EMMA

The silence wakes me. Growing up in New Orleans, there are always noises. I have never heard such silence. Rolling over, I realize I have no idea where I am. All I am sure of is that I'm not in the hotel room where I fell asleep. Looking around, I'm in a room with no windows; I don't fail to notice the camera in the corner near the door. The tiny red light is flashing, telling me that someone is watching me. I might not have any idea where I am, but I am certain who grabbed me - the mysterious Order that took Aislin.

My heart pounds at the thought, images of what she described to me running through my head. I'm aware she glossed over what happened to her and I shudder thinking of what might be coming for me. Sitting up, I scoot to the back corner of the room, pulling my knees to my chest. A disembodied voice comes over a hidden speaker, "I'm happy you're finally awake."

Trying and failing to school my face, my terror is stamped upon my features.

"Fear not, my girl. I can tell from the look on your beautiful face you are aware that your friend was taken by a member of this organization. The one who had her isn't here; we are not deviants. You are merely here to draw the ones we want to us," the voice continues.

I raise my chin, pulling a look from my dancer's arsenal, one of disdain. "Please excuse me if I don't take your word for it, but you obviously drugged me and brought me here against my will. In my book, that makes you no better than the one who had my friend."

My voice is laced with contempt. Silence greets me; I look around my, well, cell. That's what it is - a jail cell, a white cell with nothing but a bed in it. Thinking back to Aislin's story, I'm super grateful I didn't wake tied to a table. I'm no fool though and realize that could happen any moment. I wonder how long I've been here, how long before someone realizes I'm missing. My mom is always busy with my dad and his issues. Unless someone calls her asking about me, she will just assume I'm with Aislin. I didn't tell anyone else, other than the instructors at the studio, and they aren't expecting me back for weeks. This could get very bad. I could be murdered, and no one would even be looking for me. Sitting in the corner, back to the wall, eyes on the door, daddy taught me a lot of things growing up. His post-traumatic stress disorder created a lot of problems for us, but on his good days, he made sure I knew how to take care of myself. Lesson number one was never put your back to a door, and two, keep your eyes on the exits. A tiny, sad smile curves my lips thinking about daddy. Life with a person that suffers from PTSD is difficult, but even though he holds on tight, he loves hard. If anything is going to help me through this, it is going to be the things I learned from him. I'm lost in the memories of the good times with him in the swamp when there is a sound at the door. Years of training has my body reacting before my mind even registers what it is. Like daddy taught me, my body looks relaxed but is coiled, just waiting for an opening. These fools don't have any idea what kind of tiger they done got by the tail. They look at me and just see a petite dancer, not scrappy girl trained to fight by her Marine father.

The door opens, and the district aroma of coffee hits me. Unlike Aislin, my best friend, I don't have an addiction to the dark elixir. I grew up drinking tea, strong Irish tea. But of course, my captors don't know this about me either; they think American equals coffee. When he enters, he is breathtaking -- tall, well over six feet, golden skin, dark blonde hair that curls at the ends, and bright blue eyes. His eyes remind me of pictures of the icy blue water found in the northern seas. A slight smile is on his face, and I can tell he is trying to put me at ease. And then he speaks, and his accent is difficult to place, but somewhere in the Mediterranean region. His speech is cultured, not like modern slang. I replay everything Aislin told me recently. Thinking about all our revelations, how the things we thought were a myths really aren’t. Giving him a slow once over, I try to discern if he might be one of those things.

"I brought you coffee. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you here. I'll make sure you are safe." Again, he smiles.

Softening my face, I hope to convince him I believe his platitudes. Using my sweetest, softest southern drawl, I ask, "Can you help me? Can you free me from here? Why am I even here? All I was doing was going to meet my friend." I blink up at him. Daddy always said my tiny stature and my pixie looks were some of my best weapons, and I intend on using everything in my arsenal. His shoulders relax; he thinks I'm just a helpless girl. Good!

"My dear, don't worry, they don't want you. Unfortunately, your friend Aislin is who they are after because through her, they can reach the others."

Gasping, I look up at him. "Is she alright? Has she been taken again?"

"No, if you would let me finish," his face is gentle and he looks sad. "Your friend fell in with some unsavory characters; it is those men that the people here want. They thought you were the best way to find to them."

"Oh, well, I can't tell you anything about who she is with now that she is free. She was just on vacation and kidnapped but was saved. Since I was so worried about her, I decided to join her. She felt like she needed time to recover, but I wanted her to come home." I go on talking, telling him all kinds of meaningless information, talking like a complete airhead, watching to gauge if his patience grows thin. He just smiles sadly and nods throughout my speech, ever so often tilting his head as he listens intently.

"Yes, well, I must go. I will come back later and bring you food, and we can talk more then. You need to help us find your friend, that way I can save you from this situation." He looks like he wants to do nothing but help. But my daddy didn't raise no fool; this man can't be what he seems. Thank God for years of dancing and having to keep a controlled look no matter what.

"Do you think I could be given my clothes at least?" as I look down at my boxers and tank. His gaze roams over my body. As his eyes return to mine, there is heat in them as he nods his head yes.