by Ilana Waters
“You like it, pet?” Sybil smiled. “I’ve added a few improvements since we last saw one another.”
“I’ve been busy myself,” Abigail said, letting the magic in her hands and jewelry flare out. She heard Richard whisper, “Whoa!”
Sybil scowled. “So I see.”
“Oh, now you see.” Cunningham’s sharp voice cut the air. “Where were these magic-detecting abilities before? Honestly, I had two vampires and a witch on my side. How could none of you sense them?”
Sybil narrowed her eyes at Abigail’s smoky quartz stone. “Because they had help. Clever. But not clever enough.”
“And we’re out one vampire.” Carver’s face crumpled. “Don’t you two twats even give a damn?” It was the closest thing to grief Abigail had ever heard in his voice.
Cunningham blew a puff of air out of her cheeks. “Don’t be absurd. You’ll find yourself another plaything.”
“Yes.” Sybil tossed her hair over her shoulders. “I imagine one of you creatures is very much like another.”
“Heartless! Both of you.” Carver’s voice caught in his throat. Then, his hate-filled eyes fixed on Titus. “But you’re gonna pay for what you did to Brandy.”
“Happy to reimburse you.” Titus had gathered magic into his hands as well; he held them up to Carver. The crossbow wound in his thigh was healing rapidly. “Did she charge by the hour?” Carver let out a roar and sprang at Titus. Titus leaped out of the way, feet first, just as Abigail had when she dived over the clock mechanism. He landed in front of the truck’s back doors, then yanked them open.
“No!” Cunningham cried. Abigail, Arthur, and Richard peered beyond the doors and gasped. Titus stood with a blank expression on his face.
Inside were two dozen or so women and girls, including teenagers, toddlers, and a few infants. Most were slumped on the sides of the container, eyes closed. A few were sprawled in the center, limbs spread across one another. The interior was absent of furniture or light of any kind. There was no food, water, toilets, or clean clothes.
“Mother of all that’s holy,” Abigail breathed, “how many—”
“Twenty-five, by my count.” Cunningham gave a resigned sigh. “No point in trying to hide it now, I suppose. Though it’s too optimistic to think all of them will make it in the end. Endeavors like these always end up losing one or two. Illness and such, you know.” Abigail was about to spit out a remark, but Arthur spoke first.
“Dear God.” He stared at the container, dumbfounded. “How do they even breathe in there?”
Sybil clucked her tongue. “Stop being melodramatic, mortal. Shipping containers generally aren’t airtight. I’m sure they can breathe just fine.”
“Why aren’t they trying to get out?” Richard asked. “They’re just lying on the floor.”
Titus looked on thoughtfully. “Drugged, most likely,” he said. “A common-enough tactic among smugglers to keep living cargo compliant, being it human or animal.”
Abigail shot Cunningham a cutting look. “Oh, there’s an animal here, all right. Those drugs could fucking kill them! Or did you already exclude the deceased from your head count? Sorry—body count?”
Less than a quarter mile away, more lightning swept through dense clouds. A deep boom of thunder followed. Abigail felt the power, the magic of the storm as she never had before. Back when I was human, she thought. More wind thrashed her cheeks.
Cunningham didn’t answer Abigail. Titus, on the other hand, inhaled deeply. “I smell no decay.” He put one hand in front of his nose. “I do smell filth, however.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “What do you expect, Titus? They’ve obviously been in there for—aaahhh!”
Abigail cried out in pain. It felt like twin daggers were piercing her skull, one on each side. What the . . . ? The magic from her hands evaporated as she clutched her head. Like a migraine from hell.
Sounds seemed muffled and far away. A few feet from her, Abigail saw Arthur, face contorted with worry, mouthing something that kept ending in “Okay? Okay?” Richard and Titus bore concerned expressions as well. Carver and Cunningham were smiling in triumph, as was Sybil. But Sybil was the only one who looked like she was concentrating on something.
Oh no, you don’t, Abigail thought. You’re not getting into my thoughts tonight. She tore an onyx bead from one of her braids, sending fresh pain shooting through her skull. She threw the bead at Sybil. A cloud of black smoke descended over her. The pain in Abigail’s head abruptly ceased, and she could hear again.
“Are you okay?” Arthur was saying. “Abigail? Abigail?”
“Fine,” Abigail replied through gritted teeth. “Just . . . trying . . . something. Titus!” she called. “Help me get that damn shield off Sybil.”
Titus saw the plan that had formed in her mind. Quick as lightning, he added his own magic to Abigail’s. Sybil made coughing and choking sounds from inside her dark, hazy cloud.
It’s working! Abigail could feel the shield coming down. Until Carver went for Titus’s throat.
“Not on my watch, mate!” Carver growled. He spun around as Titus caught his arms, just before Carver’s fangs reached his neck. “You ain’t offing one more bird on my side!”
“Titus!” Abigail pleaded. She could feel her hold on the magic slipping.
“Forgive me if I’m a bit preoccupied!” Titus twisted Carver’s arm around, breaking it. Carver screamed, a sound that made Abigail’s head want to explode. She covered both ears with her palms. Meanwhile, Sybil waved her hands back and forth through the smoke, which dissipated and faded into nothing.
“Shoot him!” Arthur cried to Richard, aiming his crossbow at the vampires.
“Which one?” asked Richard.
“Shoot either of them, and both of you are dead.” Cunningham locked her gun on the two men, who were forced to aim their crossbows away from the vampires and back at her. Carver gnashed his teeth and righted his broken arm with a loud crack, his homicidal eyes on Titus.
Abigail panted, out of breath from using so much magic. She gathered more in her hands as quickly as she could. But she knew it wouldn’t be good for more than a quick defensive spell or two. They weren’t going to be able to get through Sybil’s shield. It was too strong for one witch to fight alone, and every time she and Titus went at it together, there’d be someone to foil them.
“Nice try, dear.” Sybil let out a final cough, the magic flowing back into her hands. “If you survive tonight, you have quite a future as a firefighter.”
Damn her to hell, Abigail thought. “Attack me again,” she said, “and so help me God, I’ll shove a fire extinguisher up your—”
“Blast it, woman!” Titus yelled at Abigail. “You can’t ever take your focus off the enemy. That’s what you get for rolling your eyes during a confrontation.”
“Stop giving me reasons to roll my eyes! You and your asinine comments,” she muttered.
“Can you believe this is happening?” Richard asked Arthur. Arthur surveyed the women inside the container and the supernaturals with grim determination. Richard still had a decent grip on his crossbow, but looked like he was going to pass out.
“This has gone on long enough,” Sybil snapped. She waved her hand at Arthur and Richard. Their bows jerked sideways a fraction of an inch, then stopped. Sybil frowned. She waved her hand again, this time faster. The bows did not move at all.
“Well, we may not have gotten your shield off, but it looks like my trusty stone weakened you a little.” Abigail smirked. “You won’t be knocking those out of their hands anytime soon.”
“Nothing doing,” agreed Arthur. Sybil’s nostrils flared at him. “We’re here to rescue . . .” He squinted at Cunningham, then Abigail, then the girls. “Well, it may not be who we thought, but we’re here to rescue someone.”
“Where’d they all come from?” Richard asked, peering inside the shipping container.
“You’re still on about them?” Cunningham
asked. “They’re from places like Lithuania, Russia, Albania. I think a few might be from the Ukraine. I employ the usual procurement methods. Promises of jobs, a better life. Kidnapping, bribing public officials.” She shrugged. “Nothing fancy.”
“The banality of your evil is stupefying,” said Arthur.
“So the ‘stock’ you were talking about before is human beings?” asked Abigail. That cold-blooded momzer, she thought in Yiddish.
“I can’t believe a PIA member would do something like this.” Richard stared at the girls in a daze.
“You seem surprised that your fellow mortals would take advantage of one another,” said Sybil.
“For the record,” Titus raised a finger, “I was not.”
“Can it, vampire,” Abigail barked.
Soft grunts and groans came from inside the container. The girls were waking up. They began looking around in drowsy confusion, clothes and hair disheveled. Several of the infants started to wail. A few of the toddlers glanced around, trembling and hollow-eyed. One was still wearing the Scooby-Doo nightshirt she’d been kidnapped in. There were many wet sniffles and hacking coughs. The soft, questioning voices gave way to cries of alarm. The girls looked to each other and to the supernaturals. One began yelling in a language Abigail couldn’t understand, then made a run for the doors.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” said Carver. The woman tried to cross the container’s threshold. Carver caught her by the arm. He threw her back inside with enough force to dash her brains against the container’s opposite wall. Titus threw a bolt of shielding magic over her. The woman fell to the ground, sobbing but unharmed. The other women helped her up, looking wide-eyed with fear. The children began bawling in earnest.
“Shut the door, you cretin,” Cunningham yelled to Carver, “before they all escape!”
“Don’t you dare!” shouted Abigail. “Let them go!” But Carver only slammed the doors shut, causing the entire container to shake. The women inside screamed. Carver locked the doors.
“You heard her.” Arthur pointed his crossbow at Carver. “Let them go!” Cunningham pointed her gun at Arthur. Richard pointed his crossbow at her.
“I ain’t taking orders from no more pensioners tonight,” Carver sneered, “besides this one.” He jutted his chin at Cunningham.
“I do beg your pardon.” Cunningham smoothed back her ice-blonde hair. Carver was too busy massaging the wrist of his just-healed arm to answer.
I’m glad it still gives you pain, Abigail thought. Serves you right for trying to hurt people with it.
“Brandy’s dead partly because you cocked this whole thing up,” Carver finally growled at Cunningham. “You’s on thin ice with me as it is.”
The women inside started banging on the container doors. There were more cries in languages Abigail didn’t know.
“SILENCE!” Sybil bellowed. She threw two bolts of magic at the container. Despite weighing several tons, it rocked violently. The women screamed even louder, then were quiet.
“They don’t speak English, you unfeeling shrew,” said Abigail. “They have no idea what’s happening. They must be terrified.”
“That is not my concern,” snapped Sybil.
“People aren’t old vases and urns and masks you can unearth and do whatever you want with!” Abigail snapped back. “Speaking of which,” she turned to Cunningham, “what does any of this have to do with those artifacts at the warehouse? Do you plan to use their magic on your victims here?” She gestured to the imprisoned women.
“Magic? Victims?” Cunningham blinked. “Oh dear. You are a dunce, aren’t you? It’s ludicrously obvious: the artifacts are a front for the real business.” She gestured at the shipping container.
Titus stroked his chin. “This explains the ship disguised as a fishing vessel, nets and all.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. The damage from Arthur’s crossbow had been completely repaired.
Come to think of it, Abigail realized, I don’t see any of the facial wounds he got at the clock tower either. Prebattle feeding was definitely a good idea.
“Boats have less security surveillance by law enforcement than airports,” Sybil confirmed. “So much easier this way.”
“Indeed.” Cunningham nodded. “Besides, no matter how valuable magical antiquities are, there are only a finite number of them in the world. But people . . . now, there’s your money machine.”
“You just keep making more and more of yourselves to be utilized—” Sybil started.
“You mean exploited,” Abigail interrupted.
“—to be utilized,” Sybil continued, “in whatever way an entrepreneur sees fit.”
“Absolutely. Exhausted for labor, sold for parts . . .” Cunningham waved one hand in the air. “The options are endless.”
“The options are heinous,” said Richard.
Cunningham went on as if no one else were there. “I mean, some aren’t worth more than few hundred quid, but the most valuable can fetch as much as several thousand pounds. Imagine!” Her eyes shone, and she wiggled her fingers like an excited little girl. “Not to mention how they’re too afraid to go to the authorities. Figure they’ll be seen as illegal immigrants and indicted. And if they happen to have documentation, we simply remove it. So convenient.”
“Convenient?” Richard echoed.
Sybil shifted the magic in her hands; a few sparks cascaded to the ground. “It’s not our fault the world requires maids, factory workers, companions—”
“Companions?” Abigail’s mouth hung open. “You mean you’re pimping out girls as young as five years old?”
“Everyone has to start work at some point,” Cunningham said.
“You’re selling people into sexual slavery, you lunatic bitch,” Abigail screamed.
“And why shouldn’t I?” Cunningham said sharply. “There’s a market for almost everything about the human body. Don’t even get me started on organs. Do you have any idea what those with means will pay for a kidney? So many people in today’s society are positively useless.” She eyed Arthur and Richard. “And not just women and children either. Think of all the criminals, the homeless, out there on the street. Taking up oxygen, taking up space. Good-for-nothings: that’s what they are. No one will miss them. All with bodies like treasure chests, just waiting to be plundered!”
Titus glanced at the ship, then at Cunningham. “Now we know who wanted to be a pirate when she grew up.”
Cunningham raised her gun a fraction of an inch. “And this shipment is just the beginning, the first of many to test the waters with potential buyers. A chance to show them what I’m really capable of.” Cunningham got a dreamy look in her eyes. “I can see it now. A whole fleet of supernatural lieutenants beneath me. Can you imagine me as the head of such a ring? I’d be unstoppable! Mortal law enforcement’s already got its hands full wrestling with ordinary traffickers. What chance do you think they’d have against those impervious to guns? Who could make them forget their own names? Who could move, unseen, through the night? We’re talking boatloads of profit. Literally.”
Arthur’s jaw slackened. “Eleanor, have you gone completely round the bend?”Richard stared at her, unblinking. “Bloody bonkers,” he murmured.
“Rather brilliant, actually,” Titus said. “Vile, but brilliant.”
Abigail’s magic flared out, sending Arthur and Richard a step back. “What the hell, Titus?” she said. Then, she turned to Cunningham. “You know, I think you may actually be the first person I enjoy killing.”
Abigail heard an explosion of thunder dangerously close to her ear. Must’ve missed the lightning; I wasn’t even paying attention. Everyone’s gaze darted skyward for a moment as the wind picked up again. It tossed tarps against the sides of the ship before dying back down. Storm’s getting closer. Still, there was no rain.
Cunningham let out a malicious laugh. “Well, we should all enjoy our work, shouldn’t we? Except when it comes to mine, I’ll not let a
little thing like a mortal conscience keep me from opportunity.” She grinned fiendishly. “Especially when the mortal bit won’t be a problem much longer.”
“What do you mean by that?” Richard asked nervously.
Cunningham rolled her eyes. “Naturally, one cannot have a human at the head of a supernatural organization. I suppose I could study witchcraft, but turning into a vampire does have its advantages.
“Then there are those who enjoy the best of both worlds.” She looked at Titus intensely. “Surely you can see the beauty of my scheme,” she said to him. “The profits, the potential. We could use a man with a skill set as valuable as yours.” She smiled warmly.
I can’t believe she thinks buttering you up is going to work, Titus. Titus?
There was a maddeningly long pause. Finally, Titus sighed. “Much as I admire your enterprising spirit, Ms. Cunningham, you have caused me a bit more trouble than I’m used to.” He glanced at Abigail. Relatively speaking, of course, he thought to her. “By the by, what were those emergency supplies you mentioned?”
“Rations for the girls, of course,” Cunningham said. “Can’t have our product wasting away on us, now, can we? I mean, losing a few is part of the overhead, but can you imagine if the whole lot died on me?”
“Yes.” Arthur looked down the sight of his crossbow to her. “I’m sure they’d arrange an inhuman demise just out of spite.”
“You mean you were going to feed the original supplies—that rotten food in the crates—to the girls?” Abigail asked Cunningham. Richard made gagging sounds.
That’s what she meant when she said “lives are at stake,” Abigail thought to Titus. She meant the girls’ lives, and therefore her profits.
“Of course,” Cunningham replied, as if it were obvious. “Why are you looking at me like that? It would keep them alive, wouldn’t it? And the less I pay for upkeep, the larger my profit margin. You know, dear, it’s your own fault it went this far. None of this unpleasantness between us had to happen. If you’d just died when you were supposed to, at that pub in Nowhereshire, no one would have even known about your powers. My connections told me that deal you were covering was set to go sour. They were sure of it.”
