Bound

by Christina Garner

  She wanted to because the way he said “drops” made her flesh crawl, and the voices screamed louder than ever.

  “Ladies.” Maeve turned her back to Torwille and put an arm around Eden and Sarah, pulling them into a huddle. “Money means nothing at the black market. Here we deal in the only currency that holds value. Power.”

  Eden’s stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard against the urge to vomit.

  “And how does that work, exactly?” Sarah spoke slowly, a sign to Eden that she was trying not to show her fear.

  “See that jar?” Maeve cut her eyes to an amber glass bottle sitting on the next booth. It glowed faintly from within. “I’d say that holds about a hundred. You agree to Torwille’s price—which is fair, more or less—and his catcher is going to extract fifty drops of your magical essence and place it in a container like that.”

  Sarah said, “Catcher?” at the same time Eden said, “Extract?”

  “You’ll make more.” Maeve’s expression was encouraging. “Young women like you, I’d give it three days, and you’ll be back at full strength.”

  An image of Davida’s nosebleed flashed in Eden’s mind. Taking drops of her essence was what she’d done to her. It was almost poetic that this would be the price of her freedom.

  Maeve narrowed her eyes and studied each of them up and down. “Neither of you has that much. Together? I’d say yes.”

  Eden opened her mouth to protest. She couldn’t ask her friend to do this for her, but Sarah spoke first. “What happens if we say yes, but come up short?”

  “You don’t get the urn. Deals made at the market are binding and absolute.” Maeve’s eyes swung from Eden to Sarah. “I don’t know if you’re really here for your priestess or not. But whatever you need an Urn of Capio for, this is the best deal you’re going to get. Torwille is one of the most honest traders at the market. Someone else might offer a better price, but you could end up with an urn bought at an undertaker’s convention.”

  Counterfeit urns? The thought hadn’t even occurred to Eden. Thank the gods they’d met Maeve.

  Sarah nodded. “If you think fifty is fair—”

  “What about a payment plan?” Eden blurted. “I don’t want Sarah to have to do anything. Can I give some now and come back next week to supply the rest?”

  The twist of Maeve’s mouth put the kibosh on magical layaway.

  “It’s fine.” Sarah squeezed Eden’s hand. “We’re not leaving without that thing.” She spun around to face Torwille. “Deal.” She staggered back a step and braced herself on the side of the booth.

  “What is it?” Eden rushed to her side.

  Sarah glanced back at Maeve. “When you said binding…”

  Maeve nodded and tucked another stray hair back into her bun. Eden felt nothing, which meant Sarah bore the weight of the vow on her own.

  “I’m fine.” Sarah seemed confident, but these days it was harder for Eden to read her friend.

  “The bargain is struck. Thank you, Maeve. Turam and I can take it from here.” Torwille stepped back and held out an arm, gesturing for Eden and Sarah to step into the tent at the back of his booth.

  “Fat chance.” Maeve brushed past him toward the tent opening. “I told them you’re one of the most honest at the market, but that’s not saying much. I’m inclined to make sure the fifty stays fifty.”

  Maeve pushed back the flap, revealing a small interior. She stepped inside and was swallowed by the darkness.

  Eden followed. All the while, the dead howled.

  Sarah blinked rapidly, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkened tent. Its walls didn’t just block out light, they swallowed the sounds and smells of the market as well. Sarah felt weightless—untethered from the earth—as though she’d stepped not into a tent, but another dimension. Her knees wobbled as she remained close behind Eden.

  She wanted to run but knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t just the weight of the deal that told her she owed this Torwille part of her essence. It was the flash of second sight that had come upon her when Eden held the Urn of Capio. If they didn’t find a way to rid Eden of the souls locked inside of her, Sarah was going to lose her friend. She didn’t know if it would be to death or insanity or something else, but she would lose her. Giving up twenty-five drops of power was nothing compared with that.

  Her breath caught as a candle hissed to life in the corner. A young man, his skin so creamy white it almost glowed, set the candle between two chairs and gestured for them to sit.

  “Turam doesn’t talk much, but he gets the job done,” Torwille said from the mouth of the tent. “You’re in good hands.”

  He turned, and as the tent flap closed, Sarah heard him greet new customers.

  “You be gentle. You hear me?” Maeve said, plopping down in an overstuffed chair in the opposite corner. “I’m watching you.”

  Turam gave a respectful bow and once again, gestured for the two women to sit.

  He turned his back to them and began organizing items on a table.

  Sarah wanted to ask how much it would hurt but was too afraid of the answer.

  It can’t be worse than having a hundred dead people yelling at you all the time.

  The fear in Eden’s eyes firmed Sarah’s resolve. Her mother’s advice was generally not to be trusted, but one thing she’d said about marriage had stuck with her. “Only one of you can fall apart at a time.” Sarah suspected it applied to friendships, too. How many times had Eden been strong? How many times had she been the one to make the sacrifice? Today, Sarah was determined to do both, even as her heart pounded in her chest. She offered Eden a tight smile and small nod.

  The pale man turned back, cradling a narrow bottle made of green glass. He set it down on the small table between Eden and Sarah, then placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

  Sarah gasped as the energy left her. It felt as though her spine were being pulled vertebrae by vertebrae out through the top of her head.

  “Breathe.” Maeve’s voice held sympathy. “It’s better if you breathe.”

  “This isn’t what—” Eyes wide, Eden clamped her lips together.

  Sarah forced the air in and out of her lungs through gritted teeth as she gripped the handles of the chair.

  It’s worth it, she told herself over and over. It’s worth it.

  She glanced down and watched as a tear-shaped drop of energy appeared above the bottle and slid down its mouth. One after the other they came, but agonizingly slow. Sarah lost count at nine, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to pretend she were anywhere else.

  Minutes stretched, and Sarah began to feel woozy. She opened one eye and saw the container was only half full.

  If we don’t have enough, he keeps everything.

  Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She sneaked a quick glance at Eden, who stared at the jar and then at her. Eden appeared less out of it than Sarah felt, but no less worried. The irony, of course, was that Eden held more than enough power to fill every bottle in the market. They’d just been too stupid—and as Kai would say, reckless—to do the research that would have told them how they’d be expected to pay. If Sarah had known to loosen Eden’s binding even a little, they would be on their way home by now.

  Sarah was panting, feeling as though she might pass out at any minute.

  “It’s too much,” Eden said through gritted teeth. “Stop taking from her. I’ll do the rest.”

  Sarah eyed the jar. It was more than half full, but Eden wouldn’t be able to finish it alone.

  Turam loosened his grip on Sarah’s shoulder, but she reached up and pushed it back down. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

  “You aren’t fine.” Eden gripped Sarah’s hand. “This is my problem. Let me do it.”

  Sarah’s head lolled to the side, and she met Eden’s eye. “Stop trying to be the hero all the time. It’s selfish.”

  She forced a grin, and Eden did her best to match it. Her friend looked terrible. Sarah suspected she looked worse.

  �
��It’s almost over.”

  Maeve’s voice slid into her ears as though from a great distance. They were the last words Sarah heard before darkness swallowed her whole.

  Chapter 12

  Eden fought to remain conscious as Sarah lost that same battle.

  “You’ve taken enough from her.” She said it to Turam, but she might as well have been saying it to herself.

  Sarah seemed to think she owed Eden—for rescuing her from the borahn, for killing Bes’tal—but there were details her friend didn’t know. Sarah didn’t realize as a child, Eden had gone willingly with the borahn demon, in all of his terrifying gruesomeness. That had marked her somehow—allowed him to track her as an adult and endangered her sisters. Killing him wasn’t heroic, it was righting a wrong she had caused. Bes’tal was no different. Maybe the Council taking an interest would have prevented Eden from making such a mistake, but it was still her mistake. Sarah didn’t owe her. To Eden, it was a wonder Sarah still spoke to her at all.

  To see her best friend unconscious in an effort to help her made Eden not just sad but outraged. That anger fueled her as drop after drop was extracted from her. Turam handed her a tissue when her nose began to bleed. She tilted her head back and prayed for it to be over soon. The jar was more than three-quarters full.

  She was so hungry. Her stomach twisted in knots, and the voices yammered at her to suck back every drop of power she’d given and then some. Tentacles of their need stretched out, and it was all Eden could do not to drain the entire market dry. She wished she could claim morality was responsible for her restraint, but it was nothing more than self-preservation. As badly as she wanted power—needed it so she would stop feeling as though the atoms that made up her body were dissolving—the price for taking it would be too high. She’d be lucky to leave the market alive, if they let her leave at all.

  When the drops slowed to a snail’s pace, Eden began to lose hope. The voices babbled nonsensically as they clawed at her.

  “That’s enough.”

  Eden had forgotten about Maeve, still sitting in the corner. She rose and came to stand next to Eden.

  “This is really that important to you, girl?” The sparkle in her eyes was gone, replaced with concern.

  “My life depends on it.” Eden was too tired to lie.

  Maeve nodded. “All right then.” She looked to Turam. “I will complete the purchase.”

  “I—”

  “By my count, it is three drops short, yes?” Maeve’s expression held a challenge for Turam to contradict her.

  The catcher bowed his head, and Maeve tugged on a chain around her neck. At the end was a small, glowing vial.

  “What do you want in return?” Eden mumbled.

  Maeve smiled down at her. “You’re learning.” She handed Turam the necklace. “Let’s just say, you owe me. Not in any kind of binding way, but just in a friendly one. I’ve been desperate a time or two in my life and know the signs.”

  “Thank you.” Eden spoke in the faintest whisper.

  Turam undid the tiny cork stopper and one by one, three small drops rose from the vial and slid down into the jar. He then corked the vial and handed the necklace back to Maeve.

  “The sale is complete.” Turam’s voice displayed the hoarseness of scant use.

  As if he’d heard, Torwille threw back the tent flap and swept inside.

  “Your urn” He presented it with a flourish. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Eden reached for the urn, but Maeve stopped her. “Wrap it for her. And don’t skimp on the padding.”

  Torwille raised an eyebrow, but handed the item to Turam who placed it on the table and began folding it in paper.

  Sarah stirred beside her. Eden glanced at her friend.

  “What—”

  “It’s okay,” Eden said. “It’s done. We can go.”

  “Perhaps some tea with yak butter.” Maeve fixed Torwille with a firm gaze. It didn’t sound like a request. “To jumpstart their strength.”

  Yak butter?

  But by this time, Eden knew to keep quiet. Because of Maeve they’d found the Urn of Capio and were leaving with it. She wasn’t going to start doubting her now.

  Torwille grumbled but stepped outside. Turam placed the wrapped urn in a bag and handed it to Eden. She handled it as though it were the holy grail. For her, it was.

  Torwille returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to each girl. Eden took a sniff, but Sarah began drinking immediately. Even in the low light, Eden could see her friend was pale. Eden took a hesitant sip, surprised that while oily, it wasn’t completely awful.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “At least someone has manners.” Torwille shot Maeve a sideways glance.

  “Some of us know not to waste them on the likes of you.” Maeve’s tone had lightened, and Eden thought these two must be very old friends.

  “This is…good.” Sarah was halfway done with her cup.

  Eden knew what she meant. The taste was only okay, but she would swear she was feeling a little bit stronger. She wouldn’t have been able to light so much as a candle with magic, but she felt strong enough to stand.

  Sarah drained the last of her tea and licked her lips. “We need to find a store that sells yak butter.”

  Eden grinned, happy her friend was feeling better. She took a final sip and stood.

  “Thank you.” She directed her words to Maeve and Torwille. Turam might have only been doing his job, but she couldn’t bring herself thank him for what he’d just done to her.

  Outside the tent, the market activity had slowed. Eden checked her phone for the time, her eyes widening when she realized they had been there for two hours. She wanted to text Quinn saying she’d be late for their date but noticed she had no signal.

  “Not to be dense.” Sarah blinked against the light. “But how do we get out of here?”

  Maeve tsked. “Babes in the woods. Don’t you know you never enter a place without knowing the way out?”

  “We do now,” Eden said. “But if you wouldn’t mind showing us…”

  “Come on.” Maeve sounded mildly put upon but gestured for them to follow. “No one was buying my crystals today anyway.”

  Eden felt a pang of guilt. Of course—if Maeve was taking care of them, no one was working at her booth.

  The straight rows of stalls began to twist, and soon they were zig-zagging behind Maeve through a rabbit warren of stalls.

  “This isn’t the way we came in,” Sarah whispered in Eden’s ear.

  “Maybe the way out is different than the way in.”

  Maeve was right—how stupid of it was them to only be concerned about how to find the market, paying no attention to how they would leave?

  Icy hands clutched Eden’s arm, and she yelped. An old man with veins spidering the length of his arms shook her and spoke in a language she didn’t recognize.

  “Leave her be!” Maeve commanded, marching back to them and slapping his arm away.

  The man gestured angrily at Eden and Sarah as the volume of his voice rose. Maeve answered back in his tongue, sounding equally harsh. The eyes of the crowd darted this way and that, clearly interested but not wanting to get involved.

  Eden’s pulse raced. She felt exposed and vulnerable without an ounce of power. What did this man want? Why was he so angry?

  Sarah’s eyes darted from Eden to Maeve and the man, and it seemed she was wondering the same thing. Should they run?

  Just as abruptly as it had started, the argument was over. The man held up his hands and slinked back into the shadows.

  “What was that about?” Eden asked once they’d hurried away.

  “Market police.” Maeve kept walking at a good clip. “He wanted to know what I was doing, bringing such young witches to this section of the market.”

  “Are certain sections off-limits?” So much she had to learn.

  “Not officially,” Maeve called over her shoulder. “But he was concerned with the compa
ny you’re keeping.”

  Eden shared a smile with Sarah. Thank the gods for the company they kept. Without Maeve, they might have never found the urn and wouldn’t have been able to pay for it.

  “I hope you told him to mind his own business,” Sarah said.

  “Of course.” Maeve opened the door to a small, brown brick building and held it so Eden and Sarah could step inside. “But that’s not why he let us go.”

  They ducked into the hallway, dark except for torches alight in various notches along the walls.

  “What made him back off?” Eden asked, turning back to Maeve.

  Maeve busied herself with smoothing her bun. “The only thing that works with that type. I offered him a cut.”

  “A cu—”

  A thick sack slammed down over her head, and this time, Eden’s screams weren’t just in her mind.

  Chapter 13

  “Would you stop with the dramatics?” Maeve’s tone was as matter-of-fact as ever. “Where are they going to go?”

  Rough fingers zip-tied Eden’s hands behind her back, then yanked off the hood. Her eyes darted wildly. Sarah was still at her side, also bound. Her captor removed the heavy burlap from her head.

  Maeve stood in front of the door, arms folded, still looking like Mrs. Claus. She smirked and patted her belly as though she’d read Eden’s thoughts. “Appearances serve a purpose.”

  She gestured, and the two men holding them pushed Eden and Sarah down the hallway until they reached another door. Eden’s captor pushed it open and thrust her forward.

  Inside the room was more light, but Eden wished there wasn’t. The scene before her turned her stomach in a way even the lost souls did not. A row of women and a few men stood bound—some gagged—against the walls. In the center of the room stood dozens of men, all facing a stage.

  Not a stage. An auction block.

  Panic gripped Eden’s heart, and it hammered in her chest. She reached for the power around her and found it all locked behind barriers.