Taken

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Morgan blinked at him, then grazed a long, sharp fingernail over her lip. I swallowed hard and squeezed Andy’s shoulder.

  “Different culture,” I managed. “Different laws.”

  “Different culture?” Andy echoed. He dropped his hand toward his belt, then forced it down to his thigh, away from his weapon. “They’re on American soil. They have to obey American laws.”

  Panic surged inside me, exploding out of my mouth in a nervous laugh. “Let’s not argue about laws, soil, and who owns what land. All that matters is reaching those kids.”

  Kids. There were two from last year, three from this year… My stomach rolled, and I composed my face to hide the fear bubbling in my thoughts. “Morgan, how many years has this…auction taken place?”

  The dark-eyed fey kept her attention on Andy, her black gaze glittering with too much interest for my comfort. “This is only the second year.”

  My shoulders fell with relief. “Good. All right, good. And the children from last year’s auction? Are they here?”

  “One boy’s master resold him yesterday. The girl will present pieces for sale at the private auction on the final day.”

  “Resold?” Andy demanded.

  “Please explain.” I kept my tone polite, despite my rising panic. This had been bad enough when I’d thought we were dealing with the sidhe. But red caps and centaurs? Well, the possible range of festivities going on inside had grown considerably darker.

  Morgan folded her hands in front of her and lifted her chin. “As I said, I disagree with what’s going on. I’ll have no part of buying those children. But like it or not, it is a social event, and as the leader of my house, I’m expected to attend.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  “Oisean collects the artists, choosing three children who show the most promise. He presents them with a contract and explains the terms. If they sign, they agree to join our society and abide by our laws. They are no longer a part of human society—they belong to the sidhe.”

  Andy opened his mouth, then closed it and pressed his lips together. I said a small prayer of thanks for his self-control and hoped it would hold out.

  “Once everything is legal, Oisean escorts the children to special quarters, where they’re provided supplies for creating more art. Any pieces they create then, or those they brought with them from their old life, are displayed in a gallery on the second day for auction attendees to view. The main auction takes place after sunset on the second day, and the attendees bid on the artists based on the pieces they’ve displayed. If they win, they own the artist for a year.”

  “You said the second day. How many days are there?” I asked.

  “Three. But the first day involves the previous year’s artists, and the final day is only art.”

  “Tell me about the first day.” Andy checked the buttons on the shirt cuff at each wrist, the movement tight and controlled. Tension squeezed his shoulders, bunching the muscles beneath the straight suit jacket.

  It was a bad sign that his notebook and pen remained in his pocket. I’d never seen Andy too angry to take notes.

  Morgan fixed him with that intense stare I disliked so much. “On the first day, artists from the previous year bring the best of what they’ve created over the past year to be judged in a small contest. The winner’s art passes on to the final auction on the third day.”

  “And the losers?” I asked, trying to talk around the taste of bile.

  “At the end of the first day, the losers participate in a less prestigious auction.” She smoothed the skirt of her dress. “The masters of the losers auction them off to the lesser fey in an attempt to raise money to bid on one of this year’s artists. Trading up, so to speak.”

  Andy stilled, his face shutting down, blocking out even the anger. He reached for a quarter underneath the car dash and turned it over and over between his thumb and forefinger. The lack of emotion worried me more than the anger. “What do you mean, ‘lesser fey?’” he asked.

  “It’s what the sidhe call non-sidhe. Sort of like royalty uses the word ‘commoners.’” I tore my gaze from the coin. “What day is this?” I asked Morgan.

  “Day two.”

  I pressed my fists into my lap. “And the result of the first auction?”

  Morgan combed her fingers through the feathers along the neckline of her dress, settling them into place. “The girl won. She’s with her master now, preparing for tonight’s auction. The boy’s master sold him to a kelpie yesterday.”

  If I wasn’t still sitting in the car, I’d have fainted. I slumped in my seat, my hand on the door the only thing anchoring me to reality.

  My reaction threatened to crack Andy’s calm facade. The vein in his temple throbbed as he stared at me. “What’s a kelpie?”

  “A water horse,” I croaked. “They have a horse form and a human form. They… They live underwater.”

  The rest of my answer caught behind a lump in my throat. Kelpies delighted in drowning unsuspecting humans, and they thrived on terror. They would graze on the land in the form of a beautiful horse, waiting to catch the eye of a greedy human. If the human was foolish enough not to notice the backward hooves, and try to mount the kelpie, they’d find themselves stuck to the beast, unable to get off or let go. The kelpies would rush over the land in a mad dash, before diving to the bottom of the lake. More often than not, the human drowned. If they survived, it was to live out the rest of their days as the kelpie’s slave on a small island, or nowadays, a boat, waiting for the day their equine master would drag them into the water to drown.

  “If you care about saving them, then you’ll accept my help,” Morgan said softly. “You must believe me when I say I want to help you get to those children.”

  “If you care about them so much, then why don’t you get them yourself?” Andy’s fingers twitched, as if he fought not to draw his weapon.

  “I have no legal right to them.” Morgan smoothed an errant curl of black hair behind one ear. “My house would rebel if I intervened. But I will help you. Let me call my friend.”

  Images of Grayson being dragged underwater filled my thoughts. I imagined him screaming, bubbles erupting from his mouth as his kelpie master dragged him down into the dark water. I shut out those images. No. No, the kelpies had bought him. He was likely intended as a slave, not food. He was probably alive.

  And terrified.

  “Call your—” Andy started.

  I shook his shoulder with enough force to snap his mouth shut. “Morgan, if you’ll excuse us for one moment?” I ignored the glare Andy leveled on me.

  The corners of Morgan’s mouth stiffened as if she were fighting a frown, but she inclined her head and retreated closer to the gatehouse. Andy watched her go, then faced me, mouth open, no doubt to give me a piece of his mind.

  “Do not ever agree to something with the Otherworld before checking with me,” I said, unable to hold it in a second longer. “Sidhe consider words binding, and they never forget a verbal contract. You can agree to something without meaning to!”

  Andy’s jaw tightened. “Those kids are being sold to monsters. We need to get in there. You made it perfectly clear that we can’t force our way in, and it doesn’t sound as though Oisean is going to waltz out here to chat with us. You didn’t even mention the murdered kid. Matthew.”

  “I didn’t mention the murder because I don’t want to escalate things,” I explained patiently. “As soon as we say ‘murder,’ they’ll shut us out. Even Morgan wouldn’t help us get inside if she thought we were here to find a murderer.”

  “Do you have a better idea? A way inside without accepting her help?”

  He wasn’t wrong. Still…

  “Accepting her help will put us in her debt.” I shifted uneasily in my seat. “Besides that, we don’t know her. I have no reason to trust her motives, no reason to think she’s doing this for the kids. For all I know, this whole auction was her idea.”

  “She said she’s against it,” Andy
argued.

  “She said she’s against what’s going on inside,” I countered. “She could be referring to what they’re serving for dinner. Or how they’ve arranged the flowers. Or who’s been invited. Do you understand? Fey cannot lie. They. Cannot. Lie. They are a cutthroat, political society, so trust me when I tell you, they’ve found a way around it.” I tried to ignore the ice sliding down my spine. “It would be easier to deal with them if they lied.”

  “So what do we do? What’s your plan?”

  I bit my lip. “Oisean won’t come out and talk to us. At best, we’d talk to his mistress, and at worst, we’d be stuck with her lawyer. That also means they won’t let us in. Morgan’s right: we’ll need someone to invite us.”

  “Do you know anyone like that?”

  I groped for some idea, some forgotten acquaintance I could call on. “No. No, I don’t know any sidhe. Not well enough to ask for a favor.”

  “So we have no choice?” Andy asked. “We have to accept her help.”

  Before I could respond, Peasblossom collided with my temple like a bird striking a clean window pane.

  “Ouch!” I yelped.

  “Shh!” Peasblossom hissed.

  “Everything all right over there?” Morgan called out.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just another moment,” I answered.

  Peasblossom fluttered her wings, lifting herself to her feet and then running over my shoulder to grab my ear. “Don’t accept her help,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Do we have another option? Andy’s right, we need to act, and I don’t know anyone with an invitation.”

  “Yes, you do,” Peasblossom responded.

  “Who?” Peasblossom hesitated. That was not a good sign. A sneaking suspicion rose in my mind, and I jabbed a finger at Peasblossom. “No.”

  “Flint,” Peasblossom said.

  It was exactly what I’d been afraid she’d say. I shook my head again, kept shaking it even when vertigo crept into my brain. “No, not him. Not him, no.”

  “Flint,” Andy repeated. His brow furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  My cheeks heated as my brain supplied me with memories of my last encounter with the sidhe. “No.”

  “Be reasonable,” Peasblossom insisted.

  “Reasonable? Can you think of a less trustworthy sidhe?” I demanded.

  Peasblossom scowled. “There is no such thing as a trustworthy sidhe. The closest thing is a sidhe who owes you a favor.”

  “Flint does not owe me a favor.”

  “No, but he wants something from you.”

  My cheeks burned hotter.

  Andy crossed his arms. “What does he want from you?”

  I pushed through a fog of carnal images to grasp the idea Peasblossom likely referred to. “Tattoo removal.”

  Andy blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  I twisted the ring around my finger as I gathered my thoughts. “I used magic to tattoo his face.”

  “And he wants you to remove it?”

  Peasblossom shrugged. “He still has it. I can’t imagine he likes having that thing crawling around his face.”

  “Crawling?” Andy echoed.

  “An enchanted tattoo. It’s a spider that moves as if it’s alive.” I shivered and shoved images of the tattoo out of my mind before they took root. “Arianne mentioned he’d come to her to get it removed, so I suppose he might be willing to—” I stopped, waved both hands in front of my face. “No. No, I can’t ask Flint. He’s too dangerous.”

  “What’s your alternative?” Peasblossom asked. She dropped to my palm, and I held her up until we were face to face. “Make a simple trade. He invites you to the auction, you remove the tattoo. You know it’s the safest way.”

  I wanted to respond to that but couldn’t. Not with Andy standing right there. “You know why that’s a bad idea,” I said.

  Peasblossom tightened her grip on my finger. “There’s a lot of danger here. Flint is the only one with access who will commit to a simple trade. And if you arrive with him as his guest, he’ll be bound the same as Marilyn, forced to treat you as a protected guest. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Fine. Fine, all right.” I pulled out my cell phone. “If he’ll even agree,” I muttered.

  The bastard answered on the second ring. “Shade Renard. How nice to hear from you again.”

  The lower half of my body liquefied, and the blush I’d thought was disappearing returned with a ferocious roar. Even through the phone, his voice ghosted over my skin like an intimate physical caress.

  “Hello.” The word squeaked as it left my lips, and I smacked my head against my seat. Perfect.

  Flint chuckled, and the sound rolled through the phone, caressing me like a heavy silk curtain. “Hello. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  For ten seconds, I drew a blank. My thoughts melted faster than I formed them, and my tongue was too thick to move. Andy stared at me like I’d lost my mind, and Peasblossom winced.

  “The auction,” I blurted out. “You’re there?”

  A moment of silence. “The art auction?” he asked.

  Anger flickered inside me, and I clung to it, using it to fight the befuddlement he caused me. “The slave auction.”

  “Ah. Yes, I’m here.” He paused. “Are you?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’d like to offer you a trade. I seem to have misplaced my invitation. Invite me as your plus one, and I’ll…” I squeezed my phone hard enough that the plastic cover squeaked in protest. “I’ll remove the tattoo.”

  The insensitive man didn’t even pause to consider it. “Why, Shade, I would love for you to be my plus one. I’m afraid you’ve already missed the first day, but there’s more fun to come. When shall I pick you up?”

  I wished Andy wasn’t staring at me. It was bad enough I was this flustered, but having him here to witness it made it exponentially worse. “Now. I’m at the gatehouse.”

  Another short pause. When Flint spoke again, his words reflected the smile I knew must be on his face.

  “I’m coming.”

  The call ended with a loud beep, saving me from having to respond. I dropped my phone, my hands shaking at the thought of what I was getting myself into. I pasted a fake smile on my face and gestured for Morgan to approach.

  “Thank you so much for your offer.” I tried to smile, but couldn’t make my mouth cooperate. “It turns out I know someone here, and he’s agreed to escort me.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows went up. “You know someone in attendance?”

  “I do.” I drew myself up as best I could with my lower body still feeling too fluid, grateful beyond words I was sitting. “I appreciate your offer, though.”

  Morgan opened her mouth, but headlights swept over us, signaling another car approaching. She pressed her lips together, then nodded, the movement stiff. “Good luck. Please pull your vehicle through the gate and off to the side. Don’t go any farther up the driveway until your escort arrives.”

  She turned without another word, going to the gatehouse and pressing the button to open the gate. As soon as we made it through, it closed behind us, sealing us inside as she talked to the next arrivals.

  “Who is Flint?”

  My stomach tightened as it occurred to me that Andy would remember Flint—and the murder charge the sidhe walked out on.

  I cursed a blue streak to myself before fixing as neutral expression as I could manage on my face and turning to Andy. “The three kids who went missing today are ‘owned’ by one fey—the one they signed the contract with. If we don’t get in there soon, they’ll auction them off, and each one will belong to someone different. We don’t have the power to force them to give them up, so we must negotiate. Negotiating with one owner is preferable to three.” I paused and held up a finger. “Not three. Five, including the two children from last year. We have to operate on the belief Lindsay and Grayson are still alive.”

  I got out of the SUV, needing to stretch my legs. Andy
followed me, using his longer stride to get ahead so he could block my path. I stopped walking and stared at the grass, working up the nerve to answer the question I could feel coming.

  “Who is Flint?” He used his FBI tone this time. Cold, demanding. Less a question and more a command to be obeyed.

  I didn’t have time to explain everything to him. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Not because I didn’t think he’d agree with my choices, but because the contract I’d signed with the vampire prevented me from discussing the matter freely. I squared my shoulders. “Flint is someone I would never work with if I had a choice. But he is invaluable to us now. He’s powerful, he’s clever, and he’s very persuasive.”

  “Why, Ms. Renard. You’ll turn my head with such pretty words.”

  The sidhe’s tone held the same intimacy it always did, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn I felt his breath on my neck. I gritted my teeth. Worst. Timing. Ever. I braced myself before turning around.

  It didn’t do me any good.

  Flint’s soft mouth curled into a half-grin as he sauntered closer, all muscles and casual grace. The suit he wore didn’t cling to him as his usual jeans and a T-shirt did, but the open dress shirt offered a peek of sun-warmed skin and a few sloping lines of a tattoo.

  Tattoo.

  As soon as I thought the word, I noticed he kept his face tilted to hide what I’d done to him. I moved back a step, as the tattoo seemed to feel my attention on it. I didn’t drop my gaze in time to avoid seeing eight spindly legs, the first hint of the spider tattoo crawling over his face to sit on his other cheek.

  “So lovely to see you again, Shade,” Flint murmured. “Shall we get straight down to it?”

  “You.” Andy’s stare bored a hole into the side of my head, and I didn’t have to see his face to guess what emotion was there.

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” Flint asked.

  Andy crossed his arms. “No. But we should have.”

  I bowed out of the uncomfortable tension thickening the air between the two men and unzipped the pouch at my waist to dig for the tattoo’s anti-curse. I’d told Dominique I didn’t need or want the anti-curse, but she’d insisted. No curses sold without the antidote—store policy.