Tithes (Ava Delaney

by Claire Farrell

  Inside, Gerard was already waiting. He waved me over, and I sat across from him. We were the only customers, so we could talk freely, which was good, considering how close together the tables were positioned.

  “I’ve booked the place,” he explained as the hostess shut the door and turned the open sign to closed. “Old favours.”

  Gerard was human, as far as I could tell. His grey hair was long around the ears and the nape of his neck, but he was balding on top. He had a pleasant, bland face that was easily forgettable. He was soft-spoken, but bulky, built more like a boxer than anything else.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” he continued. “Jessica told me you have concerns about the slave trade.”

  “There’s been evidence,” I said carefully. “I just need to know if it’s a one-off.”

  “A one-off?”

  I fidgeted with the salt mill. “As in, if somebody made a deal to exchange their great-great-great-grandchild for something.”

  “Ah. It’s been years since I’ve come across that kind of situation.”

  I looked at him. “So it’s possible?”

  “Anything is possible. Tithes were common at one stage.”

  “What, like a tax?”

  “Of sorts.” He frowned. “Not much is known about how it began, but certain families would control regions of the country. As the poor handed their crops to landowners, others handed over their children to appease those more powerful. Churches would take in children in lieu of donations, although that quickly died. I’m convinced tithing began as a positive, actually.”

  “Children tax is positive?” I shivered. “Not with you there.”

  “Think about it,” he said. “We were once a dreadfully poor country. Families were larger than could be sustained. All of those mouths had to be fed. So the rich and powerful would take a child to ease the household’s burden. The child would become an unpaid servant, destined to live out their years at the beck and call of a rich household. Now, occasionally, they were taken to be adopted, sometimes to be the playmate of a child, a nurse to a sickly one. Later, families would exchange a child for a period of time to cover a debt when the harvest failed. As time moved on, the tithed children most certainly grew into slaves, and brands were used as though they were cattle. Families in which magic ran in the blood were particularly susceptible. A number of children might be taken if they showed talent.”

  “So that’s how the slave trade began here? As tithes?”

  “From the little we know for sure, it’s what I personally believe. I hear a lot of stories, spoken history passed down through generations. Sometimes, the stories connect in ways I cannot ignore. And some debts are long-lasting, even in a modern world.” He looked up and smiled as the hostess brought us a rectangular pizza dripping with toppings. “House special,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  The server cut us each a massive slab. Gerard picked up his knife and fork and dug in enthusiastically. “I don’t often eat out,” he explained when the woman left us alone. “But when I do, it’s at the best little places.”

  “It’s good.” I took a sip of water, keeping my focus on his reaction. “Have you heard anything recently about slavery?”

  “There was one that might interest you,” he said. “Not exactly recently, but it got me thinking about your situation. There was a woman, older than you, tired. The life had been drained out of her. She came to me in the dead of night and cried for three days straight. I saw her brands, thought she was scared, but it wasn’t that.”

  “So what was it?”

  “She wasn’t a slave any longer. She had been indentured to work off a debt belonging to a relative, I believe.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “There was a time when women were the ones used to pay off the debts of males because the men were more likely to be needed in the fields. Some traditions take longer to die than others.”

  “Shocking,” I said wryly.

  He smiled. “It will always be the bad acts of a few that history remembers. Now, this woman was a child when she was sent away. Generally, an indentured slave was taken until they no longer served their purpose. Old age or illness would end the deal, and the slave may or may not have been replaced. In any case, some were sent away before their time was up.”

  The pizza tasted like cardboard all of a sudden. My deal with the Eleven was an indentured servitude of sorts. I wondered what would get me cut off before my one hundred years were up. “So she got old and was kicked out. That’s why she was crying?”

  “Not in this case.” He shrugged. “Although some don’t know how to live without being told what to do. In this woman’s case, she was able to earn years off her… sentence.”

  My fork froze in mid-air. “How?”

  His gaze turned sad. “By giving them her baby instead. She purposely got pregnant to free herself. The child took twenty years off her sentence, and she earned her freedom. The child, on the other hand, wasn’t bound by the same deal so would likely be used up until death, despite the years of service the mother had already invested.”

  That took a moment to sink in. “She gave her child to the people who enslaved her in order to free herself? Despite knowing the child had no hope of freedom?” I shuddered.

  “She was tired,” he said. “She couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What happens to children who are born to slaves if their mothers don’t trade them?”

  “They’re sent away,” he said. “Who knows what happens next?”

  “Meaning they could be slaves anyway,” I said slowly. “So what’s the point?”

  “To encourage breeding, perhaps. To a young woman, twenty years wouldn’t free her, most likely. It would take a number of births, a number of children. It’s a trade-off. One temporary slave for three born in the business.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “Don’t underestimate desperation. Anyhow, her story came to me after I spoke to Jess. The only way a newborn child would be branded with a slave mark is if they were born into a house of slavery. It takes time and planning to kidnap a child, and even a child owed would need to be older than a couple of days.”

  “So the mother is…” I hesitated. “Or was a slave. What happens to the slaves who are no longer indentured?”

  “They attempt to adjust. Some make it. Some… don’t.”

  “Can I speak to her?” I asked. “The woman in your story.”

  He shook his head. “She killed herself less than a year later.”

  “So it was all for nothing,” I said in disgust.

  “As you yourself said, it’s possible the children would be used as slaves elsewhere, either way. She earned herself some freedom and found she couldn’t enjoy the taste of it.”

  “I don’t know how this helps me.”

  “Neither do I, but I thought I would share it anyway. I used to make lists that might be more useful.”

  I continued eating. “What kinds of lists?”

  “Whenever slaves came to me for help, I would document where they came from, if we could figure it out. Out of all of the names and addresses, there may be one you’re looking for. I have the books in safekeeping, but I could share them with you, if you’re interested.”

  “Anything I can get, I’ll take,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to help, but…” He reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t think too badly of people like the woman in my story. When a person grows up the captive of another, they have to learn from scratch upon their freedom. Sometimes, that insight comes too late. For some, it brings more regret than they could bear.”

  As we finished eating, Gerard gave me insight into how the government could more properly help people who had been exiled or held captive in one way or another. So many people were still in hiding, unable to trust even the new world we had created.

  I walked home slowly that night, my mind full of information. Somebody had tried to get Noodle away from slavery—somebody I h
ad been supposed to meet. Sometimes I worried that an unknown entity was pulling all of the strings, and none of us were thinking for ourselves.

  Back at the cul-de-sac, Phoenix was waiting on my doorstep, at the front door for a change. He sat there, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and watched me approach.

  “Don’t bother apologising,” I said, leaning over him to open the front door. I stepped aside to let him in.

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  I instantly regretted letting him in. “Why the hell did you come here then?”

  He blinked and leaned against the wall in my hallway. “You just told me not to bother apologising.”

  I slammed the front door shut and stormed into the kitchen, throwing my jacket on a chair. He followed me, and it took everything not to pick up the kettle and throw it at him. “You’re aggravating as hell. I hope you know that.”

  “I did come here to explain. And to ask you something, but mostly to explain.” He sat at the table. “I did the right thing, taking the child to the home.”

  “Why, because the witches said so?” Blowing out an irritated breath, I started making coffee just to give my hands something to do that didn’t involve punching fae princes right in the nose.

  “No, because we can’t have any distractions. Sit down, please.”

  I slammed the door of the press and sat at the table, just to see his face as he spoke. But my blood still hummed in my veins. “Right thing to do,” I echoed. “So why do I feel like you betrayed me? Twice.”

  “You know me better than anyone,” he said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop me. “It’s true. I am more myself around you than others, and I thought that would help you understand why the child is no longer here.”

  “It doesn’t,” I said sharply.

  “I can see that.” He studied my face. “But you’re not so angry that you’re unable to listen to me.” He cocked his head to the side. “No, you’re hurt.”

  “Just get on with your story,” I said. “I’m not interested in a diagnosis of my emotional state, thanks.”

  “My children were slaves,” he said. “My wife ended up amongst slaves. But for the grace of some higher power, you may have ended up there yourself. And I know what it’s like to wish for freedom. Leah, Val, Emmett, so many people in her life share the same experience—or narrowly avoided it.”

  “Then you understand why the people here would never let anything happen to the baby.”

  He laid a hand on his chest. “But I’ve been there, too, just in a different set of circumstances. And the thought of slavery existing in my country, after everything we’ve worked for, sickens me.”

  “Join the club,” I said sardonically.

  He licked his lips, biding his time in a way that made me shift in my seat. “I haven’t let it go, you know. My mother’s actions. She was the one in charge of it all, and I am her blood. It’s my responsibility to clean up after her crimes. I have a responsibility to ensure nothing of her is left behind. I have to do whatever it takes to stop my mother’s reign from being repeated. It’s the only thing I really have, Ava. The only thing that can’t be taken from me.”

  “What? Revenge?” I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms. “That’s not a thing to have. It’s a shield sometimes, maybe even a weapon, but it’s not something you have. It has you. And if you keep letting it lead you around by the nose, then you’ll never be happy. I want to stop this crap, too. You’re right about one thing: half the people I know were either slaves or potential slaves. I mean, how ridiculous is that? I heard a story tonight about a woman earning her freedom by giving her owner a baby. If you think I wouldn’t do whatever it takes to stop this shit, then you’re off your head.”

  “I know you understand what’s at stake,” he said. “But this is something more for me. A sort of tradition I’m bonded to.”

  “You judged your mother,” I said slowly, remembering her death. “That’s what you said, right? You were her blood, and you got to judge her.”

  He looked relieved. “Exactly. I made a kind of oath. Almost like a deal with my ancestors, and it’s what drives me. That and finding out what happened during the periods of time when my memories fail me. I must clear off all evidence of my mother’s crimes from the earth, and if this new slaver is one of her cohorts, then I must find out what he knows about me and my mother. Don’t you see? I’ll never be whole until I find out what I lost.” He stretched his arm across the table as though reaching for me. “I need you by my side while I do this, Ava, not caring for an infant. I need you to help me. I need… I just need you.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I had been so stupid to ask him to take Wes’s memories. I cleared my throat. “What if the people we’re looking for aren’t anything to do with you or your mother?”

  He deflated. “Then I’ll have learned nothing. I’m used to that, Ava. Far too used to that.”

  “What if it’s a paragon?” I asked. Those particular high powers had caused us trouble before.

  “The thought had occurred to me,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t fit. Too many things are happening at once. I’m starting to consider your bad-luck theory as being a viable one.” He paused. “I heard you questioned the fae about me.”

  “The fae.” I snorted. “I asked one and a half fae about slavery, not you. And if they went running to tell you, then they’re the biggest—”

  “It was merely by chance that I heard,” he said with a smile. “They were concerned for my safety, and your name popped into the conversation.”

  “I’m sure it did,” I said wryly.

  “Do you understand why the baby is better off elsewhere? And why I let your friend have a choice about his memories?”

  “I understand… why you made those choices.” I shook my head. “I don’t have to like it, though. Do you get why I can’t trust you now?”

  “But you can trust me,” he said. “I will never tell another soul everything, but that doesn’t mean I would attempt to cause you harm.”

  “Peter never really intended to cause me harm, either,” I said gruffly. “Yet somehow, his secrets and lies managed it all the same.”

  He studied my face. “I’m not Peter. I’m not as angry or reckless or foolish. I consider my actions carefully, Ava.”

  “Until you don’t.” I narrowed my gaze. “You both let vengeance get the better of you to the detriment of everyone else.”

  He held out his palm. “Do you wish to make a deal?”

  My lips quirked upward. “You know I’m not allowed make deals.”

  “And yet you continue to do so.” He smiled, and a flood of warmth ran through me.

  Sucker.

  “If I make a deal with you never to cause you harm by my actions, would that help?”

  “No.” I lightly slapped his palm with mine. “But thanks for the thought.”

  He leaned back in his seat, looking genuinely surprised. But I didn’t want to tie anyone else to deals. It seemed like a cheat somehow.

  “I suppose we’ve come to my question,” he said after a moment. “I want you to go somewhere with me on Friday.”

  “Where?”

  “A… charity event.”

  “What kind of event?”

  He drummed his fingers against the table for a moment before answering. “I suppose it could be called a ball.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You didn’t even consider it.”

  “I don’t do… balls. Or dresses. Or uncomfortable shoes.”

  “Wear what you like,” he said. “But it might be beneficial for us to attend. Important people, both supernatural and human, will be there, including the press.”

  That caught my attention. “You want me to spy on people?”

  “I want you to mingle,” he said. “As will I. If there’s anything we can pick up, then so be it. If not, then we did our bit to contribute to a charitable endeavour.”

  “I don’t think I
’m the best person for this,” I said. “Callista would be perfect.”

  “She’ll be there,” he said. “All of the Senate will. And you’ll be able to observe them, who they talk to, that sort of thing.”

  “You think one of them is involved in our mess?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t ruled it out. By Sunday, the witches will likely have found out where the child came from. If, in the meantime, we can pick up any other information, then I look forward to it.”

  “What if the witches fail?”

  He reached across the table for my hand. “Then, I will apologise. And we’ll figure out an alternative.”

  I observed him with suspicion, holding my hands out of his reach. He was being entirely too nice for my liking. “I don’t have to wear a dress,” I said. “Or heels.”

  He grinned. “Not wearing a dress will make you stand out more.”

  I made a face. “There had better be food.”

  “There’ll be lots of food. But also lots of cameras.”

  “Even Carl would be better at this than me.”

  He was definitely laughing at me. “Would it help if I said you might have fun? It might be useful for you to network with people who aren’t victims for a change.”

  The glint in his eye dared me to say yes.

  “Fine,” I said at last. “But I’m definitely not wearing a dress.”

  10

  On Friday, Breslin woke me early with a phone call about the shooter. “Alex thinks he’s found her,” he told me. “The police hadn’t even managed to get a real name out of her, but Alex believes he’s discovered the truth.”

  “How on earth did she manage to get out on bail?”

  “From the documentation Shay sent me over, her case—and identity—was mixed with another’s. Out of curiosity, I’ve asked him to send over that person’s details, too.”

  “Think they know something?”

  “It’s possible,” he said. “If this other person was due to be released, surely she would have put up a fuss when the time came and she was still stuck inside. The only reason the snafu with the shooter came to light is because Shay turned up to interview her himself.”