I caught sight of a black-haired girl wearing what looked like a boxer's fighting pants. Her hands were taped up and she was trailed by a ghostly sort of black panther that seemed to have no solid shape as it moved through other clientele without so much as making them shiver.
"Excuse me," I said, flagging her down with a raised hand.
She caught my eye and cocked her head.
"Human?" she said.
I wasn't sure an admission was the right choice. Instead, I pulled the grimoire from beneath my arm and showed it to her.
"I'm looking for someone," I said. "Someone this might belong to."
I didn't say I wanted to sell it. I didn't want to squeeze out any possibilities before I had a chance to mine them and see what kind of gems lurked in the depths.
She drew back as I brandished the book and the panther slipped next to her legs. Its long tail flicked up and around her chest but she seemed not to feel it. At least, she didn't mention it or indicate it by touch or look.
Someone called out Witchborn, and she shot a glance over her shoulder in a harried way.
"You smell strange for a human," she said, turning back to me, her eyes narrowing. "There's a whiff of brimstone on you."
"Witchborn," I said, seizing on the word that seemed to get her attention. I hoped it was as good a segue as I could find. "Is that you? Maybe you're in need of a grimoire or know someone who might have lost theirs..." I let the sentence trail, hoping she'd pick up the thread.
Someone else hollered the word again. This time louder. Another echoed it. The sound of gears engaging cranked along the air, and chains rattled somewhere in the shadows.
"I have to go," she said. "They're calling for me."
"Maybe you can..."
She shook her head. "I have to go. But you want my advice? Get rid of that grimoire. And get the hell out of here."
I watched as she fled from me, pushing through a throng of patrons that had suddenly swept in like a tsunami to fill the space. No one paid me any mind. They were intent on something in the middle of the room that was descending from the ceiling.
It looked like a cage. Lights flashed inside of it, streaking the walls with different colors. The pulse of their movement assaulted my chest the way sound does. The room fractured into different planes as though I stood in the middle of a kaleidoscope.
But one thing was perfectly clear, despite the shifting colors and lights. The cage in the middle had halted a few feet from the floor and the black-haired girl and her panther leapt inside and bounced on her toes the way a boxer does.
"Who is my challenger?" she shouted as she squared her shoulders and spun to face everyone.
She glared out as the light spilled over her. The panther paced inside, a spectral beast that snarled and showed its teeth as it prowled.
"Who is my challenger tonight?" she yelled. "Come to me. Prove your worth and see if you leave alive."
The crowd cheered. What I took to be bursts of magic exploded in the air like fireworks.
It was then that I realized what this was.
"Thunderdome," I said and pulled to mind that 90s movie Scottie was so enamored with that he watched the series a dozen times. It was the perfect description for what I saw happening in the middle of the crowd-filled room. One large cage. One opponent already bouncing around inside, waiting to fight to the death.
"The human," someone yelled.
I watched every server freeze in their tracks at the words. One of them closest to me dropped her tray of drinks. She caught my eye and her face spoke of terror beyond words before settling back into that mindless expression she'd held a moment before as she directed her gaze at me.
The throngs of Kindred clustered into small fists of bodies. All of them too, looked at me.
I took an involuntary step backwards. Something in my instinct told me to turn tail and run. That reflex was one I'd relied on for dozens of years in my service to Scottie. It hadn't quite abandoned me now, but apparently it was slow to rise with my soul leaking out the way it was.
I felt a hand on my elbow, yanking me roughly off balance. My foot rolled and I stumbled into whoever had put their hands on me.
"What the..." I started to complain until I saw who had grabbed me.
"Errol," I said.
I knew the incubus well. We'd dealt in stolen items together now and then before I knew he was an incubus. The familiar revulsion for him curled my lip, and I was glad I wasn't too far drained of my soul to recognize something vile when I saw it.
"Ms. Hush," he said with a smirk curving his full lips. He wasn't the greasy porn-star looking Errol anymore. His skin had a sheen to it that looked more like a glow than oil. "What a pleasure to see you again."
He started pulling me along with him as he headed to the cage. "We had other plans for the Witchborn tonight, but someone in the crowd wanted human flesh."
"Someone," I said, attempting to pull my arm away and failing. I managed to buck backwards for one moment, but he got control of me before I was able to wrest my arm from his grip.
He snickered. "Well, I admit that someone was me. Is me."
He paused long enough to sweep his free arm toward the cage where the black-haired girl and panther had begun to pace like they were starving.
"Ms. Hush," he said with a flourish in his voice. "Meet Witchborn. You'll be fighting her tonight in the Kennel. A fight, I might add, that is to the death."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TO THE DEATH. IT WAS a phrase right out of a dystopian movie. I thought of those poor kids in Priam and wished I was trained in archery or cake decorating, anything that could give me a leg up on the girl whose face had turned from beautiful to determined. All I had was my instinct to run and my skill at lifting things from pockets.
"Sweet Jesus," I said and tried, without success, to pull away once again. I wished dearly that I felt some sort of primal terror at the words that could lend me the adrenaline I needed to fight against Errol. All I had was my disgust.
"Jesus has no place here," Errol said and tugged me along. We had to press through a throng of petite winged beings at first, but then the clusters of patrons cleared a path for us when they recognized Errol dragging the lamb to the slaughter.
The crowds whistled and hooted the nearer we got to the Kennel. The panther inside roared as it saw me. I was close enough to the steel bars of the door to see its nostrils flare. The girl, the Witchborn, I realized had pulled a mask of apathy over her face to cover over the one of recognition. I could smell blood on the bars around the cage.
Once glance indicated that the bars inside sported razors and barbs. And that was when, finally, my panic bloomed. My survival instinct kicked in with a ferocity that would put the panther to shame.
I kicked at Errol's shins.
"Let me go," I said. I wrenched my arm this way and that, but each movement only brought more hoots and whistles from the crowd. They enjoyed the struggle. They wanted more.
I wasn't about to disappoint.
I bucked backwards, found an inch of floor to grab with my feet, and bucked again. I was too small to wrestle the man, too weak to fight him, but there was power in my small size. I could twist out of just about anything until solid muscle pinned me.
I used it all. Kicking. Screaming. I spit in his eyes and stomped down on his instep. No matter what I did, I was moved inexorably toward the cage.
It took both of Errol's hands to hold onto me, though. I wasn't going in without a fight. For some reason, he held onto the glamor that made him look like Ron Jeremy even if he was more handsome now. Maybe he enjoyed staying in the guise that had been screwed over so royally all those weeks ago.
He nodded to a man who looked like he was on the verge of transformation. He had the same look about him that Absalom had before he changed into a chupacabra. Not a vampire, I’m sure of that, but his teeth were long. Maybe wolf like. His snout began to elongate as he yanked on the cage door.
I snapped my elbow back, hoping to make con
tact with some vulnerable area.
Someone caught it before it could strike cheek or nose.
Someone. Not Errol. He had both arms wrapped around me to keep me from escaping.
Next I knew, I was free. One second I was caught in Errol's grip, the next, I was pulled against a different body. A warm, body. One that smelled of woodsmoke and whiskey.
"Maddox," I said, peering up at the very large man, whose arms I was gripping as though my life depended on it. It probably did.
He didn't acknowledge me as he addressed the incubus.
"I don't condone this," he said evenly.
Errol snorted. The crowds hissed. I thought I saw a woman shift into a bird and fly up over the cage.
"Doesn't matter what you condone, Maddox. You might own the territory, but we pay you for it. We pay well."
"She is not a slave," he said.
"She's human," Errol said. "Humans are fair play in the bazaar. You know this." He swept his arm toward the dozen servers who I now understood were indentured humans. I was willing to bet there would be no emancipation for any of them. Ever.
"She won't last one minute in there with the Witchborn."
Errol shrugged. "She entered The Kennel. It was a risk she took. No one abducted her. No one tricked her."
"I can revoke The Kennel's license," Maddox said.
"Go ahead and see how many Kindred pull their stakes out of your bazaar." He reached for me again and waggled his fingers. The crowd roared. "We come here because we trust you to leave us to our business."
"Business?" I chirped. "Surely this business isn't legal, even in your own world."
Maddox's lips were pressed tight together, and he looked like he was trying very hard not to say something. It was an expression that made Errol smirk as he stood there.
"Law can't come here," Errol said to me. "His whole bazaar is founded on operating outside the fringe of what's legal or illegal." He laughed. "It's why we pay such good money."
"Someone came in here with a human child," I said to the incubus. "What are you going to do about that?" I looked up at Maddox, but it was Errol who responded.
"Are you saying you want me to put a child in there with the Witchborn?" Errol said, pressing his fingers to his chest.
"No," I said, although some part of me perked up at the thought of escaping. I tamped it down with annoyance. "No, I am saying someone had to have abducted that kid." I stressed the word abducted because that seemed to be a point of contention.
Again, he shrugged. "We abduct all of our humans. You, on the other hand, walked right in. It's an unwritten rule that we get to play with what finds its way into our territory. It's what we pay Maddox for, isn't it Maddox?"
He laughed with delight when Maddox didn't answer. "Now, let's get this moving, shall we?"
He spun on his heel and the glamour disappeared. In its place, was the form of a stunningly beautiful man with lush black hair. Some sort of fragrance wafted off him, much stronger than it had been before. I couldn't place it. I just knew I kept inhaling, working on the smell the way I might a dream that was on the cusp of memory.
Errol made a grand flourish toward the crowds. "What say you, Kennel Kin?"
"Human, human, human," they chanted. The sound of glasses and tankards thundered against the tables.
I looked at the Witchborn. How bad could it be? I thought. She was young-looking. She might have a panther, but that panther wasn't much more than smoke. It wasn't solid. I'd taken awful beatings from Scottie from time to time. I knew how to take a hit. I knew how to avoid one too.
And in the end, I'd killed Scottie. The biggest, meanest man I'd ever known. So, I had it in me. I must have. I knew I could kill. Couldn't I?
The big question was could I keep from getting killed before that.
I inhaled a bracing breath. "OK," I said to no one. "I'm no pussy. I'm not strong, but I am quick. All I have to do is find her weak spot."
I gave her a sidelong look as I said it, not quite believing myself, but not wanting to look like a coward either. Errol jerked his head toward me as he caught the wolf's—because he was a wolf now—attention. The handler reached for me and I lifted my chin bravely.
Maddox's hand came down on my shoulder as his other held off the wolfman's grip. He shook his head with the most subtle smile, not patronizing, not condescending, just sort of... patient.
"Kitten," he said. "The Witchborn is a hundred years old. She's been indentured since her birth. She has killed every opponent the Kennel has forced her to fight each week for these one hundred years."
I must have quailed at the comment because he quirked his russet eyebrow and spoke softly to me. "The Witchborn is not a violent lover who forced your hand in a moment of panic drenched adrenaline."
I scowled at the description, but I didn't argue, and he continued.
"I applaud your courage, but you won't come out the Kennel alive. And you won't find a weak spot. She has none."
"So what is there for me to do?" I said, exasperated. "I can't exactly run."
I felt his hand on the top of my head. It rested there for a long moment, as though he were drawing power from it. He tugged me out of the way of the wolfman, positioning me to his right, so he could face Errol.
"I have a better option," he said to the incubus. "A battle the likes of which your Kennel has never seen. One sure to earn you top power as your clientele cash in their chips. Between the owner of the bazaar and the Witchborn."
Errol twitched his chin in our direction with a low-slung look that indicated he'd been hoping for something just like this. A victorious grin spread across his features, lighting something in his inky black eyes.
"Oh my God," I said, as I realized what that look was saying and why he was saying it.
I stole a glance at Maddox's face, and saw that he'd set his jaw in that hard line of determination. He'd made up his mind.
"That's what he was banking on all along," I said. "He wanted you to volunteer. Maddox, this is a mistake."
Maddox looked down at me, tilting my chin up with his finger. "Mistake or not, you're here, aren't you? There are unwritten understandings in the bazaar. What would you have me do? Let you die in there?"
At that, he squared his shoulders and inhaled deep enough that I could see how barrel-chested he was beneath that shirt of his.
"I'll take the human's place," he said. "I'll fight The Witchborn."
Although he hadn't shouted, the sound of his voice rose the way thunder rolls. It seemed to fill the back of the room and bounce back at us.
In the end, the cheers from the crowd nearest us were the only thing to drown out the echo of his voice. When it did, he leveled Errol with a glance.
"No matter who wins, Isabella goes free," he said. "To be clear, that's what I'm fighting for."
He said it as though he thought he could lose. He was a warrior. He'd killed demons, hadn't he? Surely, he could face off against a slip of a girl not much taller than I was. If anything, the incubus should be worried about his Witchborn, but he didn't look concerned. In fact, he looked pretty damn gleeful.
I tried to tell myself it was because he couldn't lose. The girl was a slave. If she lost, he'd find another act to fill his cage each week. And regardless, Maddox would no doubt turn a handy bit of coin.
It had to be win-win.
No doubt the battle between a human woman and his witchborn warrior would have proved dull compared to the fight about to happen.
I told myself that all of this was the reason I felt nothing over the event that was about to unfold. I might as well have been watching this all happen from the safety of a movie theater seat.
And yet.
And yet something niggled at me. That girl had swaggered to the cage. She'd paced it like she owned it. She called out for her challenger as though no one would dare oppose her.
"Break a leg," I said to Maddox as he pulled away.
He looked back at me with a mournful look.
"Don't watch, Kitten," he said. "You're free to go. I suggest you do just that."
Errol slipped in front of me, blocking Maddox from my view and I tried to push him aside. He swiveled to look down at me.
"Go, Ms. Hush," he said with a voice that sounded filled with longing and anticipation. "Or I might find a way to get around the deal your patron just made."
He didn't bother to hide his hope that I might resist. He waited for a full moment, eyes on me as I hesitated. I couldn't do anything if I stayed, but I couldn't just leave either.
"Isabella," came Maddox's voice. It was stern and sharp, and I whipped around to see him already climbing into the cage. A man with several boils on his face closed the door behind him. The wolf man was hunched over at the side of the Kennel, panting heavily and looking as though he was eagerly awaiting a meal.
I knew what Maddox's command meant. Get out of here. I pressed my lips together as I stole a look at Errol who had canted his head at me, his obvious hope I'd refuse written across his face.
Lights flashed inside the cage over the heads of the patrons. It began to rise and as it did, I saw that the bottom was see through. Electric-like shocks sizzled over the metal, and the sound of it crackled through the space, forcing silence on those who watched. It was mesmerizing.
Magic of some sort, my mind told me. Magic that sealed the fighters inside.
I heard Errol snap his fingers at someone, and I caught sight of the burly boil-faced man coming my way.
"I'm going," I said. "Fuck off."
I turned away with deliberation. It wasn't too difficult, really. I felt a sort of relief that I was free. I'd escaped something with very little effort on my part. I had the grimoire clutched in a death grip against my hip. At best, I'd been granted a bit of good fortune for once. I should use it. Not let Maddox's sacrifice go to waste.
I pushed through a puddle of vampires who looked at me with hungry looks.
"Bugger off," I said. "I have a pass."
One of them, a lean fellow with a faded green tattoo across his cheek clutched me by both elbows and yanked me off the floor. He pulled me close so suddenly, I didn't have time to fight him off. He shoved my cheek to the side with his jaw, and jammed his nose down against my throat.
Soul Merchant (Isabella Hush Series Book 5) Page 11
