Poisoned Ivy Read online

  Poisoned Ivy

  The Seven Chambers Series

  D.W. Marshall

  Wicked Moon Penning

  Copyright © 2020 by D.W. Marshall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Poisoned Ivy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9968729-3-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016946382

  Cover design by Heidi Dorey

  Edited by AuthorsAssistant.com

  Printed in the United States

  To Phil, I miss you every single day.

  Contents

  Celtic and Irish Name Pronunciation Guide

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Eclipsed Sunshine Sample

  Also by D.W. Marshall

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Celtic and Irish Name Pronunciation Guide

  Maeve (May-vee)

  Ailbhe (Al-vee)

  Lugh (Loo)

  Saoirse (Sear-sha)

  Ciara (Kee-ra)

  Chapter One

  Maeve: Counting the Days

  It has been nine months since I was nabbed from the athletic club and brought to The Chamber. That is: two hundred and seventy days; six thousand four hundred and eighty hours; three hundred eighty-eight thousand, eight hundred minutes; and twenty-three million, three hundred and twenty-eight thousand seconds. Yes, I am counting, because each and every passing, precious second, minute, hour, and day means that even though I have lost a little more of myself, I am closer to going home. Closer to shedding the name Ivy and all of the horror that comes with it. That is, if Mason stays true to his word our first night here, and we are actually released. I’m not sure that there will be enough of me to make it home. But whatever is left, I will drag it home and my love will help me become whole again.

  You see, I am not as strong as the other girls. I have always had what my mother called “a fragile constitution” growing up, probably because I am not a stranger to traumatic events.

  Mason has amassed quite the spread. Most of the girls here are strong, and will most likely leave this tragic experience even stronger, with battle wounds that they will wear as badges. I believe that those are the type of girls that the sadistic Mason Wilde should shoot for, because his aim was off on a few of us.

  Me, Violet, and Sunshine are the weakest links in the chain, and we may not survive.

  Raven is my roommate and I have seen her in action. She is calculating, always watching, always studying. She hasn’t shed one visible tear since the day we got here. She may look like a beauty queen, but she is tough as nails. Sapphire, I swear, is enjoying herself here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked to stay on and work here at the end of our year.

  If there is an end.

  Sky, who I believe belongs in our group of weaklings, is so damn positive I’d think she was on drugs, if I thought she could get them here. So just because of her cheery attitude, I place her among the strong. Then there is Flame. She has her very own knight in shining armor for a guard. Not that she needs one—she is unbreakable. I am shocked that the rest of us have made it this far.

  I pull out my pad and paper and begin to scribe another letter to Keegan. We would be nearing a year of marriage if I hadn’t been taken.

  My Dearest Keegan,

  I can’t imagine what you must be going through not knowing what happened to me. Nine months is a long time. I can only hope that you are still waiting for me, that you believe I will come back to you. This place is hell. I hope our love is strong enough to survive the things that I have suffered here, because the only way I will overcome this is knowing that I have you.

  You know, in the beginning, I used to pretend I was with you every time I was with one of them. It worked for a while, but I think my brain caught on and won’t let me lie to myself anymore. Each day I am breaking into pieces.

  Three more months. I need to survive three more months. I will see you soon. I believe that. I love you so much and can’t wait to become your wife.

  Yours forever,

  Maeve

  I don’t know if I will ever show these letters to Keegan. Mostly, I write them for myself. They allow me to speak aloud what is on my mind. Keegan really is the very best part of me. We met when his family moved to Dublin. I was eighteen, Keegan was twenty. We hit it off well because we both shared an American and Irish connection. Keegan was born in Dublin, a Flanagan, but grew up in the States. His father is Irish, his mother a famous American actress who met his father while filming a movie in Ireland. I was born to Irish parents, an O’Malley, and I have the red hair and freckles to prove it. I am a ginger through and through. But I am not Irish born. I have citizenship in both countries, but I was born in America, and my family moved back to Ireland when I was in fifth grade. Keegan and I became fast friends, sharing some of our favorite American and Irish customs.

  Before I turned nineteen we were a couple. It was only natural that I wanted to marry him. He was what my mother and I called “dashing.” Worldly, ambitious, romantic, and adventurous. He was the kind of guy who made you feel alive whenever you were in his presence. I can’t remember a moment where he was unkind. In a word, he was perfect. Now, in a few months I will be returning to him—hopefully—and I pray that I am still enough.

  Chapter Two

  Maeve: Home

  I miss the streets of Dalkey, a quaint suburb of Dublin and our little slice of coastal heaven. I realize now how deprived I have been of my sight. For a year we were only allowed to gaze among the walls of The Chamber, unless you count the pool party we had while there, when Mason opened up the skylight and allowed us to feel an actual breeze and catch a view of the cloudy sky above. I don’t count that. That was only enough to make us crave what we wanted that much more.

  Now I am cruising through the streets of my favorite city, in the back of a sedan, on my way home. I never thought this day would arrive.

  Freedom.

  Rich and free.

  Not that money was ever an issue for me. My family is part of a royal line. On my twenty-fifth birthday I will inherit a fortune, so Mason’s four-million-dollar payoff may not mean as much to me as the other girls. But I took it anyway. He owes us millions and more for our year of sex slavery. I wish there was a way to use the money to help me forget. Or we could pool our money together to find him and put him in a cell where he belongs. I know that I am not strong enough for that mission, so I must focus on deleting this trauma from my mind, like I did the first time. Then again, I was just a girl the first time, and my brain had a lot more tim
e to stow away the things that happened to me. But the answer to my path to healing is only a short distance away. Keegan. He can fix me. His love will give me the strength to power through this.

  The breeze upon my face is everything to me right now. I don’t think I will take another simple pleasure for granted again. When we pull up to my house my stomach is in knots as the nerves creep up on me. Dreaming of returning home and actually being here are two different things. I have wanted to walk up to this house and through my front door more than life, but now that I am here all I want to do is vomit on the floor of this nice sedan. The questions, the uncertainty of returning to my life are all weighing down on me.

  I sit in the backseat and stare out at my home. It is nothing compared to the lavish Chamber, but it is beautiful to me. Lush grass that seems to go on forever, with a miniature castle-like structure smack dab in the middle. That is home for me—seven bedrooms, a small theater, ten bathrooms. I’m not rich at all, but Ma and Da are. Their status is one of the reasons we moved back to Ireland, because of what happened to me when we were in the United States. My Da felt he could protect me better in his homeland, but I guess he was wrong.

  “Home,” I whisper. It is as beautiful as I remember, a painting come to life. Filled with people who love me and have no doubt missed me. My Ma and Da, and twin little brothers, Ailbhe and Lugh.

  The driver starts down the long, tree-lined driveway. I shake my nerves and worries. This is my home.

  “You can let me out here. I want to walk,” I tell him. He starts to get out of the car, but before he can, I throw the door open and take off into the lush grass toward home. Giggles bounce off me as I run full speed toward my family, the home I love so much, and to Keegan. It’s April in Dublin. The flowers are in bloom; the trees are bulging with life. I never thought I could miss something as simple as a tree, but I did. If anyone catches me, I will look insane for sure, but I can’t resist as I wrap my arms around a healthy, full-grown oak. Of course my arms can’t begin to contain its girth. “Hi, Mr. Oak Tree, I’m home!”

  I release the oak and proceed to greet and smell the divine purple, pink and red blossoms and bushes. Coming home feels like being reborn. Every scent stronger, every sight brighter.

  When I get to the front entry I feel the butterflies. Still, I proceed because there is only love inside. I ring the bell over and over. No one is home. The wind whooshes out of my sails a bit, because I sorta expected a huge and emotional homecoming. Instead I have to walk around the side of the house to find the spare key. It is hidden underneath a plant inside a ceramic elephant, but it’s not the cliché hiding place—for ours you have to enter a six-digit code on the side of the elephant, and push down on the garden elephant’s trunk in order to access it. Thankfully, the key is there.

  I unlock the door and run the spare key back to its hiding spot out of habit. Ma would say, “If you never put the key back, it won’t be there when you need it.” I miss my ma so much. The smells that are assaulting me are so familiar. This time of year the outside of our home is a floral bouquet for the senses.

  Opening the front door is like opening a present on Christmas morning or your birthday, I take a few deep breaths and push the door open. The warm scents of home hit me: my mother’s bog-standard candles of warm spices and baked apples. Mmm.

  If you asked me a year ago if I thought I would ever be here again, see my family again, I would have said that I highly doubted it.

  How do you trust a monster?

  I guess I—we—should be thankful that we were in the hands of this monster. He might have been evil and cruel for taking us away from all that we were, but he never lied to us. We were treated very well, and our release date came like he said it would. Doesn’t mean that I don’t hate him with every inch of my being, but for my release I thank him.

  My home is a mixture of things Irish, from our farmhouse table, Ma’s candles, the beautiful tapestries, and my favorite brick stove, to my favorite American things, like our sectional sofa and our monster-sized flat screen television.

  It is so strange to feel as if I never left home. Everything is the same. Our kitchen, like most, is the hub for the family. When I enter my family kitchen, I feel the spirit of everyone I love so very much. “Tea. I need tea.” If there was one thing that I missed this year it was a good cup of Irish tea. I find the cast iron teapot in its usual spot, fill it with water and wait. “A watched pot never boils,” is what my ma always says, but for some reason my attention is on the pot, and the pot alone. Tears well up in my eyes and suddenly this teapot is the single most important thing in the world to me, because it means I am home.

  “As I live and breathe.” My ma’s heavy brogue fills the room.

  I dare look up. I know I will fall apart when I see her.

  There she is. People say that I am her mini-me, and I never agreed with them until now. Her skin is milky, with a healthy share of freckles like mine. She is lithe, with bright blue-green eyes that are misting as she gazes into mine. In the seconds that follow, each one of my brothers and my da crash into the back of Ma, since she stopped at once.

  “Criminy, Melanie, why did you stop like that? I spilled my coffee all over me,” my da complains from the end of the line.

  “Da, it’s Maeve!” Ailbhe shouts, and pushes past Ma, running toward me. Lugh follows close behind. My brothers are the most adorable seven-year-old twins. Identical, with dark hair and blue eyes like our da’s. They crash into me.

  I squeeze the life out of my baby brothers. How can anyone be so cruel and separate a family like this? I send out a silent prayer to my Chamber sisters for their happy return home. The strong ones who I know will come out on top and the weak ones, like me, who may not survive at all. Then I squeeze the boys even tighter.

  It is a dream. For the second time in my life I am reunited with my family. The first time, my brothers weren’t born yet. My ma still hasn’t moved from the spot where she stopped. Her hand covers her mouth and her eyes continue to rain tears.

  The next pair of eyes I see belong to Da. He gazes at me, and lets out a deep breath, one he has most likely been holding onto for the entire time that I have been gone.

  “My dear, sweet Maeve.” He runs to me and wraps his arms around me and the boys who will probably never let me go.

  I look to where my ma was standing and she is gone. “Where did Ma go?”

  My da glances back to where Ma was standing. “Follow me. I will show you,” he says. His voice is musical and sounds like home.

  We walk out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. It is difficult to take steps because the boys won’t let me go, and Da has ahold of one of my hands. My ma is kneeling in front of a candle, praying. We stand and watch, before my da guides us to join her. As a family we give thanks for my safe return. When my ma is finished she crawls over to me on her knees and wraps me into an embrace and weeps.

  “My dear, sweet daughter, how I prayed for you to come back to us, and you are here. I might have just died and gone to heaven.” She wipes her eyes and then my eyes. “Peter, is our darling daughter really here?”

  “Yes, love.”

  Then we all wrap our arms around each other.

  My ma, being a strong woman, gathers herself together. “I saw you were brewing up a pot of good Irish tea. I know it’s your favorite, my love. Let me dish that up for you.”

  I follow my da toward the sofas. The boys take a seat on each side of me, so close it would be hard to tell where I begin and they end. My ma comes back with a tray full of tea for the grown-ups and milk for the boys, who still seem to not have acquired a taste for our strong Irish tea.

  “What happened to you, Maeve?” My da asks the dreaded question.

  I hope I will be allowed to forget this soon, but I am sure everyone in my life will want a recount of the events that happened to me. At least the parts I can repeat.

  I clear my throat. “I was exercising at the fitness center like always on my days off mod
eling jobs. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary when I walked out to my car. I looked around like you taught me, Da. I even had my pepper spray out. The problem is my capturers were already in my car. I managed to spray one of them in the eyes, but I didn’t know there was more than one. Major drawback to having really dark windows.” A tear catches in my throat. “I think that the boys should run along for the rest of this story.”

  Ma’s face grimaces when she realizes what that might mean. “Boys, run along. We will send for you in a bit,” Ma says.

  “But…” They try to stay with me. But my da gives them the look he is famous for and they scoot off.

  “The person in the backseat put a cloth to my face and the next thing I know I am on an airplane. This entire time I have been locked away with six other girls. Today is the first day I have been outside.”

  My da jumps up and sits on my right side. My ma does the same, sitting on my left side.

  “I was used for sex.” The words choke me on the way out. I break down.

  My folks are no strangers to consoling me. They both hold me while we all cry together. “I’m calling the Garda,” Da says.

  I nod. I knew that was next. I was missing for a year.

  Officer Fitzgerald and McKinley arrive within fifteen minutes of our call. I recount my story. Fitzgerald is short and stout and McKinley is tall and rail thin. They look like a caricature drawing come to life. They take notes from my story, and close their pads. Grim looks cross both of their faces.