Captives and Prisoners: a Jen Rice novel

By Shanon L. Mayer

When Jen Rice witnesses the murder of a werewolf, she wants the culprits brought to justice. Soon, she discovers that people she thought she could trust will turn on her and allies can be found in the most surprising of places. When a demon-possessed psychic targets her for assassination, she must find a way to thwart his scheme before falling t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanon Mayer
• Release date: Jan 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088016084

Shanon L. Mayer

After life growing up in the beautifully rainy Pacific Northwest, Shanon L. Mayer tends to keep indoors, writing story after story, building vivid worlds on paper while her thoughts hold everything but images. She tends to look at everything in her world for inspiration - especially her collections of skulls, dragon statues, swords and knives, and pretty much anything that fits her eclectic, geeky-gothic lifestyle. When her busy life feels like too much, she can be found relaxing with a hot mug of tea and a documentary on anything from theoretical physics to deep ocean wildlife to the most famous heists the world has ever seen.

Book preview

1

The alarm went off far too early for Jen Rice’s taste. She groaned and pulled her pillow up around her ears, trying to ignore the sound but it drilled incessantly into her head. Soon the beeping echoed in her head badly enough that she couldn’t even pretend to ignore it any longer. Fine, she grumbled as she reached over to switch the alarm off and silence the ungodly noise. I’m up already.

She flopped back against her pillows, trying to get her eyes to both focus in the same direction. Dim light filtered in through her blinds, which meant that the sun was only barely up. Apparently, it was still tired too. Jen swore under her breath, trying to remember why she was awake this early. Slowly, she recognized that the room was filling with the scent of fresh coffee and she sent up a whispered prayer of thanks to the caffeine gods for letting her remember to set the timer on the coffee maker before going to bed. This morning was going to be bad enough, she realized. Not having a cup of coffee waiting for her when she got up could only make it that much worse.

With another groan, she rolled out from under the covers and stepped into her fuzzy burgundy slippers. She padded down the hall and into the kitchen, where she could see the little red light that signaled the coffee was ready. She flipped on the light switch and winced, shielding her eyes from the glare with one hand. It seemed like the lights were reflecting off of every piece of metal and every bit of glass it could find, sending needles of pain through her tired eyes and directly into her sleep-deprived brain.

With a scowl borne less of actual irritation and more of resigned acceptance of her situation, she poured some of the steaming brew into her favorite mug and sat at the table, eyes closed and breathing in the blessed fumes. The mug read ‘Instant Human, Just Add Coffee’ and Todd, her fraternal twin brother, had given it to on their last birthday. Every time she used the cup, she could see the smirk on his face as she unwrapped it. Not that the statement on the cup was untrue; Jen had been accused of many things in her life but being a morning person had never made it to that list.

After her second cup of coffee, she felt more alive and trusted herself to start making breakfast. She dropped a pair of blueberry flavored waffles into the toaster and poured a glass of apple juice. The juice may not have been the best thing to have with coffee but it was the closest she was going to come to actual vitamins that morning. She looked at her reflection in the glass and brushed some of her black hair out of her eyes, not for the first time regretting her new haircut. It was a little bit shorter than she had wanted but at least it was reasonably even. Her dark eyes, almost as black as her hair, were slightly reddened from not enough sleep and exposure to too many bright lights. Tall and thin, she was just shy of five feet and ten inches of lean muscle on an almost boyishly lanky frame.

When the waffles popped up, she dropped them onto a plate, hissing as the slightly singed edges burned her fingers. She slathered both of them with a generous amount of butter and poured syrup across the top before pouring herself yet another cup of coffee. With a quick glance at the clock, she pulled down a second cup, into which she drained the remaining coffee from the pot. She set the second cup down before a chair opposite the table from her plate and started another pot of liquid life.

Just as she sat down to her food, which was almost cool enough to eat without burning her mouth, she heard the front door swing open and a familiar voice called out. Are you awake yet?

Yeah. Kitchen, Jen responded as she took the first bite of slightly soggy waffles. Another thing she hadn’t ever been accused of was being a good cook. While most people grew up with stories of people who burned water, Jen’s parents told their friends how she could burn air. Even Jen wasn’t sure how she had pulled that one off.

Have you seen the news yet? A woman walked into the kitchen and dropped a large canvas bag on the table.

Sahara Peters was almost four inches shorter than Jen, with curly hair pulled back in a puffy ponytail. Her hair had originally been dark brown but had been dyed enough colors and over a long enough period of time that few people were aware of that fact. Multiple earrings of all different colors, shapes, and sizes glittered in both of her ears under the bright kitchen lights. Her short-sleeved shirt boasted her membership to a local farming community. Under her blue jeans, the toes of her purple sneakers were barely visible as she stepped around the table, swooping up her cup of coffee as she went.

Jen shook her head in response to her friend’s question. You know I never watch the news.

You really should, Sahara retorted as she sank into a chair opposite Jen. There is a lot going on out in the world and maybe you should start paying attention to it.

Like what?

Like another Vamp attack. That’s the third one this month.

How bad was it? Vampire attacks were a pretty uncommon occurrence, now that they no longer needed to attack humans in order to feed. For the last five years, any registered Vamp could go to any blood bank, show their registration card and be given as much blood of any type as they needed.

Pretty bad. Three dead, including the Vamp. Two injured.

Ouch. The dead were bad enough but if a human was to be attacked by a vampire and survive, they are automatically subjected to a battery of tests over a length of time in order to determine if the damage was enough to cause the victim to become a vampire.

With a sigh, Jen took another sip of her coffee. So much for a quiet day. She glared at her friend. How did you talk me into getting up this early again?

Blackmail. Sahara reached over and spun Jen’s cup so that she could read the message. That’s not fair, you know.

Right. Is my truck almost done? She turned the cup back so that she could read the message. What’s not fair?

Your truck’s out in the driveway. Did I mention I hate driving that thing? When Jen smirked, she tossed a set of keys onto the table and continued. What’s not fair is that you get a funky cup and I don’t.

You drove my truck? How did you get into it? Jen’s truck was a Jeep Grand Cherokee that had been modified with a suspension lift and enormous mud tires. Now it was tall enough that most people less than six feet tall had trouble getting in and out of it. The only reason that Sahara had it in the first place was that a friend of her husband Joel’s had been attaching the new winch and brush guard to it. Jen had been expecting to have to go get it back later this week; she had never imagined that Sahara would try to drive it.

It was next to the curb so I didn’t have to climb as far.

Jen shook her head and took another drink of her coffee. Fine, hang on a sec. She walked over to her makeshift home office, which was really nothing more than a computer on a small desk with an equally small bookshelf next to it, and dug through her drawers. When she returned, she was carrying a small box. Here, these should keep you occupied while I get a shower.

As Jen refilled each of their cups and headed out the door, Sahara opened the box and dumped the set of permanent markers across the table. With a chuckle of delight, she began drawing.

By the time Jen finished with her shower and got dressed for their outing, Sahara had covered the cup with marker ink. The only white that still showed was on the inside. I didn’t want to make my coffee taste funny, she explained.

Well, that explains the straw, doesn’t it? Jen asked as she pointed to the bright green plastic tube that hung over the edge of the cup.

Sahara nodded. I didn’t want to smudge the colors. She looked over Jen’s outfit, nodding in approval of the sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers that she had chosen. You ready to go now?

Nope. Is it too late to change my mind about going with you today? When Sahara laughed and nodded, Jen dropped her keys, credit card, and cell phone into a pocket and followed the younger woman out the door. As promised, Jen’s emerald green Jeep was sitting in the driveway with a brand-new black winch and brush guard on the front. She had to spend a moment walking around it and admiring the new additions before looking at the curb where Sahara stood next to the driver door of her own car, a red station wagon. If you drove my truck, how did you get your car here?

Joel and Troy were heading out too, so Joel followed me in my car.

Why didn’t Joel drive the truck?

Because he hates it too. She unlocked the doors and walked around to drop into her seat. As Jen dropped in next to her, Sahara finished adjusting the seat and mirrors. At six and a half feet tall, Sahara’s husband was a full foot taller than his wife.

They drove across town but the traffic was a lot thicker than either of them had expected for a Saturday morning. As brake lights shone ahead, Sahara slowed the car. What the heck is going on up there? she asked as she peered up the highway.

Jen craned her neck to see what was going on too. Looks like some sort of an accident. There were a couple of cars pulled off the side of the highway and more were stuck in the small grassy field that surrounded the road.

As they watched, a figure came darting out of the grass next to them. A man ran directly in front of the car, not looking in either direction but zigzagging among the moving vehicles. Sahara stomped on her brakes immediately and the car behind her squealed to a stop only inches away from her bumper. When the man got to the other side of the road, he stepped into the grass and disappeared. What was that? Jen asked in amazement.

Sahara growled and moved the car forward slowly. I think they said his name was Travis Johnson, or something like that. she looked closely at both sides of the road as she crept forward. I had forgotten about him.

Jen watched around outside as well, not sure what was going on, but not liking it at all. What is he, some sort of lunatic?

Not exactly. He was killed on the highway just up ahead a few years ago and comes back once a year to cause accidents. It’s like he’s trying to get more people to die and come with him.

Jen looked over at her in horror. Are you kidding? She looked up at the road again, where Travis was making another run through the traffic. That’s awful!

I know, Sahara agreed, but there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it. There’s probably a response team on the way already, they’ll take care of it. She scanned the cars that were crashed on the side of the road as they passed. It doesn’t look like he got anyone this time, though.

About a mile or so past where the ghost had been running through traffic, it finally became safe for the vehicles on the road to pick up speed again. Jen stayed on the edge of her seat, watching carefully around as they drove. As they left the city, she looked over at her friend. So how far is this farm, anyway?

Not too much further. Sahara was the owner and head herbalist of Sugar and Spice, a naturopathic remedy shop and healing center specializing in werewolf medications and pregnancy and childbirth aids. Although Sahara was human, her husband Joel was a hybrid, a cross between a human mother and a werewolf father. About ten years ago, tired of Joel getting sick and being prescribed medications that wouldn’t work, Sahara had developed a number of medications that worked on both werewolves and hybrids. Werewolves were known for having a high resistance to most chemical medications but it was unusual for a hybrid to inherit this resistance. Now Sugar and Spice was known for being the most well-stocked herbal shop in town. Although she had a sizeable greenhouse in her backyard, Sahara still went out a few times a year to find rarer herbs that she couldn’t grow herself.

This was one of those occasions. Jen followed Sahara as she perused stall after stall of strange-smelling and odd-colored herbs, not sure what anything she was looking at was. Sahara seemed perfectly comfortable walking across the muddy grass from one booth to the next but Jen was not nearly as amused. What is that? she broke down and asked Sahara at one of the booths.

Raspberry leaf, she answered. Teas with this stuff help to relieve some of the worse symptoms of pregnancy.

Oh. Not nearly as interesting as Jen had hoped. She asked about a few other herbs, most of which were for specific symptoms that she had no use for.

They only spent a few hours at the farm before Sahara finally caved in. You don’t have to whine, you know.

That wasn’t whining, that was whimpering. There’s a difference.

Sahara shook her head. Okay, we can go. They don’t have everything I was looking for, anyway.

What were you looking for? As they left, Jen looked around the masses of tables that still overflowed with herbs. She wondered how Sahara could possibly tell what they had here and what they didn’t.

Skullcap, willow bark, nightshade, and powdered seaweed. The only thing they had was the willow bark.

Jen made a face, then quickly ducked as her friend swatted at her. What? That just sounds disgusting. She thought about it for a moment as they walked towards the car. Do I want to know what those are for?

Probably not.

When Sahara finally dropped her off at her house, Jen breathed a sigh of relief. As much as she loved to spend time with Sahara, she had only gotten a couple hours of sleep that morning and she had to be back to work soon. As she made her way through the house, she noticed that the light on her answering machine was flashing but didn’t feel like dealing with it at that moment. Almost as soon as she hit the bed, she was asleep.

When her alarm went off again, it was blessedly dark. Jen stumbled around in the dim light, swearing when she realized that she had forgotten to reset the coffee pot. While a new pot worked its magic, she got dressed for work.

Hey, sis. Mom said she hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I got nominated to call. Even though it was just a recording, Todd’s voice soothed Jen, as it always did. She glanced over at the calendar and realized that he was right; it had been almost a month since she had spoken to her parents. Another glance at the clock also told her that it was too late to call them tonight. She would just have to remember to call them tomorrow before she went to bed.

That didn’t stop her from calling Todd, however. In Jen’s opinion, there wasn’t such a time as too late to call him. She was disappointed but not surprised when she reached his voice mail. Hi, you’ve reached Todd Rice. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is Jen, quit calling me so late.

Jen snickered as she heard the last part of the message. Hey, just calling to let you know I’m still alive. I’ll try to remember to call mom tomorrow but at least now you can say you heard from me. She knew that Todd wouldn’t really be upset at her calling so late. After all, she had been working the night shift for almost three years now. If he hadn’t gotten used to it in that length of time, there was no hope left for him.

Less than two hours later, she pulled into the Hawkeyes Private Security office. The parking lot had been recently-resurfaced, so at least most of the ruts that had plagued the officers were gone but the building itself still needed a lot of attention. The winter had been particularly rough the last year, so there were many spots where the paint had peeled away. Those spots were nothing compared to the eastern wall, which looked as though it was freshly repaired. It looked that way because during the ice storm in January, an officer had come into the parking lot too fast and had been unable to stop his vehicle before it impacted the building. Though the driver hadn’t been too badly injured in the accident, the wall had taken a full week to replace. Jen shuddered as she recalled the week of midnight shifts where even with the heat turned on full blast, the interior temperature of the building had only remained barely above freezing.

A couple of the guys were standing outside next to a patrol truck that had its hood open. She parked the Jeep and walked over to them. What’s up?

Damned thing broke down again, one of them replied.

So what am I supposed to drive tonight then? Jen was scheduled to drive the patrol route that night, so if the truck was down that would be a problem.

The guys just shrugged. Ask Peter, I guess.

Swearing as she went, Jen went inside. She signed her timecard and headed for Peter’s office. Hey, I hear the truck’s down again.

Peter looked up from his papers and nodded. Please tell me you have your truck back.

Jen smirked, folded her arms over her chest, and nodded. "I get to drive my rig