by Megan Derr
Bergrin sighed. "I suppose you have theories on that as well."
"Not really," Johnnie said. "My money would be on a collector, since as I said, selkies come up rarely. However, any alchemist or witch with sufficient funds would find a selkie of interest." He looked over the small crowd of potential buyers, grateful that his eyes were long accustomed to the dark.
Wealthy men and women, though several looked more like stewards sent to stand as proxy for their employers. By the look of them, not a single person present would be able to outbid him easily. Ontoniel had always been very generous in seeing his sons had more than sufficient funds, because once they came of age they were largely responsible for their own finances.
Johnnie had taken particular care in learning finances. Unless he did something phenomenally stupid, which was impossible, money was no object. He glanced toward the arena where the auctions would be held, and saw from the equipment being set out by assistants that money was to be by wire transfer. That made things easier.
Bergrin shifted impatiently beside him, but Johnnie said nothing. He was just starting to get bored himself, though, when the lights went down and the bidding finally began. Johnnie listened with disinterest to the opening comments, and the information rattled off about the first item up for bid—but his attention was arrested as they dragged the imp in question out onto the arena floor.
He was in a terrible state; clearly the imp had not gone down without a fight. One horn was broken—that would decrease the value—a wing was torn, and he was bandaged in half a dozen places. They had not even given the imp clothes to wear; he stood shivering beneath the harsh spotlights.
Johnnie's anger grew as around him the other men and women began to bid with an air of privileged boredom. The bidding went on, his anger increasing as rapidly as the price. When the bidding finally seemed to stall out at $100,000, Johnnie called out, "$200,000."
A startled silence fell, then the auctioneer called for more bids. When none came, he closed the bidding. Johnnie leaned over and murmured several numbers in Bergrin's ear. Without ever saying a word, Bergrin stood and moved to the tables where money was to be paid. While Bergrin did that, Johnnie turned his attention back to the bidding, where another imp was on the block.
He bought that one as well, and every abnormal to come after that. Finally, the auctioneer announced the final bid of the evening—a selkie, middle-aged but in extremely good health, strong physically and magically, handsome and quiet, should not be too hard to train.
The bidding on Mark started at $25,000. It quickly climbed to $200,000. Selkies were less powerful than most other abnormals, but they were rarely seen on land and because they excelled at hiding their skins, hard to capture.
When the bidding seemed to settle at $300,000, Johnnie raised it to $600,000. Across the room, a man raised it to $750,000. Sneering, Johnnie took the bidding to an even million.
"Just who the hell does he think he is?" The man across the room loudly demanded, shaking his head in refusal when the auctioneer looked to him to raise the bid. From the seat above him, a woman in a sleek gray suit bent and murmured something in his ear, causing the loud-mouthed man to blanche and fall silent.
Johnnie winced to think what his father would do to him when he learned that Johnnie had just dropped a cool two million buying up would-be slaves. Because no matter what he did, his father would find out—between the other bidders and his bodyguard, there were too many people who would love to chat with his father right now.
The bidding wrapped up, and Bergrin returned from where he had remained by the payment table to see that only the proper amounts of money changed hands. "They said they'll have your goods waiting by the loading dock out back."
Johnnie nodded, spinning his cane in his hand. "Then let us go pick them up." He pulled out his cell phone and hit the button for his car service. "Send three cars," he said, and gave the address. "Yes, I said three. What I did not do was ask you to question me. Thank you."
Returning the phone to his pocket, he strode from the arena, back through the building, and around to the loading dock, Bergrin a silent shadow at his side. They were stopped halfway around the building by a group of disgruntled men, including the one who had loudly demanded to know who the hell Johnnie was. "So, what?" the man demanded. "You think because you're some Dracula's kid that you can just come in and buy up everything?"
Smirking, Johnnie replied, "He who pays the piper calls the tune."
"What the fuck does that mean?" one of the other men muttered.
"It means yes," Bergrin said, stepping forward, pushing Johnnie slightly back. "Back off unless you want trouble."
The man sneered. "I'm not scared of you."
"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," Bergrin quoted.
"What's with all the stupid, snotty lines?" Another man complained.
Movement caught the corner of Johnnie's eye, and he turned his head slightly to see that his cars were arriving. Turning back to the group of men, he said, "I do not to have time for this. If you are offended by the fact I have more money and power than you, by all means take it up with my father. Bergrin, we go."
Bergrin nodded and stepped forward, the men parting around him. Johnnie walked on—and saw too late the man that came up from behind him. He brought his arm up to deflect whatever attack was coming, other hand going to the catch on his cane—but then the spell struck him.
In the next moment Bergrin moved, but almost immediately he froze again, a long knife dangling loosely in one hand. "What the fuck?"
Johnnie was equally confounded. He should not be standing unscathed. "The spell rebounded." That should not be possible. Noise distracted him briefly, and he saw that the rest of the men had fled. They were likely in no hurry to find out what else might rebound. Well, at least that solved one problem, even if it created others. He glanced back at Bergrin.
Bergrin glared at him. "So I take it you don't have magic defenses no one mentioned to me?"
"No," Johnnie replied. He knelt alongside the man who had tried to attack him. Magic filled his nostrils, stirred goose bumps on his skin. The man was twitching slightly, as people did when they dreamed; his mouth was twisted in a grimace of fear.
"Nightmare curse," Johnnie murmured, eyes sliding to meet Bergrin's equally pensive gaze. "Why would they try to cast a nightmare curse? That is a parlor trick, a child's prank."
Bergrin scowled. "I'd rather know why the fuck it bounced off you."
"Yes," Johnnie agreed, and rose. "I suggest we figure it out later."
"For once, we agree," Bergrin replied, and stood, sheathing the knife from wherever he had pulled it. He grabbed Johnnie's upper arm and dragged him along.
"Unhand—"
"Save it," Bergrin snapped. "This is my job and I'm doing it, Highness. If I must knock you out to do it, I will."
Johnnie rolled his eyes, but let himself be dragged along like an invalid. At the back of the warehouse, the seven abnormals he had purchased stood waiting. They had been given clothing, thankfully. They eyed him warily, but before Johnnie could reassure them he did not keep slaves, more men came rushing up from behind them. Bergrin shoved Johnnie toward the nearest car, then drew his wicked-looking knife again and lunged, steel flashing beneath the streetlights as he attacked the closest of the half-dozen men.
Swearing as he slammed into the car, Johnnie whipped around, and brought his cane up. "Get in the cars!" he called to the huddled abnormals. He turned to face the men coming at him, springing the release on his cane and drawing his sword just as one of them swung a knife. Steel rang against steel as he caught it against his sword.
The man was abruptly ripped away, and Bergrin towered over him and snarled, "Get in the car!" Taken aback by the tone, the flash of something—anger? Fear?—in Bergrin's hazel eyes, Johnnie got in the car. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he heard screams of pain that were like nothing he had ever heard before.
Then there was abruptly nothing b
ut silence.
Another moment passed, and the cars were moving. Johnnie punched the button to drop the glass between the passengers and the driver. "Where is Bergrin? My bodyguard?"
"He said go, Master Johnnie," the driver replied. "He was clearly not going to tolerate anything but 'yes, sir,' so I said 'yes, sir,' and drove."
Johnnie closed the glass again, then sat back in his seat and sheathed his sword. He fumed silently, scowling at his missing bodyguard. What was Bergrin doing, staying behind like that? How melodramatic, and he would only exacerbate it all later by heaping on the 'I told you so'. Johnnie really wanted to do something violent to the bastard, but of course he was nowhere to be found now because he was stuck fighting, and Johnnie hoped he was not dead. Was all of this really because he had spent money? That was too illogical to believe, and so he must deduce the real reason.
The spell, the answer had to be in that stupid, waste of time spell they had tried to cast on him—and which had rebounded. Why in the hell had a spell rebounded? That should only happen if there were heavy wards upon him, or if he had some relic that served essentially the same purpose. Neither was the case, unless there was something he did not know.
But that was unlikely. His father was over-protective, but he would not have spells cast on Johnnie without telling him because it was extremely dangerous for a person not to know the spells cast upon him, and therefore what people might try to do.
A nightmare curse was a cheap little trick used to scare normals and annoy abnormals. It was not fun, but generally being forced to endure a nightmare for a short period of time was only annoying. So why bother? As displeased as those men had been, the entire affair had not been worth all that had just transpired.
"Um—sir?"
Johnnie stirred from his thoughts and glanced at the man who had addressed him. Around his neck, the man wore a collar, from which dangled a gold necklace sealed in a warded mesh bag; so he was close to his skin, but not able to actually use it.
"You are Mark," Johnnie said.
Mark looked at him in surprise. "Yes," He said. "How—"
"There was an article in the newspaper about your disappearance; your wife was most distraught. I realized what was going on when I read the article, and came to find you."
"I…" Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. "And the others?"
Johnnie looked at him in brief annoyance. "Was I supposed to leave them there?"
"Uh—no, of course not. I didn't know if you were looking for them, too," Mark replied.
The other man in the car, an imp, stirred and looked at Johnnie. "Doubt he knew about us; I appreciate it all the same."
Johnnie shrugged, but said, "You are welcome."
"So is it true, what they were saying?" the imp asked. "That you're the son of the Dracula Desrosiers?"
"Yes," Johnnie said. "I am his younger son. Once Mark is reunited with his wife, and my companion has broken the wards upon all of you, the cars will take you wherever you want to go." As he finished speaking, they pulled into the driveway of Mark's house. Rostiya and Pearl came out a moment later, waiting on the front porch.
Mark sighed softly, eyes on his wife. "She knows now, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Johnnie replied.
Sighing again, Mark seemed to gather himself, then opened the car door and climbed out.
Johnnie glanced at the imp. "Best collect your companions and inform them of what I have told you," he said. "I will speak with Rostislav about your wards." When he climbed out of the car, Pearl was shouting and crying and pounding her fists on her husband's chest—but when Mark suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace, she did not protest. Moving to join Rostislav on the porch, Johnnie saw Rostislav smirk and snapped, "What?"
"What did you do, purchase every abnormal who went up for bid?"
"Why does that seem so strange?" Johnnie demanded. "What was I supposed to do, let them all be sold into slavery?"
Rostislav just laughed and shook his head. "Of course not. I guess you need me to break their wards?"
"Yes," Johnnie replied, and dismissed the matter, content to leave it to Rostislav and turn his attention to the problem at the docks. Where was his babysitter?
"What has you frowning so hard?" Rostiya asked when he returned a few minutes later to find Johnnie still scowling.
Tersely, Johnnie explained all that had transpired at the Pits. "That … that doesn't make any sense," Rostislav said. He reached out and splayed a hand on Johnnie's chest, eyes falling shut as he concentrated. He opened his eyes and withdrew his hand a couple of minutes later. "Nothing; there is nothing on you other than the residue of living your entire life surrounded by abnormals. Does your cane have protections of some sort?"
"No," Johnnie said, but handed it over for Rostislav to examine. "Neither does my dagger."
"I am at a loss," Rostislav said, returning the cane and shaking his head. "I think you will have to ask Ontoniel."
Johnnie winced at the mention of his father. Of course, it also reminded him that Bergrin was still nowhere to be found, and really, why had he not reappeared to yell at Johnnie and start in with the 'I told you so'. Had the idiot actually gotten himself killed? The thought turned Johnnie's blood cold, made his gut twist. Surely he had not—
"Johnnie?"
"Hmm?"
Rostiya was frowning at him. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Johnnie said. He started to ask if they could leave, but Pearl and Mark approached before he could get the question out.
"I can't thank you enough," Mark said, extending his hand.
Johnnie shook it. "No thanks are necessary. I am glad I was able to help. Hopefully you will be troubled no further."
Mark nodded. "We will probably move; find a quieter beach where I don't have to hide as much." He looked at his wife, who scowled, but squeezed his arm. "Really, whatever I can do to repay you, just ask. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life as some alchemist's slave. You've saved my life."
"I saw a mystery," Johnnie said. "I am glad all will be well."
Pearl stepped forward, nervous and curious and determined. "So—uh—is it true you're a vampire? I'm sorry, this is all so new—"
Johnnie shook his head. "No, I am not a vampire. I am a normal, much like you. My father, however, is a vampire. He adopted me when my parents were killed."
"Oh," Pearl said—then suddenly turned and thumped her husband's chest again.
Mark grimaced, but said nothing.
"We will leave you in peace," Johnnie said. "Do call, however, if there is further trouble with you or the others."
"Sure," Mark replied. "I'll see they all get to where they need to go, it's the least I can do. Thank you again, for helping all of us." Johnnie nodded. Mark hesitated, then asked, "Is your friend okay?"
"Yes," Johnnie said, though he was not at all certain of that. "Bergrin is very good at taking care of himself." He hoped. Fervently. There never should have been such a threat to his person, and if he had thought there would be, he would have … well, he probably would have done the same thing. Why had it all gone wrong, he wondered angrily. Nothing he had bid on—
Him, of course, Johnnie realized, furious with himself. They had probably thought to kidnap him, thinking Ontoniel would empty his coffers to get his son back.
Except …
Johnnie's gut twisted, sharp and painful. He ignored it, and focused on the facts.
Ontoniel's wife had murdered Johnnie's parents. A sense of guilt, and probably duty, drove Ontoniel to adopt Johnnie. As Ontoniel was very traditional, and held much stock in protocol, this had been a very earth-shattering thing for him to do.
He had raised Johnnie like a real son, but the truth was that Johnnie was not his real son. He would never marry another vampire, he could never contribute to the family the way Ellie did, he would never hold the more powerful positions in the supernatural world. He was, in a word, a burden. Even his little talent for solving mysteries amounted to nothing, so far as ev
eryone was concerned—including his father.
So would Ontoniel pay a ransom for him?
Johnnie could not see a practical reason that he would. He set Bergrin on him to avoid these problems, he supposed, and Ontoniel did care—but only, Johnnie sensed, to a point. So this entire mess and possibly Bergrin's life, had been for nothing. Ontoniel's honor would demand blood, but it would not require a ransom.
Ellie would require a ransom, not Johnnie.
Unable to continue thinking about it, he bid Mark and Pearl a last farewell.
"I'll stay here and help," Rostislav said, smiling. "Did you want me to send you home?"
"No," Johnnie said, "I will just take a car back."
"Come over later this week," Rostislav said.