The lushly appointed room featured a two-section Georgian antique table and chairs, a fine Persian carpet, built-in bookcases full of dusty books and bookends, and gruesome trophy heads of big game animals. Staff rumor claimed they were shifters, but from their smell, they were composited fakes.
He locked the door with a flick of magic and froze the surveillance cameras, so all they’d see and hear was impatient Arturo, arms crossed, foot tapping, and a brown-skinned female shifter in chains, looking at the floor. He doubted anyone reviewed the footage, much less monitored the room in real time, but skipping little details got agents in trouble.
He left Chekal standing while he quickly went around the double-pedestal table to the cabinet that hid the wet bar and opened it. He tried the small bathroom and its shallow supply closet, but no luck. No residual portal magic.
The executive board arrived without warning, so they had to have used a hidden stable portal. He’d have felt the power from a temporary portal or personal transport spell. He’d detected no fixed wizard portals in the facility, but he was nearly blind to fairy magic unless he used elven magic, which left traces he couldn’t afford. This was the only room he hadn’t been in.
“Nothing worth stealing?” She leaned one shoulder against the wall. Her tone was half taunt, half curiosity.
He frowned. Arturo didn’t like smart-mouthed shifters. Arvik didn’t want her to think even worse of him than she already did. He edged around the table, closer to her. “I’m looking for the way in.”
He only saw her eyebrow twitch because he was mesmerized by her intelligent brown eyes flecked with gold. Awake, she was even more stunning than when she’d been a sleeping beauty. He’d avoided her gaze until then for just that very hazard.
She pushed herself off the wall. “Trade you. I can find hidden things.”
He dragged his eyes away from her to glance at the door and the ornamental clock on the wall. “What do you want—your freedom?”
Our mate will see us, said his animals. He shushed them, since they weren’t making sense. He got a whiff of wet wool and copper. Her scent wasn’t making sense, either.
“Pfffft,” she said dismissively, then caught his eye. “Sales records.”
Unrelated facts snapped into place. He’d been so distracted by the endgame, her electrifying presence, and his suddenly loquacious animals, he’d nearly missed it. Rayne Chekal was an agent.
Considering she was an extraordinary shifter with magic… “You’re with the Shifter Tribunal.”
She cocked her head and gave him a speculative look. A corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re with the Wizard Imperium?”
Trust her, demanded his animals.
He hesitated, then nodded. He hoped to hell his animals were right.
She blew out an exasperated breath that lifted a lock of her hair. “Just once, would it hurt the magical-world policing agencies to fucking talk to each other?”
He smiled wryly. “And admit to the others they have a problem?”
His plans were already in motion, but he could still help her. “Aldenrud has two sets of books, one just for him. Are you looking for names or money?”
“Names. What’s your target?”
“The true owners.” He smiled lopsidedly. “They’re behind on their dues.” The North American Wizard Imperium deserved its former reputation for tolerating any wizard project as long as it didn’t endanger the secrets of the hidden world of magic and the Imperium got a percentage. He wouldn’t be working for them if they hadn’t mostly cleaned up their act.
She smiled briefly in response, then pointed to the far wall where trophy heads surrounded a museum-sized oil painting of a landscape view out a window. “Illusion of a portal. Feels like it’s armed and alarmed.” She pointed to the table. “That pulls apart. It’s a dormant fairy portal. I’ve seen one like it.”
A noise in the hall galvanized him. He broke open her shackles with a flick of power. “Can you leave via the portal?”
“Don’t know where it goes. Besides, not without the records.” Her expression said he’d waste his breath trying to persuade her.
It didn’t make him happy that she wouldn’t be safe, but he respected her choice. Not that she’d appreciate or trust his unexpectedly strong protective impulse. “We have forty-five minutes. My people are among the buyers.”
“What about the executive board?”
“Not my people.” He frowned. “I thought they were a paper fiction for the dummy corporation.”
She tilted her head. “Then we’d better go see them before they come looking for us.” She bent to scoop up both sets of shackles. “Can you make it so I can open these?”
“Yes. Do you have backup?”
She held out the ankle shackles. “These are cool. Can I keep them?”
He shrugged. “They’re not tracked anymore.” Before he could ask what she intended, she shifted into a tall, slender, big-maned wolf that had no remnants of clothes on its body. It only took seconds. Moments later, she shifted back equally quickly, again wearing the blood-stained T-shirt and sweats. She held the wrist shackles, but the ankle shackles were gone.
He struggled to ignore the sensual effects of her wave of unusual magic. Warm and addicting, a lover’s hand caressing him as intimately as an ocean current. “I’ve never seen anyone shift so fast, except maybe birds.”
“I’m a slug compared to my sister.” She snapped the shackles onto her wrists.
He flicked his magic over them. “Tap them together three times fast, and they’ll spring open.”
A distant shout from the hallway spurred him into action. He pulled himself into the persona of disgruntled, stick-up-his-ass Arturo. Grabbing the lead chain from Rayne’s shackles, he opened the boardroom door, then stomped out of the room with Rayne, pulling the door shut.
Just in time, because the guard named Perry rounded the corner. “What are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” declared Arvik-as-Arturo. “Aldenrud said to bring her to the executive board, but I’ve got better things to do than stand around for hours with a barely-conscious shifter waiting for them to show up.”
“You were supposed to take her to the auction wing.” Perry keyed the microphone on her shoulder and spoke into it. “He’s at the boardroom door with Chekal. Says you told him to go there.”
She listened a moment through her earbud, then nodded. “On our way.” She tapped her microphone again, then glared at Rayne’s ankles. “Where are the rest of her shackles?”
Rayne’s dazed expression matched the sagging exhaustion in her shoulders and slumped posture. Good, she’d taken his hint.
“Those are all I could find that worked.” He waved in the direction of the prisoner wing and poured on the sarcasm. “I’m sure Aldenrud and the board will wait with patience while you show me where the extra sets are stored.” He held out the lead chain to her.
Perry backed away, shaking her head. “Keep it. I’ll stay upwind.” She waved a hand under her nose. “Can’t you smell her?”
He curled a lip. “Shifters all smell like unwashed animals to me.”
Perry laughed. “True, that.”
She turned and led the way down the hall at a brisk pace.
Arvik trudged noisily behind her, pulling Rayne’s chain like she was an untrained puppy, as was Arturo’s habit. She undoubtedly understood the need to stay in character, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it.
The air-conditioned auction hall consisted of wide aisles of luxury theatre-style seating for the buyers and a raised stage and presentation area for the merchandise.
On the stage, the twelve mobile booths for displaying the captives were clustered together at the far end, dark and empty. A ragged line of forty shifters stood in front of them across the stage, shackled together like a road-work chain gang. They’d even managed to get trembling Lerro into the room, supported by two other shifters. Fresh blood stained the front of his T-shirt.
Arvik bur
ied unbidden dark memories of mid nineteenth-century slave blocks, when he’d bought slaves with abolitionist money to send them on the underground railroad. At the time, he’d felt superior because at least he wasn’t as bad as humans. Then he’d stumbled across a ring of multi-species shifters that trafficked in captured elves, fairies, and wraiths. He cherished no more illusions about his kind.
Aldenrud and Balton welcomed him as if they were happy party hosts, heartily directing him to hand the shifter over to the guards and then to come join them.
In the audience sat the board, three men and three women who could have posed for a stock photo for new-age corporation executives, exhibiting varying degrees of interest.
Aldenrud introduced him as “young Magister Díaz, our tech wizard.”
Arvik-as-Arturo smiled with condescending pride, then maneuvered close to Balton so he could speak quietly. “They’re all wearing high-powered glamours.” The bland exteriors matched their equally bland names.
“Of course they are. Standard practice these days,” Balton murmured, smiling patronizingly. “Can’t be too careful, with a camera in every cell phone and tablet.”
Arvik nodded in agreement. The only thing the hidden and ancient species of the world agreed on was that humankind wasn’t even close to ready to learn about their existence. Still, it meant he’d have to figure out how to peek under the glamours without them knowing.
A black-haired white woman in a pastel pink and green suit looked up from her phone. “Is that all of them, then?”
“Yes, Ms. Gray.” Aldenrud beamed at them. “Ready for the exclusive sale.”
Balton leaned close to Arvik. “The shifters look like crash-test dummies. Glam them up before the buyers get here.” He sketched a brief arcane symbol with his finger, meaning he wanted Arvik to use magic enhancers to make them more attractive.
A long-faced Italian-looking man introduced as Mr. Smith, who should not have listened to whoever recommended his plaid jacket, sat forward. “We’ve heard a disturbing allegation that you have secret mythic shifters that you plan to sell for a high price. And keep the extra profit.”
Balton’s jaw dropped. Arvik-as-Arturo mimicked the surprise, while trying to guess the board’s angle.
“Nonsense,” said Aldenrud firmly. “You’ve just examined the shifters we’re selling. Do they seem mythic to you?”
“Prove it,” demanded Smith. “Order them to shift.”
Costigan, the auctioneer, came around her podium. “Certainly, Mr. Smith, as long as you take personal responsibility for controlling them once we remove the shackles so they can shift. Perhaps we should start with the gorilla, or the rhinoceros?”
Arvik assumed a suitably alarmed expression while watching to see if the board bought Costigan’s bluff. No one left in the facility could force a shifter to change form if they didn’t want to.
Aldenrud smiled like a used-car salesman and pointed to the giant flat display mounted on the wall. “Why don’t we show you the intake photos we show to buyers?”
Smith laughed derisively. “You could be showing us pictures from the zoo.”
Costigan shrugged. “Stay for the auction and track the sales.”
“Oh, we intend to,” said Gray, cutting off Smith. “We just wanted to see what you’d say. And we’ll start by reviewing the financials and sales records.” She waved limp fingers dismissively. “You can take the smelly creatures away now.”
Aldenrud nodded to the five guards. They set about herding the shuffling shifters out through the double doors.
Arvik turned to follow, only to be pulled aside by Balton. “You stay here. Keep them entertained.” He smiled as if he had everything in hand. “Text me if they go anywhere but the boardroom.”
Balton strode away with Aldenrud before Arvik-as-Arturo could come up with an excuse to get out of the order.
All hell was about to break loose, and he was stuck babysitting the board that he’d presumed were as mythical as the supposed mythic shifters they were after.
Shifters like him. And unless he missed his guess, shifters like Rayne.
4
“Hey, Foster.” Perry stood at the top of the ramp, hands on her hips. “Let’s just leave ’em chained up in the corridor. It’s only thirty minutes.”
The three other guards had gone off after speaking with Aldenrud, who had disappeared into the administrative wing with Balton. Rayne hadn’t forgotten Díaz’s comment about two sets of books and wondered if Balton knew.
She stood in the back of the line, head down, shoulders slumped. No prospect of food or painkillers anytime soon, so she ignored her hollow stomach and tender nose.
The shifter in front of her, Lerro, sneezed into his cupped hands. His trembling seemed to have calmed for the moment, but he reeked of blood, old and fresh. The shifter in front of him rumbled a wordless threat to back off. The reaction spread down the chain.
“Nah.” Foster continued opening the cell doors. “Buyers don’t go for the prison inmate look. We have to separate them. And we still gotta feed ’em.”
Rayne considered her options. Díaz, which probably wasn’t his name, had thrown a wrench into her plans. As far as she could tell, all mate biology was good for was hot sex and making babies. It certainly didn’t tell her if she could trust him.
The Wizard Imperium was another wrench. Oh sure, the buyer group would likely include their agents, but they might be more interested in stealing the business than delivering justice.
To be fair, Díaz might be equally wary of the Shifter Tribunal. Their history of brutality, corruption, infighting, and defending any shifter misbehavior, however heinous, was legendary. Not all that long ago, Tribunal enforcement had involved blood and fire instead of law and justice.
She stole a peek at Foster’s big wristwatch as he walked by. If Díaz’s timetable still held, his buyers would arrive in twenty minutes, presumably with reinforcements.
Her own reinforcements were already in the auction room, posing as the board. She felt guilty about not telling Díaz, but mate potential didn’t make him an ally.
She’d be a lot more successful at ignoring her doubts if her inner wolf wasn’t fretting about the supposed board member Smith’s unexpected interest in mythic shifters. She didn’t know the male under the illusion of a plaid-wearing wise-guy lawyer. Like most field agents, she stayed as far away from the halls of power as she could, in case “desk job” was catching.
Maybe Smith planned to offer her up to the buyers as a distraction. Dire wolves weren’t mythic, they were throwbacks, but not all shifters made the distinction, and wizards probably didn’t know the difference. Smith might consider her an acceptable loss for the greater objective.
Or maybe someone had betrayed Díaz. Agents, powerful wizards, and hidden three-spirit shifters probably collected more enemies than honest politicians did, and he was all three. And he would definitely be of interest to the Tribunal.
He’ll be fine, she assured her agitated wolf. He’s got magic and centuries of experience.
Before all the fireworks started, she needed to know about the defenses in the new wing. It hadn’t been designed to hold shifters, and its overabundance of magic made her itchy. She sent her own magic looking for security systems.
A loud alarm on the nearby cell’s control panel sounded.
Rayne tamped her magic and looked at the panel like everyone else did. Stupid to have forgotten the ubiquitous magic detection spells, which compensated for guards’ inability to sense magic.
Perry swore. “This place is falling apart.” She stomped down the ramp to the panel, where she pounded on it with the butt of her nightstick until the alarm stopped.
Rayne dropped her head again and finished her magical evaluation while her luck still held.
Damn. Once again, her plans weren’t surviving contact with reality. The air ducts had enough explosives to implode the entire wing. Probably a leftover failsafe against the former ancient-races captives, but it wou
ld kill the shifters just as dead.
It was too early to send the “get out of jail” signal to her reinforcements, but she had no choice. She wouldn’t leave the shifters to die. She triggered the spell she’d readied months ago, back when her plans seemed so elegant.
The panel beeped weakly. Perry hit it hard enough to crack the glass.
In the meantime, maybe Rayne could help the captives get to safety. When the raid started, the few remaining guards would be no match for rampaging shifters, but the new automatic weapons protecting the hub would make it a killing field. She’d counted six barrels with high-capacity ammo drums when she’d been through. She sent her magic looking for how to sabotage them.
Perry holstered her nightstick and turned to Foster. “You unhook them and get them into the cells. I’ll shoot anyone who gives you shit.”
She backed up the ramp and pulled out a .45 long Colt handgun with charmed ammo and a bespelled lightning rod issued to all guards. Perry compensated for her slight size by being fast and accurate with the multiple weapons she carried. “Leave the wrist shackles on. They can still eat. Save us work later.”
In the hub’s guns system, Rayne found what felt like a central node and took a chance to surge power to it. Lights flickered. Another alarm went off. She shook off the light-headed feeling. Nothing a week-long nap and a well-stocked all-you-can-eat buffet couldn’t fix.
Foster walked back up the line and stopped in front of her and Lerro. “Ankles out.”
They complied. He pulled a slender charmed rod out of his pocket, extended it, and touched it to the chain. The shackles dropped to the floor.
Foster pointed the rod toward the cell. “Go.”
Before Rayne could move, a voice at the top of the ramp stopped her.
“What are you doing?” The board member introduced as Gray stood with her fists on her hips, glaring. Her tone was sharper than her spike heels.
Perry winced before smoothing her face. “Putting them in cells so we can feed them. Standard procedure.” She spoke calmly, but her hand twitched on the handle of the lightning rod.
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