As he continued to probe the ranks, one of the second-level buyers snagged his attention a moment longer than the others. He stuck out like a wolf in a den of hyenas, standing at the rear of the warehouse with his hands locked behind his back. He observed the proceedings with the patience of one who awaits something he knows will happen shortly. His lava-red gasmask, cast in the shape of a bull’s head, boasted a set of polished horns, and the black cassock he wore billowed about his ankles, even though the only draft in that stuffy arena was courtesy of an elderly man sneezing near the stage. With each Inborn slave sold, he clicked together the seven-inch raptor claw gloves strapped over his hands.
“This is the first I’ve seen of this guy,” Desya said. “It doesn’t look like he’s got a Tag.”
“Then he’s not human,” Neko deduced, curious that one of his kind would enter a human settlement without a forged Tag.
“Oh my hell,” Desya cursed. “Neko, look at his ring.”
Using his optical lenses, Neko zeroed in on the man’s ring and his brain short-circuited in confusion: the ring’s seal was embossed with the sovereign flower, indicating he was an Inborn Commander. “Why in blazes would a Commander want to buy a slave?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Desya replied. “In the meantime, keep an eye on him.”
Nodding, Neko divided his focus between the Commander and the auction. The auction progressed, selling off Skinwalkers, Necromancers and Hematics. The prettier girls, particularly the younger ones, grossed the highest. This put a spark in Master Mookjai’s eyes. Still sipping on his coconut, he regarded the girls’ misery like a kind of spectator’s sport, while the audience played the role of a sadistic cheerleading squad.
Finally, the auction drew to a close.
By the time Master Mookjai had summoned the sixteenth slave to the floor, his eyelids sagged and a string of drool glistened on his chin; his coconut now lay discarded on the floor, leaking milk into the dirt. “The next product I bring to you is a Mystish flower of eighteen, who has the ability to heal herself at will.”
A wave of ‘oohs’ passed through the crowd. Neko heard Desya’s astonished words in his earpiece. “Did he say she can heal?”
“He did,” Neko confirmed, his heart thudding in alarm. Snofrid was also a Mystish, who, coincidentally enough, had the power to regenerate her body. Mystish rarely shared the same abilities, so Neko felt certain that the next slave would be her. At this thought, hope flickered inside him for the first time in the fifteen dark days since she’d been missing.
All the filth, discomfort and anger he’d felt washed away when Master Mookjai concluded his introduction with the words: “The Mystish hasn’t been fully groomed. But I’m sure her new master will see to her needs.” He rang his finger bell and a girl with tangled black hair was jostled onto the stage.
Neko rocked on his heels, recognizing Snofrid in an instant. He couldn’t mistake her petite build or her skin, which was still utterly perfect. It had no scars, no sun damage, and no rashes from air poisoning, merely a seashell-like pallor. He glanced at the blue Halo shimmering on her right bicep and felt his muscles go slack in relief. It wasn’t burned, but he knew this didn’t mean she hadn’t been tortured.
“I’m coming inside,” Desya burst out.
“No,” Neko said firmly. “Follow the plan. And keep your voice down, or the entire assembly will know we’re communicating.”
Footsteps drummed in the earpiece. “Fine, I’m heading to the drop point. Make the buy.”
Neko hoped the buy would go as smoothly as Desya made it sound. “I doubt we’ll need more silvers, but keep Lycidius on hold in case.”
“I’m dialing him now,” Desya said.
Neko trained his focus on Snofrid and willed her to look at him. If she saw him, she’d know he was here to take her away from this human toilet. But she didn’t lift her gaze. Staring stubbornly at the ground, she bared all the resentment and degradation of a caged animal in her expression. The thought that she’d been abused pulsed in the front of his mind, making his fists clench in rage.
“We begin the bid at 60 coppers,” Master Mookjai called.
To Neko’s horror, the Commander raised his bidding stick.
“80 Coppers?” Master Mookjai tried. Neko flipped up his number. With a thin, but pleased smile, the slaveholder proceeded to test the waters. “130 coppers?”
“100 silvers,” Neko blurted, too impatient to haggle. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be punished for challenging a Commander. If he explained his connection to Snofrid, the Commander might understand.
Master Mookjai’s eyes popped open and he sputtered, “Silvers?”
“That’s what I said. Silvers.”
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Buyers stole suspicious or intrigued glances over their shoulders at Neko.
“500 silvers,” the Commander bided, clicking his raptor-claws together.
Neko struggled to reign in his irritation. The fact that the Commander’s raptor claws were pure silver made his wealth obvious. How high was he willing to bid for Snofrid? And what could he possibly want with her?
“1000 silvers,” Neko sneered; it was echoed by a delighted squeal from Master Mookjai and a gasp from the crowd.
“2,000 silvers,” the Commander countered calmly.
“5,000 silvers.”
“7,000 silvers.”
“10,000 silvers.”
Master Mookjai sat upright on his litter, his arms quivering under his weight, and looked back and forth between the bidders with the frenzied excitement of a child.
“15,000 silvers,” the Commander called.
“20,000 silvers,” Neko said louder.
“I don’t like this,” Desya broke in. “I’ve got a neurotoxin dart. I’m gonna put him down.”
“Are you crippled in the mind?” Neko hissed. “Assaulting a Commander is suicide.”
“I won’t have a choice if he outbids us. Commander or not, there’s no way I’m letting him get away with my sister.”
“He won’t,” Neko promised. “I’ll do what’s necessary to help Snofrid.”
“30,000 silvers,” the Commander challenged.
“35,000 silvers,” Neko fired back.
“40,000 silvers.”
“45,000 silvers.”
“Damn,” Desya barked. “5,000 more and we’re out!”
“Call Lycidius,” Neko ground out. “Have him transfer the funds.”
“There’s too much bloody interference. I can’t get a connection.”
“50,000 silvers,” the Commander said.
“55,000 silvers.” Neko upped him swiftly, and then told Desya, “Use the satellite phone!”
Master Mookjai, who’d all the while been flopping about like a fish, beamed in euphoria. The bell tied to his finger jingled wildly and he broke into hysterical pants. Snofrid, who’d stopped gazing at the floor, braved a glance at the Commander. Her face flushed hot with anger, though she showed no fear, even if she felt it. Neko stood up tall, trying to get her attention, but she continued to stare at the Commander intently, as if letting him know that she wouldn’t go with him willingly. At this, Neko swished his jacket and pushed through the crowd.
The Commander held Snofrid’s stare, and said, “60,000 silvers.”
“65,000 silvers,” Neko growled.
“70,000 silvers.”
Neko, shoving a buyer out of his path, bellowed, “75,000 silvers!” He turned on the Commander and discreetly raised three of his fingers—a sign that he was an Inborn war hero—with the hope the Commander would stop bidding. The man locked his raptor-claws behind his back and made no move to continue. Gradually, silence swooped in across the warehouse.
“Did we win?” Desya asked.
“I don’t know,” Neko panted. “Standby.”
After several sluggish seconds, Master Mookjai licked his lips and spoke. “Will you offer 80,000 silvers?” he asked the Commander, his voice an airy whisper.
The Com
mander again glanced at Snofrid, clicking his raptor-claws together, and decided, “No.”
Neko exhaled a long, ragged breath. 75,000 silvers. The slum would be talking about the buy for weeks to come. His gasmask covered his head fully, so his identity was secure, but not Snofrid’s. He needed to make sure that no one ever got ahold of her real identity. “Did you reach Lycidius?” he asked Desya.
“Yeah.” Desya cleared his throat. “Yeah, he’s gonna make the transfer.”
“Where is he now?”
“Uh…he was searching North Crestvania. He’s on his way back and should be in tonight.” Scuffles sounded in the earpiece. “Make the buy. I’ll grab Snofrid. We’ve got about an hour before close-up.”
“I only need five minutes.” Neko approached Master Mookjai as Snofrid was led through the back door of the warehouse.
The slaveholder raised his neck, clearly with great effort, and grinned. “Great master,” he began. “We have two slaves, beautiful and seductive slaves, left to auction. Would you like a private showing?”
“No,” Neko retorted, wanting nothing more than to be free of this filth hole. “I only want what’s mine and I want her now.”
“Of course.” Master Mookjai rang his bell, summoning his accountant. Neko made the purchase with saintly patience; he used the alias Guillaume Admiraal to transfer the money from his Necromancer friend, Lycidius Heidrun’s, secure offshore account to the Oubliette Trust Fund. The buy progressed without issue and when it was finished, he searched once more for the Commander. The man’s spot was empty. He’d probably left the moment he’d been defeated, yet his very presence troubled Neko. He’d been willing to pay seventy-thousand silvers for a stranger, which meant he’d likely come looking for them.
Leaving Master Mookjai to his new fortune, Neko ducked outside. He made quick strides to the back of the warehouse where ten street soldiers stood before a slave cage. One of the soldiers lay unconscious on the ground, his nose a bloody mess; Desya stood over him, holding Snofrid in one arm and his rifle in the other.
“What happened?” Neko demanded, upon seeing that Snofrid was out cold.
“The bastard hit her. He’s lucky I didn’t break more of him.”
Neko took Snofrid into his arms, his fingers digging into her skin in fury. “If you want to get out of here alive, Desya, be quiet and cover me.”
Desya nodded. “I’ve got it. Go.”
Neko hiked down the ramp and into the alley of sweatshops. His feet itched to run, but he kept an even pace, aware that betraying he was in a hurry would attract trouble.
Snofrid’s body remained limp in his arms. The spot where she’d been struck had healed, but her face was rigid with tension. In the ten years he’d known her, he’d never seen her look so helpless and it woke emotions in him he seldom experienced—pity and a desire to comfort. Being detached in character, he felt little empathy when people came to him with their problems, but Snofrid was different. She was like an amplifier, intensifying his emotions to the point where he hardly knew how to react. His concern was bursting at the seams, so much so that his body broke out in a sweat.
“Do you think they did anything to her?” Desya panted, falling into step beside him.
Neko stiffened. “If they touched her, I doubt she’d tell us. But we should let her rest before asking those questions. All she needs to hear right now is that she’s safe.”
At the jeep, Desya opened the back door. Neko gently laid Snofrid on the seat. “Get the smelling salts.”
Desya tossed him a white box from the medical kit in the trunk. “That’s all we got,” he said.
“She’s small. It will do.” Neko tore open the box. He waved an ammonia tablet under her nose, until her nostrils flared and she choked out a gasp. Eyes flying open, she sat upright in a fit of hoarse coughing. Neko quickly removed his gasmask to show her his face, but she thrashed at him with her bare feet.
“Get away from me!” she shouted, her frail body seeking refuge near the door. “Touch me and I’ll bite your nose off like the other guy.”
“Move.” Desya shoved past Neko and climbed onto the seat. “Sno.” He held out a hand, trying to calm her down. “Sno, it’s alright. It’s Desya.”
“Get away from me.” She cocked her foot back in preparation to strike, breathing hard. “I told you, don’t touch me!”
Desya passed Neko a confused look. “Is she in shock?”
“Give me a minute.” Neko lowered onto the seat and moved his hand toward her. She tensed, before scooting further against the door. “Snofrid, this is your brother, Desya,” he said in a quiet, soothing tone. “Do you remember him?”
She eyed Desya briefly and answered, “No.”
Desya’s face paled faster than a dying soldier. “Wait, what? What do you mean, she doesn’t…?” His voice cracked. “Neko, what the hell is going on?”
Neko worked his mouth to form a reply, but found he couldn’t speak. He checked her head for injuries and her pupils for signs of shock. After turning up with nothing, he trembled under a petrifying realization: the only person in the world he loved didn’t recognize him.
A Shot of Treason
Black rain was streaking the windshield by the time Neko, Desya, and Snofrid left Gehenna in their taillights. Neko watched Snofrid in the rearview mirror as Desya showed her photos on his phone, trying to remind her of her family. The hope in her expression didn’t surprise him: after what she’d suffered in Gehenna, she probably felt desperate to belong somewhere.
Now and then, she met his gaze in the mirror. Although she smiled, he couldn’t bear the eyes that stared back at him. Their glimmer was gone. She was just as much a stranger to him as he was to her, like two people standing shoulder to shoulder, yet for all their closeness could’ve been a universe apart. Initially shocking, this thought now made him furious. He felt cheated. Robbed. His mind fumed with confusion and rage, but, most of all, with the need to get revenge.
“She seems to have calmed down,” Desya said in Russian. He carefully climbed into the passenger seat. “I think the photos helped.”
“The photos are good,” Neko agreed, replying in the same language. “But don’t overwhelm her with stories from the past. She shouldn’t be made to remember. She’ll remember when her mind is ready.”
Desya nodded. “You’re a doctor. What do you think caused this?”
“Due to her regenerative abilities, the memory loss couldn’t have been caused by brain damage or trauma,” Neko mused. “I believe the cause is magic. If she can tell us everything that happened the day she went missing, perhaps I’ll find a more definite explanation.”
“She told me the first thing she remembers is waking up in the woods.”
“What else did she tell you?” Neko glanced at Snofrid; he’d ask her himself, but he didn’t want to make her relive what she’d undergone.
“She said all her stuff was swiped by scavengers,” Desya answered. “After a few hours in the woods, she headed for the slum to find food. She didn’t remember she has a Tag, so she tried to get a human alias from a company that fronts Mookjai’s trafficking ring. That’s how she ended up getting nabbed.” Desya paused, as if a realization had just dawned on him. “If you’re right about the magic, you should be able to fix her amnesia. Spells can be lifted.”
“Not all spells,” Neko countered. “Lifting the spell would depend upon its magnitude. I’ll know more after I do an examination of her mind.”
“When?”
“As soon as we reach your house.”
Desya sat back and took a long drink from his canteen. Then he exhaled loudly, and said, “They didn’t touch her. I asked.”
The knots in Neko’s gut unwound and he checked Snofrid in the mirror. Her attention was fixed on the holographic photos on Desya’s phone. “Did she mention the Commander who tried to purchase her?”
“Yeah. I asked her about him, but she told me she’d never seen him before today.”
Neko considered. �
��I’ll make inquiries. We should be prepared to see him again.” He tapped on his gasmask. “There’s also the question of Snofrid’s identity.”
“I know. But Master Mookjai doesn’t have her real name, only a photo of her on file. I’ll hack in tonight and wipe it. As for the auction attendees who saw her face, I’ll figure that out with Lycidius when he gets back.”
“The two of you can stop talking about me as if I’m not here now,” Snofrid interrupted. Her Egyptian blue eyes looked up from the phone. “Also, I’m not so traumatized that I can’t answer questions about my amnesia. I can tell you right now that my memory loss isn’t normal because I still remember a lot of things, like this jeep,” she pointed around the vehicle, “it’s mainly just people I’ve forgotten. Oh, and by the way…I haven’t forgotten how to speak Russian either.”
Neko’s cheeks went hot.
“Sorry, Sno,” Desya said, facing her. “We didn’t mean to cut you out, we’re just not sure how many questions you can handle right now.”
“I can handle as many as you can ask.”
In the darkness of his gasmask, Neko let out a small smile; Snofrid had just shown a flicker of her old self. Still, he didn’t trust that she was as unaffected as she let on. Her captivity in Gehenna couldn’t have been anything short of hellish.
“Someone just sent a message,” Snofrid said, passing the phone to Desya. “The ID says Lycidius.”
Desya skimmed the screen and sighed.
“What is it now?” Neko demanded.
“I told Lycidius about Sno’s memory loss.”
“That was the backside of foolish. What’s he done?”
Desya slid the phone onto the console. “You know Cid. He’s gonna blow holes in the city until we figure out what happened to Snofrid and fix it.”
Neko scrunched his brows, foreseeing much unnecessary stress. “I was under the impression that he’d stopped throwing fits.”
“It’s not as bad as it was.”
Neko grunted. “That’s highly fortunate.” Turning his tail to Black Butte Mountain, he accelerated toward Hollowstone, a grossly wealthy megacity erected over the Deschutes Forest. The city itself soared above the tree canopy, over all except the tallest Redwoods, which broke the skyline and shaded the streets like umbrellas.
Hatred Day Page 2
