Taken

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “This event is very important to me,” she said in a low, dangerous tone. “And you seem to be doing your level best to ruin it. I don’t know why you’re here; I don’t know why you feel you must stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. But know that I will not forget this.”

  “Nor will I,” I replied evenly. “I always remember people who abuse children.”

  Marilyn’s jaw tightened. “Watch your tongue, or you may well lose it. You have no idea what’s going on here.”

  “I understand the auction,” I said. Marilyn had given her word to the Vanguard that I could speak to the children before the auction. If I could stall, maybe Andy could make his case in time to stop it entirely. “You want to pick up where you left off.”

  “Do you wish to see the children or not?” Marilyn turned on her heel and started for the garage.

  Stifling my disappointment, I followed her. A set of stairs led up one side of the garage, the wood freshly painted a soft white that glowed in the lights at the corners of the garage’s face and over the door at the top of the stairs. There wasn’t a cobweb to be seen, not a smudge of dirt anywhere on the side of the building. It didn’t look like a garage at all, so much as an expensive condo that so happened to have a few cars parked on the lowest level.

  Marilyn opened the door, and by the time her face was revealed to the room, there was no trace of her earlier anger. She was brilliant, smiling, and the epitome of the welcoming hostess.

  “Good evening, my darlings.”

  I stepped in behind her and found myself in a room much larger than I’d expected. Three teenagers stood at stations that appeared as if they’d been tailored to each individual artist, each one bearing different kinds of paints, different tools.

  There were two girls and one boy. The females wore white gowns overlaid with silver netting that glittered when they moved. One’s fell in straight, stern lines, hugging her slender figure and making the most out of every inch of her tall frame. The other’s flared at the hips, accenting her plentiful curves. The boy wore a suit that probably cost more than my rent, a slate-grey jacket and matching pants that looked metallic, but moved like silk.

  The tall girl didn’t take her attention off the canvas in front of her. The other stopped with a fresh paintbrush an inch over a palette of brightly colored paint. She put the brush on the table when I entered, fixing me with a curious stare. The boy kept painting, but his eyes followed me inside.

  “Marilyn,” the curvy blonde said. “Is it time already?”

  “Daria. No, it’s not time yet.” Marilyn beamed and walked over to give her a hug before admiring her painting. “Oh, I never tire of seeing your work. I cannot wait for the auction to begin.”

  “When will it start?” the boy asked.

  “Soon,” Marilyn promised. “There’s been a slight delay”—she shot me a less-than-friendly look—“but it shouldn’t be much longer. Are you all finished?”

  The boy nodded. “I should stop now. It’s done; now I’m just messing with it to pass the time.”

  Marilyn floated over to his easel to view his painting. The girl still holding the brush bit her lip and dabbed a few more spots of paint on her work.

  “They don’t know.”

  Morgan’s voice startled me enough that I jumped. I hadn’t realized she’d followed us. Marilyn didn’t seem to have heard her. “Don’t know what?” I asked, quietly so as not to be overheard.

  “The kids. They don’t know that they’re going to be sold. Marilyn will have them stand up there with their paintings and they’ll think it’s their work that’s being bought. When it’s over, Marilyn will tell them they’re being adopted.”

  The anger that had burned steadily inside me since I’d found out about the slave auction hardened into something closer to hatred. “I see.”

  Morgan hesitated. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job. But the contract really is unbreakable. And unless Agent Bradford is successful convincing the Vanguard that the kids were not legally able to concede to the contract…”

  “Which he likely won’t be,” I murmured.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know why you came up here, what you planned to say to the children, if anything. But perhaps it would be kinder to let them believe Marilyn? A year of blissful ignorance is better than a year of fear and despair, isn’t it?”

  I watched Marilyn with the kids, watched them all gaze after her as if she were some mother figure they’d been waiting for their whole lives. It made me hate her more.

  “This is…” I shook my head. “This is a special level of evil.”

  Morgan stepped closer. “You don’t need to tell me. Desperation does horrible things to people. Loss does horrible things.”

  Suddenly Marilyn was at my side. “Morgan, I don’t recall inviting you up here. You will wait with the others. The auction will begin soon.” She turned to me, dismissing Morgan as if there were no question that she’d do as she asked. “Mother Renard, if you’re quite satisfied that the children are safe, then perhaps we can let them return to their preparations?”

  I thought of what Morgan had said. I supposed there was no point speaking to the children, telling them what was really going on. If Andy failed, and it turned out they didn’t have the right to cancel their contracts, then it would just be cruel. I forced a smile, waved at the kids, and left.

  “That completes my agreement,” Marilyn said. “Now get out.”

  She returned to the house without another word, never looking behind her to see if I’d listened.

  Morgan’s hand touched my shoulder and squeezed. “I have an idea.”

  I swiped at my tears. “What?”

  “How much are you willing to risk to save those kids?”

  Nothing good had ever followed a question like that. “What do you have in mind?”

  Morgan’s gaze grew more serious. “Are you willing to take their place?”

  My heart fell into my feet. Grey ate the edges of my vision. I blinked and concentrated on breathing.

  “No!” Peasblossom shot out from where she’d been hiding in the collar of my coat, fluttering directly in front of my face so I crossed my eyes trying to focus on her. “No, you dare even consider it!”

  I waved her away, careful not to knock her out of the air.

  “What… What do you mean?” I asked.

  Morgan leaned closer. “You are a witch. Not just a witch, but the apprentice of Baba Yaga. There is no child, no three children, no mob of children, that could ever compete with that.”

  “Shut up,” Peasblossom shouted at her.

  I closed my eyes, then forced them open because it only made the nightmarish images worse. “You’re saying I should ask Marilyn to let the kids go…and I’ll take their place on the auction block?”

  Morgan leaned forward. “Yes.”

  My legs trembled, and she caught me and lowered me carefully to the driveway. Peasblossom landed on my shoulder and hugged my neck.

  “Don’t do it,” she begged. “Don’t do it!”

  “Listen, hear me out,” Morgan said calmly. She didn’t try to raise her voice over Peasblossom, didn’t acknowledge the pixie at all. “You trade yourself, and I will bid on you. I will win you.”

  That was not nearly as comforting as she seemed to think it was.

  “You can’t have her,” Peasblossom growled.

  I shook my head. “Even if I were willing—”

  “You don’t trust me,” Morgan said.

  “Better believe she doesn’t trust you,” Peasblossom said vehemently.”

  I met Morgan’s eyes, too distracted by my familiar to be politically correct. “Not even a little. Sidhe are not helpful by nature, yet you’ve been offering help since I arrived. And some of that help only made this worse, and I’m not sure I believe it was unintentional.”

  Morgan covered her face with her hands, took a deep breath, then lowered them. “I told you, I don’t agree with what’s going o
n here. I wasn’t lying, Shade. I don’t lie.”

  “Lying would be more sporting,” Peasblossom snapped.

  I looked back at the kids, then held Morgan’s gaze. “You take this that seriously?”

  Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Morgan swallowed hard. “Children…feel things. Deeper than others. When they feel pain… Well, it lasts forever. You can’t erase that. You can’t fix it.” She glanced up toward the door that led to the top of the garage where the three teenagers continued in ignorant bliss. “You have a chance to stop it from happening. Will you?”

  The fey couldn’t lie. Not outright. And I felt in my gut that her emotion was real. My instinct told me the pain in her voice was real. She was speaking of herself, too. She’d been hurt as a child. Hurt badly.

  “Shade, please don’t do this,” Peasblossom pleaded.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said. “But I’ll consider it if Andy fails in his negotiations with the Vanguard.”

  “There’s something you should know, then,” Morgan said sadly.

  “What?”

  “One of the girls. Angie?”

  My stomach sank. “What about her?”

  “Yesterday was her birthday.”

  I swayed on my feet. “Her eighteenth birthday.”

  Morgan nodded, and I thought I saw real sympathy in her eyes.

  I swallowed hard, trying to keep the weight of what I was about to do out of my consciousness. “Marilyn is awfully angry with me. I don’t know if she’ll agree.”

  “I think it’s more likely that her anger will make her more likely to accept our deal.”

  Peasblossom collapsed on my shoulder with a tiny sob.

  It took me ten tries to answer. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 19

  “You what?”

  I didn’t look at Andy, didn’t answer his question right away. Instead, I fixed my gaze on the chair beside him on the far side of the circle of chairs that surrounded the fire pit. A faraway screaming had started in the back of my mind around the time I’d made my decision. My decision to allow myself to be auctioned off to the fey. Maybe if I moved really slowly, and kept my breathing even, that scream wouldn’t get any louder. Maybe it wouldn’t pass my lips. I concentrated on the flames, the warmth.

  “I’ve agreed to take their place,” I repeated. I tried to smile but couldn’t. “The kids are free to go. And Marilyn’s agreed to stipulate that humans cannot enter into contracts until they turn eighteen, so the contracts are all void.”

  “Well, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Marilyn said, her words softened by the enormous smile on her face. She stood beside the chair Mac Tyre occupied, her blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. “The children will be free to go as soon as the auction has concluded and you fulfill your side of the deal by leaving with your new master. Until then, I stipulate nothing.”

  I gritted my teeth and gripped the arms of my chair to hide the trembling in my hands. The fire-warmed wood slid easily against my sweaty palms. “Yes. But after that, they’ll be free to go. And this won’t happen again.”

  Andy’s face betrayed no sign of emotion, but I could feel his stare boring into the side of my face.

  “If I might have a word with my partner?” he finally asked Mac Tyre.

  “I will speak with Marilyn by the fountain,” the arbitrator murmured. He rose from his seat and moved to stand beside Oksana. The strix sat on the grass, with the sleeping Grayson held in a cradle made from her huge black wings. He gestured from her to Tamden, who stood a ways from the fire, her eyes half closed, her head tilted as if she were listening to the breeze. “Oksana and Tamden will need to remain here. You understand?

  “Thank you,” Andy said.

  The request for a private conversation didn’t faze Marilyn in the least. “I’m so pleased we’ve arrived at a conclusion that makes everyone happy.” She accepted Mac Tyre’s arm when he offered it to her, her pale fingers a stark contrast to the black of his suit. “I do so like to be cooperative.”

  I gave myself a Brownie point for not picking up one of the empty chairs and throwing it at her smug face. Brownie points for me. And later, a brownie.

  If your new master lets you have brownies.

  The lump in my throat swelled, making it harder to swallow.

  “Shade,” Andy said, his voice low, but not a whisper. “What’s going on? I was speaking with Mac Tyre and then Marilyn interrupted, said you’d agreed to take the kids’ place?”

  I nodded, giving myself a time to find my voice. “It’s the only way.”

  Andy’s jaw tensed. “I’m not finished making my argument to Mac Tyre. I think I can bring him around. Let me try.”

  “Yesterday was Angie’s birthday,” I whispered. “She’s eighteen.”

  Andy closed his eyes. “Shit.”

  I blinked away another rush of tears. “I’m going to take their place. They’ll all be able to leave, every last one of them. They can go back to Constellation House, to Sarah. I’ll send…” My voice broke. “I’ll send Peasblossom to coach her, introduce her to people who can help protect them. Peasblossom can tell Mother Hazel what’s going on. The homeless shelters take kids up to the age of twenty-four, so some of them will still be vulnerable to the leannan sidhe after they turn eighteen. Mother Hazel will know what to do, though, I know she will.”

  Andy watched me, giving me time to gather myself. “And you?”

  It said a lot about him that he already understood how serious even one year with the fey could be. I stared harder at the flames. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “What can I do?”

  I took a deep breath around the hysterical sob rising in my throat. “Make sure the kids and Peasblossom get home safely. Peasblossom knows how to put a hold on my affairs.”

  Andy frowned. “You have a plan for this sort of situation?”

  I tried to shrug, but couldn’t quite manage it with my death grip on the chair. “A witch always has plans in place. I’ll need you to talk to Liam. Make sure the werewolves know the kids are safe.”

  “Mother Renard, I do hate to rush you,” Marilyn said sweetly, “but we really should be going. There is quite a bit of excitement in lieu of the change in plans, and there are people waiting for you…”

  The urge to throw a chair at her struck again, and I stared at the fire until I thought I could face her without giving in to the urge. Finally, I smiled at Andy. “I’ll see you later.”

  Andy nodded. The expression on his face made me think he wanted to say more. I waited, but he didn’t. I reached behind me and pulled Peasblossom off my neck. The pixie was still crying quietly, curled into a pink ball. I hugged her to my chest.

  “I will see you in one year,” I said softly.

  Peasblossom cried harder, curling up even tighter. I forced myself to put her in Andy’s outstretched palm. He held her to him, rubbing her back between her wings with one finger. That small gesture gave me hope, made me feel better despite the fear trying hard to send me running and screaming for the gate. Whatever his trust issues, Andy obviously cared about Peasblossom. And maybe me too.

  “We’ll get you ready and then get things started as quickly as possible,” Marilyn chirped. She practically floated to my side, her hand fluttering toward me as if she’d help me out of my chair.

  I stood before she could touch me. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, but there was nothing for that. “I’m coming.”

  The walk to the main building felt like entering a dark cave without a weapon or a flashlight. I was certain there was something bad inside, but there was nothing I could do about it. No way for me to escape. She led me down a series of hallways and opened a door. “I’ll return for you shortly.”

  This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. I have completely and utterly messed up.

  The same thought, slightly rephrased, paraded through my head on an unending loop
as I was led into a room on the house’s second level. It was a bedroom, with a changing screen and a full-length mirror with two smaller mirrors on either side to catch every angle. I tried to keep my mind blank, tried not to think of my familiar crying in Andy’s palm. I tried not to think of what could happen to me in one year with a sidhe master.

  A sudden thought occurred to me, and ice shards flooded my veins. Only the sidhe were permitted to bid on the artist, but I’d never clarified that the same rules would apply to me. It was possible, and given Marilyn’s attitude toward me, even likely, that the auction would be open to all attendees. Including the kelpies.

  “Fool,” I whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  I blinked, shaking free of my thoughts. Three handmaidens stood around me, dressed in clothes that ranged from modern to Victorian, and all of them holding a different outfit. The one that had spoken held a dress that was barely more than a black tube top, slightly elongated. “I’m not wearing that,” I said flatly.

  The women shared a look. For the next hour, they proved to me how little say I had in what I wore. I was put into no less than fifteen different outfits, ranging from four layers of skirts, to no more than a few silver chains around my neck, wrists, and ankles. The only fight I won in the dressing battle was the waist pouch. I had to fight like hell to keep the thing, and there wasn’t a single person in the room who could look at it without glaring, but I explained to them in no uncertain terms that a witch was not to be parted from her bag of tricks. It wasn’t until I pointed out that I was less valuable without it that they grudgingly allowed me to keep it and opted for heavy glamour to hide it.

  Very heavy glamour.

  Finally, I was done. The end result was a happy medium between modesty and embarrassment, a sleeveless black dress that hugged my breasts in a tight bodice before flaring at my hips to shift and sway around mid-calf.

  I touched my pouch, shifting it side to side to make sure it was still there under the glamour.

  “Stop that! You’re ruining the lines!”

  One of the women, an old battle-axe that had obviously been plucked from the ranks of a Viking horde, smacked my hand away from my waist pouch.