where are we supposed to find our partners? Unlike you, I don't have my own stable of studs."
"What about him?" She gestured at Vlad.
She felt her outrage flare. "Bugger that!"
"I am afraid My Master is right. Tha
t would be entirely inappropriate."
Margaret shrugged. "Whatever. You have an entire household of fit young footmen. Surely there's at least one who makes you excited?"
She scowled. "You've probably got one in mind for yourself."
She gave her a lecherous half-smile. "There are a few I wouldn't mind bedding."
"It doesn't matter in any event. There's no way we could keep this a secret."
She looked at Vlad. "With your knowledge of the Dark Arts, couldn't you hide us?"
"Indeed, but I could do more than that. I could isolate this room from time, so that what might seem like hours to you would only pass as a few minutes outside."
"Great! So, how about it, Dribble? You can't have any objections now."
"Just a moment, Maggot. The footmen we select; how would we get them here?"
Margaret laughed. "Are you serious? All we have to do is ask; they'll fall all over each other."
Her irritation grated at her nerves. "Yes, but how? If we go out there Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget will know something's up."
"He can bring them here."
"I won't have them kidnapped!"
"That will not be necessary, Master. I can approach them discreetly. I will transport them here only if they agree."
"And what if they refuse? What's to keep them from alerting Aelfraed?"
"I can cloud their memories so they do not remember; I will do the same once the dirty deed is done."
"There, you see?" Margaret said. "Everything's solved."
"What about pregnancy, and STDs?"
"Oh, I always carry a pack of rubber Johnnies with me.