My physical fitness was lower than sedimentary, having only ever been to a gym once in my life. I rubbed my sweaty bound hands against the thighs of my dress, conscious that my movement was noted by the large, tan skinned daemon as he led us wherever we were going. His nose had been broken at some point, his dark eyes scrutinised me as if he had seen into my soul and come up wanting. I couldn’t blame him, apparently, I didn’t have a soul anymore.
I could almost feel it, like the last slip of humanity that I had been clinging to, had been peeled away from my insides. I held it with what I imagined to be both of my hands, shaking with strain. The invisible battle had taken its toll on my body and since I had woken up in captivity, sweat beaded on my forehead and my lip trembled. It had nothing to do with stress and all to do with the small black butterflies I could feel in my stomach, coiling, ready to escape. I clamped my teeth shut, determined not to let any of my nerves get the better of me.
I chanced a look at my guard out of the corner of my eyes. His black beady eyes stared straight ahead but his brow was furrowed in concentration. I could feel that strange daemon magic in the air, but it was as if it was only a hint. A promise of what was to come if I tried to escape.
Humans were a kaleidoscope of energy and emotion. Shining fractals of light. Daemons were something…other. Their power was like thin, spindly fingers. Threads that connected to something deeper.
I remembered what Vincent had said about Asmodeus, the Queen of the Seventh Circle. I could only guess that the ‘something deeper’ was Hell itself.
They were daemons, after all.
A creeping and sickly feeling began to crawl up my throat like slimy fingers. I wanted to escape. My fingers twitched with the deepest desire to reach forward and drive my thumbs into my daemon guard’s beady black eyes until he screamed and I could run for the door. I wanted to run and jump into the nearest car and drive away.
Where would I go?
I shook my head to clear the thoughts and an overwhelming sense of shame washed over my mind like a tsunami. If I ran, then what about Trix? My best friend had been taken by Damian. Although Trix was a Witching she was no match for whatever the Hell Damian was.
Had I been tempted to run away and leave my best friend to die?
I really didn’t have a soul, anymore.
A single tear dropped down my cheek but I didn’t wipe it away, I welcomed it.
I used to give more of myself. I used to love much more strongly. I was ready to kill people for my sister. Not even her life, but her honour. For revenge against her murderers.
When I had accused Henry of being a different person to the man I had met three years ago, I didn’t even think about all the ways I had changed.
Our feet echoed on the shiny floor as we reached another fire safety door. My escort pressed his beefy hand against the flat handle and pushed. His fingers were long enough to fit all the way about my throat without a thought. I shivered.
I had thought I was broken back then. I had thought that I had hit rock bottom, when I was a petty human on her kitchen floor with a razor blade and a bottle of vodka. What about now? My blood was black; my soul was in tatters. Every tickle in my throat made fear grab a hold of my heart. It made me feel like my essence was going to flit out of my mouth in the form of a tiny butterfly.
I had seen butterflies in purgatory, thousands of different winged creatures. It hadn’t hit me then.
The orchestral music filtered through and reached my ears as we arrived at the last set of doors. The sterile environment had slowly melted to a gaudy ornate decadence. Baby blue and golden furnishings. A mixture of the Sistine chapel and a baby boy’s nursery.
Pretentious music played and I searched for the source, quickly realising that it was above me. My daemon guard slowed to a stop.
“On the platform.” He grunted, gesturing to the duct taped X on the floor.
I walked without hesitation, but looked longingly at the door. Guilt warred inside of me.
Run and hide for the rest of my life?
Save my best friend.
There wasn’t a choice.
“Beatrix Klein, if I survive this, you owe me.” I muttered, rubbing my clammy hands on the silk shift dress again. I immediately regretted my words. I was the reason she was taken in the first place.
I sighed. Semantics.
The wurr of mechanics was deafening as the platform began to rise. I forced my eyes closed and took a deep breath, hesitating. I knew that if I tried to move I would fall a large distance. The kind of height that made a broken ankle look likely. I may have had long limbs but they weren’t graceful, more like a newborn giraffe.
When I blinked and opened my eyes, I was blinded by a bright spotlight. A booming mechanical voice announced my arrival as lot number three hundred and ninety-four. The bulbous atrium highlighted the lack of noise that daemons made. There was no breathing, or fidgeting. Each body was like stone as the crowd stared up at my platform with the cool appraisal of a predator species. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and glanced out across the stage once my eyes had grown accustomed to the light. My vision was still spotted with dark spots but they dispersed quickly. There wasn’t just incubi and succubae but magic that I didn’t recognise. The metallic taint that clung to my throat in the presence of magic increased tenfold.
My frantic eyes searched for Trix. Damian. Henry. Anyone I knew. Anyone that would save me. At that point, I probably would have taken Samuel if it meant not being sold like a slave.
‘Lot number 394. Name: Sophia. Hmm, interesting.” A voice chuckled, as it echoed over the speakers. I caught the familiar eyes of William Kain and I bared my teeth at him. I had thought he was my friend. At least in the loosest definition of the word.
William chuckled at my snarl. “Be careful of this one, fellows. She’s got bite. Might help to add that she’s also a Vessel. Holds onto Hell Magic like a dream. Start the bidding shall we? Get your paddles up!”
I had thought that I was destined for Damian. Did they put me on the platform to make me sweat? To make the festival more interesting? My eyes darted around the room as paddles raised and fell. The facial expressions of the bidders ranged from callous to downright bored.
I continued to stare at William Kain’s face until I could have burned a hole into it. He shrugged and grinned lazily. The auction for my body, my life, was nothing but a game to him.
The bidding went on for the longest stretch, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The arches of my bare feet ached against the cold concrete and I shifted my weight. Taking a deep breath, I watched the threads of daemon magic, as they clung to the walls like jungle vines. I could only see the magic out of the corner of my eye, if I looked at it directly, it disappeared. It was the same with human energy. I had to relax my eyes to see all of the colours. I wondered if I looked a bit cross eyed but then decided I didn’t care.
When my attention drew back to earth, I was being led off stage.
Had someone bought me?
“It looks like we have two very interested parties!” William announced to the crowd. They murmured excitedly. “We all know what that means!”
But I didn’t.
The spotlight dimmed just enough for me to see the expanse of the room I had been standing in. The platform I stood on was more like a stage, rimmed with old fashion theatre lights. Burgundy velvet curtains hung heavily on the edges. The floor was herringbone wood, crisscrossed like the floors of my old school's gym. Daemons stood, groups, singles and couples. Silent and unearthly. They did not move like humans did, there were no nervous ticks. It was as if they simply glided. Across the room, a large set of ornate golden doors beckoned.
I glanced up to William, who was sat in what looked like a theatre box seat, embedded in the walls. He flung his arm out gracefully and cocked his head once. Implying that I should walk across the room.
Not a fucking chance.
I wasn’t going to walk across a room full of incubi and succub
ae. Their magic clung to every surface like wandering hands. They were all beautiful, translucent and connected in a way that I couldn’t begin to understand.
I just wanted the day to be over with. I longed to close my eyes and survey where the chips had fallen—I didn’t want to have to live the game I was being forced to play.
I looked down to my body and noticed that the harsh stage lights had reduced my silk shift dress to something completely unnecessary, it was see-through and because I hadn’t been given underwear, it felt worse than being naked.
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. If they wanted to subject me to more, then they would get a fit doing it. I narrowed my eyes and stared at all the monsters that had just bid on my life.
I wondered if the situation would have been different if I was sold under more positive pretences. Someone gripped the top of my arm, hard enough to leave a bruise and I opened my mouth to protest. I felt the thin tendrils of magic snake up my throat like fingers and my jaw clenched shut against my will. I forced out the emptiness inside of me. I gathered any strength that I had left, to reach out and take the magic from the air. To Strip it from wet flesh with my mouth. I was unsuccessful.
The guard from before, with his beady eyes and trunk-like arms, held me steady and walked me to the stairs at the edge of the stage. The low-level buzz of conversation that had filled my ears since I had entered had stopped. The silence was harrowing.
I wanted to wave my arms and shout at them. Scream for them to stop staring. The crowd parted like the red sea and I was frogmarched down the centre of the room towards the imposing doors—I had no idea what was on the other end, or what waited for me but I could guess.
Death.
Lust.
My body being stolen.
I was already being punished for a crime that I had no memory of committing. The Rose family had denied me protection and Vincent had told me that my sale to Damian was basically a done deal. If that was the case, who else had bid on me? And what would the price be?
I saw a flash of familiar hazel eyes through the crowd as my bare feet slapped against the wood. I blinked, unable to clear my mind. I had seen Trix’s face in the crowd, but that couldn’t have been. Trix had peach hair, and the stranger that followed me through the crowd did not.
I blinked again to wet my aching eyes but there was no one there. I must have been seeing things. I shrugged and sighed at the sense of ease that my hallucinations had brought me. I could take comfort in the fact that some things never changed.
The guard reached the door first and pushed it open with the flat of his hand. Veins of ice blue light, the same colour as daemon eyes, flared on the wood like cracks. They splintered until the door was covered and faded away into nothing. I cocked my head to the side. It must have been a magic lock. I wanted to place my own hand on the door to see what would happen, but they swung open before I had a chance.
The new room was exactly like the other one, but a mirror image. In the absence of the stage platform, there was a stone block. It looked like an altar of some sort, but I wouldn’t have known. I hadn’t been to church in years, the extent of my Christianity ended when my primary school assemblies did.
I blinked back tears. The roaring voice of my sister had been easy to tune out, a dull ache in the back of my mind like my own internal monologue but now she screamed in full force. My ear drums felt like they would pop. I was unable to raise my hands to my head, unable to open my mouth to scream. All I could do was move towards the altar like a marionette, the guard's power formed threads along my bones, causing them to move.
The room whilst cavernous was empty. The guard walked me to the approximate centre and then allowed his arm to release its vice-like grip on my shoulder. I wanted to rub where I felt the bruises begin to form on my skin but I couldn’t. Still in the thrall of the magic.
The guard left without a word and walked through the doors. The noise of the crowd returned in full force and the spotlight on the stage lit up just as the doors shut. Time for another person to be auctioned.
The magic released its hold on my body long enough so that I could turn on the spot.
I had felt his gaze before I saw him. They had both entered through a door that I hadn’t noticed before.
My heart lodged in my throat. It was Henry Blaire. My Henry.
And by his side, was the infamous Lillian.
15.
Some part of me felt childish when the creeping heat of jealousy touched my cheeks. I could only guess that the female daemon by Henry’s side, her arm stroking his shoulder in possession, was Lillian Blaire.
Henry had told me that when he had encountered her for the first time that all he had remembered was her beauty. Lillian had raven black hair, cropped to her chin in a blunt edge. Her lips were the perfect pink of an English Rose; her skin was porcelain and her eyes were wide like a doll's. Perfect high cheekbones. If not for the twisted smirk that touched the corner of her lips, I would have said that she was the picture of innocence.
My gaze drifted from Lillian’s emerald green eyes to Henry’s. His flared an almost white with a daemonic sheen. I clenched my fists, the jagged edges of my nails dug into my palms. I willed myself not to lose my mind.
I could not to lose the hurt, the pain of everything that had happened and how he had left me again for Lillian Blaire.
I had to remind myself that Henry wasn’t with Lillian by choice. Her grip on his shoulder, the prick of his blood that stained his white t-shirt, were tell-tale signs. If what Willian Kain had said was correct, then Lillian Blaire was a rapist.
Heat crept up my throat and painted my cheeks, but it was from my rage. I felt tears burn behind my eyes, determined not to blink them back, I stared at Lillian and tried to keep my face impassive.
“You bid on me?” I asked, my voice croaked in disgust.
Lillian put a manicured hand on Henry’s chest and pushed him behind her as if he was nothing more than furniture. She walked towards me, she was slender like I was but had none of the harsh angles that came with being in a mental asylum. Lillian shot a look back at Henry, her raven Bob held in perfectly still as her head moved,. She stared at me and smirked knowingly.
I bit my tongue and held my silence.
“Consort of Haage.” Lillian murmured, tapping her bottom lip. “That’s what they’ve been calling you because of that tattoo on your wrist.”
My hand flew to the mark she spoke about without a thought. “Yes.”
“You’re a liar and a whore.” Her tone was light, conversational.
Did she expect me to agree with her? Because I wouldn’t. I decided all I could do was stay silent. Lillian’s nude patent heels clacked against the wooden floor and stopped two metres in front of me, as if she had met an invisible threshold. Her head cocked to the side, like a bird watching its prey. I had seen Damian do similar and knew it must have been a daemon thing.
Lillian’s green eyes flared to ice blue as I saw her carefully constructed demeanour give way to rage. Lillian’s eyes burned into my wrist as if she could will the mark away.
“It’s just a tattoo.” Lillian muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She turned to Henry and bit out a harsh laugh. “You couldn’t light a candle anymore, Haage. I doubt you’d have enough power to mark someone as pathetic as this.” She waved a hand in my direction but her eyes stayed on Henry. Lillian’s button nose scrunched in disgust as she looked at me in distaste.
I silently pleaded for Henry to look at me, I tried to school my expression to let him know that I had forgiven him. That William had explained and I wanted him to know that I didn’t think he was disgusting. That I knew that when he had gone back to her, and left me, it hadn’t been his choice. Henry avoided my eyes and my heart broke. He stared at the floor, as if he were a submissive dog. Where had my concealed maelstrom gone? My severe and deadly daemon?
The Henry that stood in front of me was broken. Almost in the same way I was.
Deep dow
n I had always told myself that I was too fucked up and not good enough for him. Maybe we had sought each other out for different reasons. He hadn’t been lording his perfection over me. He was just as damaged, but it wasn’t as visible as my issues. I was an angst addict with self-destructive tendencies. He was a guilt driven daemon, with a curse that bestowed him into the hands of his tormenter.
“Well?” Lillian hissed, taking a step towards Henry. Her face was painted in anger, her jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “That’s not real! It can’t be! I wanted to be marked. I wanted to be yours!”
Henry muttered something under his breath and closed his eyes as if in pain. She seemed to control him completely. I wondered if it was a side effect of the curse.
The only way to break the curse is to kill the caster.
If only I could get close enough to kiss Lillian, maybe I could kill her. Maybe I could do that weird vessel thing, and take her magic. The thought was tempting but unrealistic. I had been in manacles for two days, dehydrated and exhausted. I couldn’t fight a pillow, let alone an Elite daemon who may also have had Witching powers for all I knew.
“You couldn’t be mine, Lillian.” Henry whispered. “Just as I will never truly be yours.”
The loud crack of Lillian’s slap resounded against the ornate walls of the Atrium. I flinched at the harsh sound and tears burned behind my eyes again when I saw the red handprint on Henry’s cheek. I wanted to kill her. I mashed my jaw together as bile burnt up my throat. Henry's face was relaxed in acceptance. He was used to her violence, used to being an object that belonged to Lillian Blaire.
I wanted Henry to fight back. I wanted him to grab her arms and push her away, but Lillian reached up and gently caressed the cheek that she had just slapped as if she could take the pain away. As if she were his healer, not his assailant.
“There, there, sweet boy. You know better than to talk back to me.” Lillian cooed. “When midnight strikes, your curse will be complete until Solstice and then we’ll have some fun!” She clapped her hands together excitedly and turned her attention to me again, as if just realising that I still existed.
The Human Herders (Daemons of London - Book 2) Page 15
