The Shifting Price of Prey [4]

by Suzanne McLeod

  The tents contain the speciality lots.

  ‘Can you ID anyone who’s in the circles or the tents?’ I murmured.

  No. But now you have ownership of my tarot cards, bean sidhe. Viviane smiled, showing her dainty little fangs. I should be able to give you some information that will help you.

  ‘Fine. But remember our agreement; no cryptic stuff.’

  Of course. If you would remove two cards, please, the foretelling will be easier.

  As I dug the tarot cards out, Gold Cat padded from behind the willow curtain and flopped down on the grass next to Viviane.

  Oh, and once the foretelling is finished, Viviane warned. I’ll be trapped in the cards until I’m called again.

  ‘Fine, just remember; no harm to me or mine.’

  None from me, Viviane agreed.

  I picked two cards out and she vanished from the canalbank inside me. The cards flew from my fingers to hover before me. Viviane reappeared on the left card, while the right showed an image of the Emperor lounging on the larger of the two thrones on the stage. He held up one of his gold coins.

  ‘The Forum Miribilis has its own magic,’ Viviane said in a brisk tone. ‘As such, the Emperor has to give you a coin so that you may barter. But as you are already here, the coin is not tied to any specific lot, though the Emperor will not tell you that. You will be able to choose which lot to barter for, and you must barter his coin. If you do not then you will not have the opportunity to speak to him until the auction is over. That will be too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘To save those you wish to save, of course.’

  ‘Right. So I choose a lot, hand over my coin, then I get to ask the Emperor how to release the fae’s trapped fertility and he tells me what price he wants me to pay.’

  ‘Not quite, bean sidhe.’

  I eyed her suspiciously. ‘Your cards said: he knows. He will tell you. For a price.’

  She twirled her parasol, eyeing me steadily from under her lashes. ‘That is correct. But first the Forum’s magic must be adhered to or else, like all magical bargains thwarted, it will rebound negatively.’

  Crap. ‘So what does that involve?’

  ‘You must agree the payment in addition to bartering the coin for the lot you choose. Then you can ask your question about the fae’s fertility.’

  ‘Perfect. So I’ve got to pay something for whatever lot I choose, then I have to pay again to get the info I need. Talk about having your ransom cake and eating it.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Viviane said, a ‘you’re so not going to like this’ expression on her face.

  I sighed. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, there is also the Forum’s public deterrent that each coinholder has to pay.’

  Unease pricked my gut. ‘Explain.’

  The picture of the Emperor changed to show an unhappy-looking brown-haired man dressed in the green T-shirt and trousers that was the zoo’s uniform. ‘This is David O’Reilly, the partner of Jonathan Weir. David is a performer on the cusp of fame and fortune. When he barters his coin for Jonathan’s return, the extra payment demanded by the Forum will be David’s singing voice. Giving up his voice will change his current destiny, but his partner Jonathan will be free and he will survive the bite to become a weretiger.’

  David on the card looked even more miserable. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘so he loses out on future fame and fortune but it’s not like he’s going to know for sure, or that it’s going to be public knowledge, so I take it there’s a nasty punchline to the story.’

  Viviane nodded. ‘Losing his hope in a bright future, David becomes depressed and forgets to pay attention in his job at the zoo. As he deals with dangerous animals this will result in a fatal accident. His partner Jonathan will be distraught.’

  Mist swirled on the card and David vanished.

  ‘Ouch, that’s definitely not a happy outcome,’ I said, feeling bad for David and Jonathan. ‘So what? You think I should choose Jonathan as my lot?’

  Viviane shook her head. ‘It is not for me to tell you which lot to choose, bean sidhe. Any coinholder presenting their coin will trigger a public deterrent. I only described David’s future as it was the clearest one I could see.’

  Crap. If I didn’t choose Jonathan to barter for then, sooner or later, his partner, David, would end up dead. But David wasn’t the only one here with a coin, nearly all the circles behind me held a shadowy figure— they were all going to end up paying something. As I would. ‘So any idea what my deterrent will be?’

  ‘Your future has many threads, bean sidhe. It is impossible to pick out any one. But I will warn you that there is more at stake here than the answer you seek, or even the kidnap victims that you are determined to rescue. For you and your feline friend.’

  Gold Cat pricked her ears inside me as I said, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

  Viviane brushed a few coppery cat hairs off her dress. ‘You care for many people, bean sidhe. It makes you vulnerable.’

  Chill fingers scraped down my spine. She was sworn to bring no harm to me. Or mine. ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I cannot say, bean sidhe.’ She snapped her parasol closed and her cards vanished.

  Fuckfuckfuck. She was right. I did care about a lot of people. I didn’t even want to guess who it might be. I dug my fingers into the scorched summer grass, needing something to hold on to. Whoever it was I had to save them. But hell, if I was going to save them, rescue the rest of the Emperor’s victims, save their coinholders from triggering the Forum’s deterrent magic, and get the answer to my question about the fae’s fertility, I needed a plan.

  Ten minutes later, as I was still frantically trying to come up with one, the sound of drums thundered through the open space and a burst of magic pricked goosebumps over my flesh.

  Lightning flashed, its aftermath plunging the place into darkness.

  The lights gradually came back, focusing on the stage.

  Five huge werewolves, in their wolf forms, sat on their haunches like guard dogs by the two thrones.

  And the thrones themselves were no longer empty.

  Lounging on the larger throne was the Emperor.

  Robed in a purple toga, with a golden laurel wreath crowning his head of dark curls, he gazed down his long hawk-like nose at me with an impersonal, idle regard, like I was a bug he might squash with his sandalled foot. There was no emotion, no humanity, nothing to connect to in his green eyes, only a deep sense of alienness. He even made psycho Bastien seem more human. I shuddered. And wasn’t that a scary thought?

  But hey, for all he was the Scary Emperor, he wasn’t as interesting as the woman sitting on the throne next to him. Pulse fluttering with nerves (and no way did I want to examine too closely why) I took a deep breath and checked her out. She looked as young and beautiful as she had in Malik’s memory, though she was wearing the same Roman tunic as when she and her werewolves had played magical kidnappers. Her black curls were still piled atop her head, the black inked crescent still graced the corner of her lush mouth, but now she sported a crown of gold stars as she had in the tarot card picture. The Empress, the changeling— Malik’s wife? In the flesh.

  She was staring at me, curiosity and some other emotion – sympathy or speculation – in her crimson sidhe eyes.

  I lifted my chin and stared back, wondering why she’d chosen to side with Bastien in whatever showdown he and the Emperor had going on. Okay, so Bastien was her son, but being blood-bonded to the Emperor wasn’t something to throw away lightly, not when that blood-bond had given her five centuries of extended life, and not when breaking that bond would mean her death. Unless she hoped to transfer it to another vamp? A vamp who’d been her husband? Malik.

  Would he want that? Pain squeezed my heart that he might. I shaved the pain away.

  I had to come up with a plan; one that saved everyone and got me the answer to my question about the fae’s trapped fertility.

  And since offence is the best defence, I bared my t
eeth in a smile and waved at the imperial pair. ‘Nice party, guys,’ I called. ‘Thanks for the invite.’

  ‘Genevieve Nataliya Zakharinova,’ the Emperor said in a soft voice that sent shivers skittering down my spine. ‘You are due this.’ He leaned forwards and tossed something at me. It skimmed through the air and landed in the circle at my feet.

  A gold coin.

  I looked up. ‘You’re not exactly going for subtle, are you?’

  ‘I have no need to,’ he said, and sat back.

  The tent nearest to the stage vanished. In its place was a giant circular birdcage.

  Inside the cage was Katie.

  She was sitting, hugging her knees to her chest, long blonde hair scraped back in a messy, high ponytail. A vamp centurion crouched behind her, his grasp on her ponytail holding her head up so her grubby, tear-stained face was easily seen, as was the thick leather collar with its iron chain around her throat. She was inside a circle of ashes.

  Rage and fear slammed into me, my vision blurred and somewhere nearby I could hear a low, menacing growl. It wasn’t until another centurion loomed in front of me brandishing his fangs and snapping his fingers an inch from my face, as he demanded I be quiet, that I realised I was the one growling.

  I clenched my fists and swallowed the growl back. I took a deep breath, concentrating on calming my frenzied heart. I needed my wits if I was going to save Katie.

  Save kits. A snarl in my head agreed. Save both kits.

  Both kits? I swiped a hand over my eyes to clear my vision, vaguely surprised as it came away wet, and saw the cage’s other occupant. He was lying just outside the circle Katie was in, a similar leather collar and iron chain around his throat, dark hair matted where he’d obviously been bludgeoned, and pale face smeared with dried blood. Marc. Big-cat-shifter and Katie’s treacherous so-called-boyfriend—

  Want help break mate bond, Finn. Gold Cat snarled again. No hurt kit. Promise.

  ‘Fine. I won’t hurt him,’ I snapped back. Then promptly forgot about him and anything else but Katie.

  I jumped up and down, waving and shouting at her, wanting to let her know I was here. That I’d get her out whatever it took. She didn’t react. I shouted again.

  ‘Merchandise can’t communicate with bidders, Ms Taylor,’ a familiar mike-enhanced voice boomed out. ‘It’s against the Forum’s ethics.’

  Ethics? I whirled round.

  A single spot, trained stage right, illuminated an auctioneer’s lectern. Standing on a step-stool behind the lectern, holding a golden gavel, was Mr Lampy the gnome. He treated me to a denture-filled leer. ‘Cages are bespelled,’ he said. ‘One-way viewing for bidders and barterers only.’

  I slapped my hands on the invisible wall of the circle, desperate to escape it, release Ascalon and skewer the disgusting little gnome, the smug Emperor and the heartless Empress. Instead, I snatched up the gold coin with a shaking hand and forced myself to sit. There had to be a way to fix this.

  A loud gong sounded, reverberating through the air and the ground beneath me.

  ‘Romulus Augustus,’ the gnome shouted, with a flourish of his golden gavel, ‘the last Emperor of the Western Roman Empire, and his lady, the Empress Shpresa, welcome you to the Forum Mirabilis. The Forum where anything can be bought or bartered for, if you are prepared to pay the price.’ Another more ominous (to me, anyway) gong sounded. ‘Ladies, gentleman and Others, please prepare to view our very rare and very special merchandise, gathered exclusively for your delectation on this glorious Summer Solstice night.’ The gnome swept his gavel out towards the semi-circle of tents. ‘Full details and 360-degree live videos are available on the electronic tablets located in front of your seat.’

  A sensation of movement came from the shadowed bleachers on the stage.

  The gnome pointed at Katie’s cage. ‘Immediately to my left is lot number one: an extremely rare, pre-mated pair of ailuranthropes – shifter subspecies: sabre-tooth cat cinereus – long thought extinct. As you will see from the details, I have personally performed all the necessary checks on the female, so survival is guaranteed post ritual, as is breeding, if the pair are mated within the specified period of time.’

  Fury rolled through me. I wanted to rip the gavel from the pervert gnome’s hold and use it to perform every unnecessary check possible on him, before beating him to gnome puree. Instead, I yelled a curse at him, beat my fists against the circle’s invisible wall, then yanked my boots off and threw them. One narrowly missed the gnome’s nasty lichen-covered skull. The other hit the vamp centurion. He flashed fang and threw it back. It hit my stomach with enough force I doubled over gasping as I slumped to the ground. The other boot smacked my head a second later.

  ‘Next is lot number two: another extremely rare and hard to come by item’ – I peered out between my fingers – ‘a pre-change ailuranthrope – shifter subspecies: Royal Bengal tiger – with no bonds of loyalty in place.’ As the gnome spoke, the tent next to Katie’s disappeared to reveal a man curled in a foetal position, collared and chained much as Katie was. Jonathan Weir, the zoo employee. ‘Bidders note that no refunds will be offered if he does not survive the shift.’

  He’d survive. Viviane said so, but only to lose his partner later. Sadness flickered through my rage at the Emperor. He’d only given me one coin. And I had to use it to save Katie. But I wasn’t going to let David die, I vowed, yanking my boots back on. I’d find some way to stop the Forum’s future deterrent. Then I caught sight of the Emperor. A suggestion of a smile wreathed his mouth. He knew what was going to happen to David. And that I knew it too. Bastard . . . I was going to make him pay. Somehow.

  I ripped at the dried grass as the gnome continued to extol the Forum’s ‘merchandise’ cage by cage. Number three held a selkie. The one who’d been squatting on the Golden Hind – the replica warship – moored on the Thames at Southwark? I decided I didn’t want to know. Cage four held a small black Labrador-like puppy. He was listed as a Black Dog, untrained, so his howl could not be guaranteed to bring about immediate death.

  There were five swan maidens, evidently numerically appropriate in someone’s mind, in cage five. Cage six: a centaur; cage seven: Mini the Minotaur; and cage eight: a hairless cat in a blue sweater. Looked like the Forum’s procurers had raided the Carnival’s shows to up their auction specials.

  I felt bad for them all and, if I could, I’d help them.

  Cage nine was another ailuranthrope – shifter subspecies: sabre-tooth cat cinereus beta – which apparently meant he’d been Bitten, not Changed by Ritual or Born, so was infertile according to the gnome’s candid description, and was bound by loyalty, so was ideally suited for the epicurean markets. Gold Cat stirred inside me, and at her prodding I lifted my head to check: the man in the cage was the third of the grey and black big-cat-shifters. Steve Dean, she murmured, her sorrow filtering through my own thought that Steve was more baddie than goodie, so while the idea that he was going to end up as some sick fuck’s ‘Special of the Day’ turned my stomach, he really didn’t register that high on my ‘Person Who Needs Saving’ scale.

  The kidnapped woman and her son – listed as ailuranthrope shifter subspecies: Royal Bengal tiger – were in cage ten, to be sold either as one lot or separately, dependent on bids. I raked my hands through my hair. Katie was my main concern, but neither she nor I could turn our backs on a little kid and his mother. Fuck. This was so going from bad to evil. It was almost a guilty relief to hear that cage eleven and twelve held a giant squid in a huge glass tank and an Arabian phoenix respectively, and neither were anyone I knew.

  ‘And last we come to lot thirteen, a number of much import I’m sure you’ll all agree,’ the gnome’s excited voice boomed out. ‘Thirteen is The Star Of Our Show. A Once In A Lifetime, Never To Be Repeated Offering here at the Forum Mirabilis, or anywhere else, for your delectation. Thirteen is a Creature of Such Rare Heritage that a name is yet to be coined for it, and all of its abilities have yet to be discovered. Ladies, gen
tleman and Others, please check the catalogue details for lot thirteen’s full history, and please ensure you make your bids with care. Payment will, as for all lots, be due in full immediately bidding is closed.’

  Again I had the sensation of movement, of anticipation and eagerness, from the shadowed crowd on the stage.

  I looked up, vaguely curious despite myself. And was surprised to see even the Emperor was leaning forwards, an expectant expression on his face—

  He was watching me. Not the tent where all was about to be revealed.

  Fear cramped my stomach.

  I jerked my head towards tent thirteen.

  The tent vanished.

  My heart stuttered.

  Inside the cage was a small dog – a Norwegian elkhound – sitting bolt upright, ears pricked, fur a fluffy mix of silver and grey tipped with lime green—

  My niece, Freya.

  A booming voice was wittering on about lots, how to bid, how to pay and complimentary refreshments. I wasn’t listening. I hugged myself, almost paralysed with panic. And pain. So much pain. Part of me knew the pain radiating through my body wasn’t physical, but that didn’t matter, I still hurt. Still felt as though my heart had been ripped out. As if it had been chopped in half with a blunt axe, the two halves pierced with silver nails and then shoved burning and broken back in my chest.

  Freya. Or Katie.

  No way could I choose.

  Katie. Or Freya.

  No way did I want to choose.

  Freya.

  I slowly opened my hand. Stared at the gold coin in my palm.

  Katie.

  Blood smeared the coin where I’d clutched it so hard my nails had split my flesh.

  Freya was blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. An eight-year-old child.

  The booming voice was saying something about barterers getting the chance to tender their coins for their corresponding ‘lot’ before open bidding could commence.