When I glanced back I saw bounty hunters scattering. The bomb was no longer in her jaws.
I had just rounded the corner when I slammed into the broad chest of a paranormal and felt muscular hands reaching out to steady me. The paranormal was old, with white hair and a white beard. His robes were silver and gold. He was clearly a fallen angel, but not one I’d ever seen before. He looked past me to Sip, who had come up behind me.
“Are you alright?” he asked. The werewolf nodded once. I wasn’t sure how I could tell, but I knew Sip was happy to see this man.
“I thought I’d come check on everything,” he said, looking around. “I guess I picked an excellent time.” He winked at me as if I needed that gesture to know he was being sarcastic.
“Is everyone else alright?” I asked breathlessly. My heart was hammering in my chest and I knew it wouldn’t stop until I laid eyes on my sister. The paranormal’s eyes crinkled with mirth. He wasn’t the least bit scared, despite the fact that a group of desperate bounty hunters had come onto Rapier Vampire lands (a demonstration of just how crazy they were) and tried to kill us.
“The queen, the other queen, and the premier are all well,” he said. “The bombs would have to be aimed more accurately than those were for any of them to be at risk of limb or life.”
“They’re bombs,” I said. “How accurate do they need to be?”
The fallen angel shrugged. “Let’s go see.”
Still unsure who this fallen angel was, but taking comfort in the fact that Sip was also there, I followed him around the house. The sight that soon met my eyes took my breath away. There, standing in front of the house, was Queen Lanca, flanked by Charlotte and Lisabelle. Power flowed from them like a river in flood, the magic a thick stream of sparkling color. Lanca’s was red, my sister’s blue and silver, and Lisabelle’s a shining black. All I could do was pause in wonder.
In front of them was a wall of fire. Beyond that was a wall of three cannons, each manned by individuals I could only see dimly since they were all dressed in dark clothing and it was, after all, nighttime. I glanced behind me for Sip, but she wasn’t there any more, she was racing to help her friends. The fallen angel came and stood next to me, and now I noticed that he carried a staff that looked blue in the darkness.
“They’re quite the sight, aren’t they?” he said.
“Yes,” I whispered. To think that seeing this was almost normal to me was both amazing and terrifying.
“You could be one of them,” he commented gently. I glanced sideways at him. Up close I could see the wrinkles around his eyes, the silver hair flecked with gray. He had seen many years, this old fallen angel.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” he said, leaning on his staff as he watched my friends battle the bombs.
“How could it not?” I countered.
He chuckled. “I will tell you who I am, but know this, not for a long time do I expect you to understand.
I threw up my hands to take in our surroundings. “I’m understanding less and less by the minute, believe me.”
He smiled a little at that. “Very well, I am Hershfield. You think I’m a fallen angel, but I’m not.”
I frowned. He sure looked like a fallen angel. “If you aren’t a fallen angel, what are you?”
“What do you think?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. I took him in. I had been around a lot of fallen angels in the past year because of Keller, and now that he said he wasn’t one I could see it. The fallen angels had an untouchable quality. They never had any marks on them, since they were able to heal themselves of wounds, but this man’s hands were wizened, with old scars prominent where his fingers lay atop each other. Still, there was something ethereal about him; if he wasn’t a fallen angel, what was he? I frowned, trying to think. When he noted the confusion showing clearly on my face he started to chuckle. “Goodbye for now,” he said. I shook my head, frustrated that I was missing something so obvious.
“And what are you doing here?” I said, hoping that would give me a clue to who he was.
“Like I said, I needed to see how you and your sister were getting along.”
“And?” I would say it was pretty obvious we weren’t in the best place at the moment.
“Better than expected,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“Well, you aren’t dead, which is always a good sign when the most powerful paranormals in the world on the side of light, and Lisabelle Verlans, are trying to keep you alive.”
“Lisabelle hasn’t failed yet,” I said. “Not once she’s put her mind to something.”
“It is only a matter of time before we all fail,” he said. “In one way or another we will all eventually make mistakes.”
“Not Lisabelle,” I said, pushing back the sting of his words.
“Failure is not a bad thing,” he said gently. “Sometimes it’s what you need to push yourself to new heights. You will try harder, train for longer, and be better than you could ever have imagined.”
“Lisabelle’s job is life or death,” I said. “If she fails, it’s very likely someone will die.”
Hershfield was silent for a long time. He knew I was right, and I wanted him to admit it. If the darkness premier failed, it wasn’t going to be at something small, like cooking eggs or boiling water. It would be something momentous. Quite likely it would be something that affected the entire paranormal world.
A noise ripping through the air drew my attention back to my friends. All their focus was visibly moving upward as a particularly large bomb hurtled through the air. At one moment the bomb was about to strike, then, a second later, a mound of earth came flying upward to swallow it, burying it in one great pile below ground level. I heard Lisabelle yell, “Send it to the darkness realms!” I wondered if Charlotte would do that, and I waited, staring at the spot where the bomb had disappeared and the earth was now torn and displaced. When no explosion came I let a little bit of the air I was holding in escape my lungs.
“They work well together, don’t they?” I said, and glanced at Hershfield.
There was no one there.
“Ricky!” Charlotte was yelling. The fireballs that had been flying through the air stopped as Lanca marched forward. Whoever was attacking us had run away when their last ditch effort had failed.
For one more night at least, we were safe. As Hershfield had pointed out, all good things come to an end. Just not tonight.
I went running to my sister and threw my arms around her, and she returned my hug. We stood like that for a while, not saying anything.
Sip waited patiently until we separated. When I finally broke away from Charlotte I said, “Are you okay?”
Charlotte nodded and laughed a little. “We’ve seen worse.”
“That’s not the point,” I said angrily. “That’s not the point at all!”
Charlotte’s face fell a little. I knew it disappointed her when I wouldn’t let her put up a good front for me, but sometimes I just couldn’t stomach it.
Sip came forward and said, “It’s over now. Let’s not argue about it.”
I waited for my heart rate to slow, then I sighed and gave Charlotte a sheepish look.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
My sister gave me a weak smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
I nodded in thanks and turned to Sip. “Who was that guy standing with me, and where did he go?”
Sip frowned.
“Wasn’t someone standing with you?” I repeated.
The werewolf and my sister exchanged confused looks. “When?” asked Sip.
I stared at her. She had come around the house with us, and I pointed that out and emphasized, “Just now . . . ?”
Sip slowly shook her head, her big purple eyes concerned. “You were standing there alone, Ricky.”
“No, no I wasn’t,” I said. “There was an old man.” I turned and pointed to the corner of the cottage as if that would jog her memory. “Who
would it be? He looked like a fallen angel, but said he wasn’t one,” I explained, panic starting to rise in my chest. Was I crazy? Had a bomb explosion or fear of the bounty hunters gotten to me? Did I need my ring to see clearly? I still wasn’t wearing it, and suddenly my finger started to feel painfully bare.
Sip shrugged. “I believe you. I think? Maybe, I don’t know. The only paranormals who usually get mistaken for fallen angels are dream givers.”
~~~
I was awake to watch the sun rise, a pale, yellow orb inching slowly above the horizon. I could barely make it out through the haze, and it wasn’t all that early, since we were down in the river valley and the sun had a climb just to get above the surrounding hills and ridges. The steam rising off the river obscured my view, but I could at least watch the boats that were starting to arrive at the black dock.
Soon I saw a pattern. All the boats were the same size, and each carried half a dozen clan members. My clan was the only one that had brought a prisoner, so I rather thought that until now the cage had been wishful thinking on the part of the Bounty Hunters. The clan members I had come with were nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t think they could already have been killed, not with me sitting there, obviously having been taken prisoner by someone. The disappearance of one clan would not inspire cooperation in the others.
Many of the newly arrived clan members gave me curious looks as they trailed past the cage. I was careful not to meet their eyes, but I felt their gazes and I felt their wonder. This was going to be a special Black Market, thanks to me.
“Get up,” said a voice, and Spark appeared through the haze, walking toward me and looking exactly the same as he had yesterday. He obviously owned only one pair of clothes, and his hair was tousled from sleep, but otherwise he looked wired, as if he could jump into the sky and fly away. When he reached the cage he glanced at the massive Bounty Hunter who had stood guard all night.
“Have you fed him?” Spark demanded. The Bounty Hunter opened one eye, looked at him, and closed it again. I didn’t move, I just watched Spark. We were running out of time.
“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about selling me?” I asked dryly. Spark rubbed his hands together, still looking gleeful.
“Let’s go,” he said, “the Appraiser is ready to see you now.”
“It looks like the Appraiser’s coming to you,” I said. From the makeshift buildings where Spark had apparently spent the night there now came a short, beefy man. His hair was long and thick and he wore several layers of fancy and expensive-looking robes. He was trailed by a long entourage.
One of the guards moved to let me out of the prison, but the Appraiser waved his hand and the guard stopped moving. I had already started to shift so I could stand up, but now I went still again. This was the moment of truth. Would this man know who I was? I couldn’t see how he would fail to realize it. Any Appraiser worth his salt would know.
“What is your name?” the Appraiser asked me. He held a clipboard, which I assumed must contain the list of sought-after paranormals. I tried to relax my features, releasing my teeth from clenching and forcing my forehead to stop frowning. I probably looked crazy, but that seemed better than the alternative.
When I didn’t answer right away the Appraiser got right up close to me. He held a pen in his right hand that he twirled next to his hip, but his eyes held onto mine and at first he looked more excited than eager. I kept eye contact with him, hoping that if I could just keep looking at him, maybe I could get away with it.
Then the pen stopped moving. The Appraiser stopped shifting and became very, very still. His eyes were locked on mine, and for the first time his lips tilted up in the tiniest of smiles.
“He’s nothing special! A dream giver, perhaps!” he cried, turning around so suddenly that I rocked backwards on my heels.
“Take him to the EXECUTIONER,” the Appraiser roared. These guys didn’t use names, because anonymity made them harder to track down, but at that moment it struck me as particularly ridiculous that the Appraiser was giving me to the Executioner to sell me as a dream giver. I mean, really.
After that they left me in the pen for hours. I was hungry, I was hot, and I was getting angry. More and more paranormals kept streaming in. For the most part the boats that arrived were crappy and old, more like kindling than something you should be floating down a river on. The constant stream of dilapidated boats was punctuated occasionally by a very nice ship indeed, and I figured that these must be bringing the buyers. In fact, as I watched the paranormals disembarking from these well-kept boats, I realized that many weren’t even the buyers themselves, but just their representatives. The buyers must be so rich and so secretive that they didn’t even need to come themselves. There were plenty of magical devices that would allow the power brokers to see what was happening from a distance, but I had a feeling that they weren’t allowed in person at the Black Market. Hence the agents.
After what seemed like hours, the lights started to flicker and the paranormals were starting to grow restless, many of them wandering over to my cage and peering in at me, trying to see if I was anything interesting. It had been a long time since I had seen any of the clan members who had brought me to the market. For all I knew, they had all been killed.
“Alright, let’s go,” said the guard, who appeared suddenly from behind the cage. Before he unlocked the bars he said, “No funny business. You’ll regret it.” I held up my hands as if to say there was no way I’d be funny. He glared at me, but he also released the cage.
“Out,” he ordered. I walked out slowly on legs stiffened from inactivity. All day I had been trying to figure out a way to escape, but no inspiration had come to me. The Appraiser had obviously known who I was; it wasn’t as if I was able to cloak my magic or pretend to be someone else. At least the problem of how to get out of this mess meant that I hadn’t lost myself in useless grief about Greta; I was too busy worrying about dying myself. It seemed more than likely that this was my last chance to get away, and I had no bright ideas whatsoever about how to accomplish that feat. If I were sold and taken to one of the many paranormal strongholds held by the underground, I would never escape, but I could see no way out of it at this point.
My feet sank into mud that was nearly black, and I wondered idly what was in the soil to make it so dark. The damp air hung thick and oppressive, and I desperately wanted to wipe the sweat off the back of my neck, but I didn’t dare call extra attention to myself by so much as a gesture.
In front of me as I stumbled along was a grim-looking woman and her three grimy children, all of them sipping from one ice cream cone. The kids were clamoring for a lick of the sweet stuff while the long-suffering mother tried dole it out evenly. Suddenly, in this crazy place from which I expected shortly to be sent into a life of hideous misery, I wondered if they were happy. I was amazed to think that anyone here might be happy because of a simple thing like ice cream, which even to these kids in their miserable circumstances was a sweet and wonderful summer dessert.
Even here in this dark place, there was ice cream.
I must have had heat stroke.
In the center of this makeshift little town compounded of equal parts lying, greed, and law-breaking, a large wooden contraption dominated the scene. It reminded me of an executioner’s platform, which seemed fitting given the situation. Along the side of the structure was a ladder, and next to that was another holding pen. Several paranormals were locked inside it, none of them wearing rings and most of them looking even more bedraggled than I felt, although that wasn’t saying anything notable. A few had clearly never eaten a good meal, and their gauntness made my stomach tighten.
The Nocturn war was over.
Yeah, right.
The auction began, but to little fanfare. Very few of the attendees were even paying attention; most of them were busy looking at the artifacts set up on display or the trinkets for sale on tables spaced around the square. My eye was drawn to one particular item, on a t
able in a far corner, that glinted gold in what was left of the daylight. It looked like a little chariot, or some kind of box, but I couldn’t make out what it was before the shifting crowd blocked my view. Surprisingly, there were many children in the crowd, and their presence, and the apparent lack of interest in the auction, sparked a bit of hope in my heart. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
As I reached the second pen I sensed someone looking at me. I turned to see Spark, his eyes boring into my chest, and if I hadn’t known better I would have thought he looked a little crazed. But I forgot about Spark as one paranormal after another was called up to the block and sold. The crowd still showed very little interest in the proceedings, and there were even a few paranormals who had not been purchased. The hunters who had brought them to the Black Market were furious, and the paranormals themselves were upset. I didn’t know what they had heard about what happened to you if you weren’t purchased, but apparently being purchased, even by the nastiest of owners, was preferable to the alternative. The unsold paranormals were led away. I tried not to think about where they were going. I tried not to think about where I was going. I was about to be sold.
Chapter Eleven
When I was the only paranormal left in the pen, something strange started happening. All the paranormals in the square, even the ones who had seemed totally occupied with children or artifacts or trinkets, started to walk toward the makeshift stage. Until that moment I would have said that not more than a handful had paid attention to any single auction, and most of the bidders looked bored or had gone to get food.
Not now. Now twenty-odd bidders were paying close attention, all hard-looking paranormals, some vampires, some pixies, some I couldn’t tell. They all wore gloves, which I assumed was a first step in hiding who they truly were.
As I was hustled up the ladder onto the platform, the press of the crowd made me increasingly uneasy. I tried not to look at any one paranormal - after all, every one of them was happily standing around while I was about to be sold into slavery - but then a movement caught my eye and I couldn’t help but focus on the paranormal who had attracted my attention. Making his way to the front was a man with gray-streaked hair and a black goatee. He looked like what my sister would call a tool, but a very powerful tool. He was dressed entirely in black, with silver buttons and cuffs. He wore a black cape and he was flanked by two cronies. He was clearly a vampire, and not trying to hide it. He was the only bidder making no attempt to hide, and he didn’t have to try very hard to force his way to the front, because all the others made room for him to pass.
Elemental Omen (Paranormal Public Book 10) Page 8
