My thoughts scattered when I realized Frances wasn’t waiting where I’d first found her. The tarp was still there, but the tattered bag of belongings was not. Anxiously, I searched the area. Had she found her way to the original escape point?
I leaned over and touched a huddled form, and a man uncurled to look at me. “The woman who was here with her family, a sick little girl. Did you see where she went?”
“No, Massa.” When I nodded my thanks, he curled back up and closed his eyes.
“I see her go,” a little boy spoke up, rising with a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. “With my momma. De boss man take ’em. He havin’ a party and need some workers. Her girl wasn’t with her.”
“He chose Miss Frances?” I knew slavers claimed they could barely tell one slave from another, but it was odd that he’d chosen her when he knew I would be bringing back her child.
“No, she jest follow de others that was taken.”
Getting out one way or the other—I had to admire Frances’s ingenuity. She must have expected me to leave with Mabel and figured that following the other slaves out of the pen was her only chance to join her family. But escaping on her own put her at higher risk of being caught. I had to get to her before she made the attempt.
I nodded at the child and turned away.
“Massa,” he asked, “is my momma comin’ back?” He looked frightened as he bent in on himself.
“I think so.” For all the good it would do him tomorrow. He looked about Mabel’s age and according to law that was old enough for separation.
Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I hurried to the wide gate and escaped. Relief filled me as I left the hopelessness and anguish behind.
A whistled signal drew me to the shadows near the rendezvous point, where Ritter waited. In his arms, he cradled Mabel, now wrapped in an additional blanket from our supplies, her face partially covered so no one could see her color.
At the question in his eyes, I shook my head. “Frances is with an Unbounded I met earlier in the courtyard. Name’s Cardiff, and apparently Johansson works for him. He’s got to be Emporium. We don’t have much time.” If we were going to save her, I meant, but I wouldn’t voice it aloud because of the child, who might not be asleep.
He nodded. “I’ll go.”
“No. You’d better get her to Locke. She needs attention.” I was strong and quick, but Ritter could move faster than any combat Unbounded I’d met, even Eva when she’d been alive. “I’ll track down Frances.”
The muscles in his jaw worked. Clearly, Ritter wanted to protest but didn’t because he knew I was right. I was also his leader, and he knew how to follow a leader he believed in. It was why I could trust him with my life.
He gave a sharp nod. “I’ll meet you when I’m finished.”
RITTER VANISHED INTO THE NIGHT to catch up with Locke and the others, while I exchanged my crate for an oversized bag of weapons and disguises. I had to be prepared for anything. It was barely past the normal dinner hour, but darkness lay heavily on the cold streets.
After a little asking around, I located Cardiff’s residence. In typical Emporium fashion—and Renegade as well—he apparently owned a two-story, red-brick house on the south edge of town, using it only when he was here on business. No wonder he needed additional slaves for his event. No doubt he would be entertaining other slavers and local leaders, and the staff who normally kept his house wouldn’t be enough for a large event.
Cardiff’s house was set back from the road, with a large space for carriage parking, as though he entertained often. A cobblestone walkway, huge white columns, and a second-floor veranda over the entry testified of his wealth and privilege. Bright lights burned from every window, making the house gleam like an evil jack-o’-lantern on All Hallows’ Eve, contrasting sharply with the happy, playful music that floated on the cool night air.
Couples had already begun arriving at the house, dressed in their finest clothing. A stableboy directed the drivers where to park after delivering their wealthy cargo, and three drivers already stood in a group near one of the parked carriages, smoking and mumbling in low voices.
I skirted the house, pausing only to look into the windows. I saw white servants dressed in uniforms, arranging platters of food. No slaves there. Apparently Cardiff didn’t like his slaves to have direct contact with his guests. I’d have better luck around back.
Sure enough, the kitchens at the rear of the house were alive with activity. A dozen women, their dark faces lean and unsmiling, hurried about their business. Such a contrast from my plantation where laughter often rose over the clatter of pots and pans. Most of the women wore the standard clothing issued by slavers before a sale, but a few wore uniforms and seemed to be directing the others.
None of the women were Frances. Had she already tried to run away? If so, she could be lying in a ditch somewhere, and I was risking her family and myself for nothing by looking for her. I pushed the thoughts to a corner of my mind with the other dark thoughts that haunted my past.
I was debating whether to go in through the back door when a single scream pierced the night, barely distinguishable under the music. It cut off instantly, but the sound had come from the direction of the stables. I ran, keeping to the shadows. Pausing near the barn’s partially open double doors, I stashed my bags into some bushes and pushed out my thoughts. No life forces glowed near the entrance, but there were numerous life forces of animals. Deeper inside, I located people. Two, maybe, or three if two of them were very close together. They were deep enough inside the structure that the distance made it difficult to distinguish.
I slid inside, checking my pistol but knowing using it would be a last resort.
The inside of the barn was dim except for a glow at the end of a row of horse stalls. I moved stealthily past the stalls, aware of the animals watching me. I sent out a calming emotion, which generally worked with both animals and mortals. Not so well with Unbounded since they usually blocked their minds.
At the end of the stalls, I reached an open area, dimly illuminated by the light cast from a lantern that was hanging on a nail near a mound of flattened straw. A white male with a worn hat pulled low over his eyes had his arms around a woman with dark skin. She was weeping. Her back was toward me, but I could see her clothing was torn and disheveled, her hair full of straw. Her emotions told me she’d been violated.
Frances!
I launched myself at them, tearing the woman from the man’s grasp and throwing my fist into his face, even as a part of my brain registered that the woman wasn’t Frances after all.
Pain exploded in my cheek as the man lashed out at me. I’d almost expected Cardiff when I’d first heard the scream, but this man wasn’t Unbounded and he dressed like a common slaver. Maybe Johansson then? But wouldn’t he be over at his boss’s party?
I ducked his next punch, and spun, landing a kick on his thigh that made him cry out. I slammed him twice more, then blocked one jab and took another on the shoulder. Not a hard hit, and it put me into a good position. I pulled back for the finishing blow. He rushed me, his heavier weight giving him advantage as he knocked me to the straw-carpeted ground. I twisted free as we hit, my hat flying and taking my brown wig with it.
I struck hard before he could manage to pin me. Something in his face gave, and blood spurted between us. I jumped to my feet while he was still on his knees and pressed forward, punching hard and taking another blow, so I could whip around and put him in a headlock. My chin knocked his hat to the ground.
“Move and you die,” I growled, pressing my knife against his throat.
“Stop!” the woman shouted. “Stop!”
I looked to my side to see her grabbing a pitch fork, then twirling it so the prongs pointed at my head. “What?” I said, not relinquishing my hold. “I’m trying to save you!”
The woman jabbed the pitchfork closer. “He saved me!” she said at the same moment the man asked, “You’re trying to save her?”
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he said, his voice teasing as it had been at the hotel, as though the entire brawl had amused him. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
I was relieved he didn’t recognize me, though my hat was gone and my blond hair, pinned tightly to my head, was obviously more abundant than that of a typical male. Before I could respond, I became aware of another life force behind several bales of hay. Two life forces, I had thought when I’d entered the barn, but the man and woman had been too close and I should have counted them separately. The other life force was lying motionless but still burning strong.
The man’s eyes flicked over to the bale, following my stare. “I see you located the real perpetrator.”
I blinked because he couldn’t possibly know that I could sense the unconscious man behind the hay. Could he? Then I spied a boot emerging from behind the bale; it had to be what the man thought had drawn my attention.
“I assume that means there’s a man attached to that boot,” I said, still using a deep voice that I hoped would continue to hide my identity despite the loss of my hat and wig. “All right. I’m going to step back now.”
“Please do,” he said dryly. To the woman, he added, “I think you can put that down now.”
She nodded, her eyes bulging slightly, and lowered the pitchfork but didn’t drop it entirely. Who could blame her?
In a swift move, I released the man and stood, still gripping the knife just in case, placing him between me and the pitchfork. He arose, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and began wiping the blood from his face. He was taller than I was, though not by much, but he had a good thirty pounds on me, at least. Even with the disguise, he was attractive, and I didn’t like the way something in me reacted to him.
“Who are you?” I asked.
One brow arched. “Who are you?”
Mortals were so tedious at times. I hoped I wouldn’t have to knock them both out and remove their memories before I could continue looking for Frances. “You first,” I said, pulling out my pistol, though I had no intention of using it and alerting those in the house to my presence.
“Hold it,” he said, his hands out in front of him. “I am here only because I heard Lucias Johansson illegally enslaved free Negroes. I plan to stop him, so I talked to a few people I know, found out where he was, and followed him to the house. I was waiting for my contacts when he took a liking to this woman”—he dipped his head respectfully in her direction—“and I had to take action.” To her, he added. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop him sooner.” He was telling the truth on both accounts, I sensed.
“Then we are essentially on the same side.” I put away the gun.
The woman gave a sob, her face crumpling. “I want to go home to my family.” Finally, she let go of the pitchfork.
“Are you from the North?” I asked. She sounded younger than I’d first thought. Not a woman, really, but a girl. It was hard to tell sometimes when children often worked in the fields under the hot sun. Whatever her former occupation, she was both pretty and curvaceous, which was probably why Johansson had targeted her.
She shook her head. “Petersburg.”
Virginia. A slave, ripped from her family. Not illegally. Her emotions were all over the place, and I had to block them before the despair made me desperate.
The man averted his gaze, taking a step in my direction and reaching out a hand. “You can call me Smith.” For the first time he was telling me an untruth, but as I wasn’t about to share my identity, I didn’t hold it against him. If I needed, I could get it from his thoughts, but more pressing matters demanded my attention.
Ignoring his outstretched hand and the way his smile made my heart trip harder in my chest, I stepped around the bale of hay to look at the sprawled man. His pants were on, but sagging around his hips, his untucked shirt hiding most of him. He was obviously out for the count.
“So this is Johansson,” I mused. He was dressed for a party. Not nearly as nicely as his more dangerous boss, but he clearly wasn’t hurting for cash. No wonder, if he was abducting people from the North.
“My plan,” Smith came up beside me, “was to have him arrested tonight, and when I learned about the party, I thought the more witnesses the better. But after this”—his head indicated the inert figure—“I may be the one who ends up in jail.” He meant because the slave girl was Johansson’s property, and if he wanted to molest her, it was his business in most men’s eyes. Not in Smith’s, though. I warmed a little more toward him and mentally cursed the fact that we’d run into each other like this instead of tomorrow at the hotel.
“He’ll never remember you.” I stepped across Johansson’s body and squatted on his other side where I could still keep an eye on Smith and the girl. “Make sure no one is coming,” I told Smith. Finding a liquor flask in Johansson’s pocket, I unscrewed the cap and began splashing him with the contents. No one else was approaching, of course, or I’d sense a new life force, but I didn’t want Smith to see what I was going to do next.
Smith obeyed me with that amused glint in his eyes, one that for some reason made me want to jump into his mind and discover his secrets. But I didn’t invade people without a reason, especially good people, and I believed he was honorable.
Placing my hand on Johansson’s head, I pushed into his mind. Unconscious thoughts were much less volatile than conscious ones. No sand stream of rushing thoughts, just a placid lake. I dove into it. Down, down—until I saw bubbles of thoughts. Not everyone’s unconscious state represented as a lake, but most did, and I was glad he was typical.
Stepping aside from an oncoming bubble, I began searching for the one that held memory of this night. There. Dragging the girl to the barn, his body burning with anticipation, the girl’s struggle heightening his lust. Her soft, warm flesh as he felt her breasts through the cloth and pushed aside her skirts. Her scream as he pushed her down and forced her legs apart. Then outrage as he was yanked to his feet, his lust not yet fully satisfied.
I plucked the entire bubble, pulling it to me until it disappeared. I didn’t know or care where it went, but for him it no longer existed. I took the next one, too, where, after a few furious blows, Smith’s fist plunged him into blackness.
Disgusted, I opened my eyes to see the girl watching me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, for her ears only.
A heavy single tear dripped from her eye and skidded down her cheek. “Not the first time. I had a baby once.”
I saw in her thoughts the rest she didn’t say, that she’d only been twelve and her mulatto son had died at birth.
I wanted to castrate Johansson right then, and every other male slave owner for good measure. Or take all his memories so that he’d be as helpless as a baby. Only Frances stopped me from taking the time, because I’d seen her in his mind, along with the rest when they arrived with Cardiff. She was in the house and that meant, one way or the other, I had to go inside and free her.
I arose. “We need you to keep quiet about our being here,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “Get back to the house. Not a word.”
Her eyes fell to Johansson. “He’ll kill me when he wakes.”
“He won’t remember, I swear to you. I have this.” I reached inside my jacket and down my shirt, pulling out the small talisman nestled between my breasts. It had been carved back in 1755 by the oldest slave on the Savannah plantation. At the time, I’d been with Wymon and Eva for ten years. Ten years since I’d murdered Simon, and my nightmares had disrupted the household. The slave told me it was African magic and that it would make the nightmares stop. They did stop, and though I was sure it was more because o
f his kindness than any magic, I’d carried the talisman with me on missions ever since.
The girl’s soft gasp told me she believed in magic. This would be more understandable to her than my own ability, which I supposed could be viewed as a magic of sorts instead of an inborn skill.
“Go on,” I said. She nodded and hurried into the darkness past Smith. I stood as he abandoned his watch and strode in my direction. He carried a dark bag I hadn’t seen before.
“A little alcohol isn’t going to stop Johansson from remembering what I did to him,” he said. “And if I don’t go into that party and give my people the signal when he finally wakes from his sweet dreams, he won’t be arrested and the people he kidnapped will be sold as slaves.”
“If you clean up, he won’t recognize you.” I almost added, “I didn’t,” but stopped myself. “But at this point, I’m not sure you should do anything. Johansson isn’t calling the shots anymore, if he ever was. Some man called Cardiff is in charge.”
“The man who owns this place.” He shrugged, his expression hardening. “Doesn’t matter. If he knows that Johansson has been abducting free people, he should be arrested as well.”
His eager righteousness was admirable, but he knew nothing of the Emporium and their viciousness. If they couldn’t free their agent by bribery or force, they’d simply fake a death and move him elsewhere. A shot through the head might hurt Cardiff temporarily, but he’d awake to do more damage within days.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “Cardiff is dangerous. You stay away from him. He’s my problem.”
Smith’s eyes regarded me unwaveringly. Even in the dim light, I could see their color, but I didn’t recognize his expression, and for once, his emotions, though I could feel them, were unclear. My heartbeat increased.
“All right,” he said finally. “You can have Cardiff while I’ll take on this clown.” He thumbed down at Johansson. “I’ll go in the house and make sure it’s all set up.” He dropped his bag and began unbuttoning his shirt.
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