Except this Carla probably isn't stupid. She'll have enough anti-shifter weapons to stop an army, I'm sure. If she can afford to have eight immunes kill themselves for entertainment, then she can damn well afford more besides.
We'll have to tread carefully. To make sure that we don't end up discarded on the side as well.
I scrunch my hand into a fist. Don't worry, Emma. We're coming for you. We'll get you out of this mess.
Somehow.
Emma
I watch as Carla sips some expensive Turkish tea, fanning herself by the window, looking down upon an underground arena, where she will host her Hunt. It's so big that I can't see the end of it. Seems like she's taken the biggest underground warehouses, maybe even cave systems in the world, and converted them to a Hunt ground.
No one bothered mentioning to me that this park existed. Sure, it seems to be hidden like Janus's underground arena, but this place is huge. It's practically a damn city underneath. There's shops and market stalls that cede to all nationalities. There's even hotels. It's an entire underground area that seems to be predominantly geared towards shifters – and there's an odd, glowing circle not so far from our current hotel.
“What is that?” I say, pointing at it. Carla invited me in, along with Lisa Arrow, and she doesn't have any guards on her. Like she's confident there's absolutely nothing we can do against her. And she's probably right. I don't see how I can fight a snake that spits poison. Sure, she doesn't have her snake on at the moment, and looks like an exotic, dark eyed, dark haired woman with olive skin. What I don't understand is whatever's driven her to be here. Maybe even to construct it, for all I know.
“It's the portal of a Djinn. We use them commonly in the Middle East to transport between regions. But you need special permission from the Djinn themselves to be allowed through.”
I just gape. “It's magic?” I mean, I knew that shapeshifters could transform. But magic?
“It's not really magic,” Carla says, greatly enjoying my confusion. Lisa, meanwhile, is sitting listlessly on the sofa, not really staring at anything. Her eyes are like blank slates, not letting anything in. “It's dimension walking. It's just science. If you know how to travel between dimensions, it's no big deal to fold space to travel distances.”
“Uh, okay.” I continue watching the portal, as if expecting someone to jump through it at any moment.
Sure sounds like magic to me. I don't get her wibbly wobbly dimension stuff.
“Lisa,” she says suddenly, turning to face the senator's daughter, “be a dear, will you, and come over here?”
At first, I expected that Carla had compelled Lisa to come over, but Lisa stares at her, utterly baffled, and remains quite still for a moment. Then, she gets up and ventures over to join us.
“You didn't command me,” she mumbles, and her voice is a low, heartbreaking monotone.
“I should think you've had enough of that!” Carla's crimson lips spread in a smile. “I don't pretend to be a good person, but I do so hate abuse of women. So while you're in my company, you'll have as much free will as possible. Well, while being stuck with me, of course!”
Lisa bobs her head, before gathering the courage to say, “And will I return home?”
“In time, my dear. When you're past your trauma enough – I'm not sending you back broken!” Carla fixes me with a rather evil smile. “How do you look forward to the chance to win the ultimate prize – turning into a shapeshifter?”
“I don't,” I say, completely serious. I have no interest, no desire to be one of them. Even if that means in the future, that it might be hard to live with Richard or Tarren... I don't think I want to live past my normal designated years. I've seen how weary humans get at an earlier age. I've heard my own mother talk about feeling like she's living too long already.
Same old days, same old things, she tells me.
And it's why I'm nervous of entering the Hunt now. If I want to survive, I'll need to win. I'm no fighter. I've only been to shooting ranges a few times in my life, and I can only handle small, striker guns. The few archery lessons I've had have resulted in me sometimes hitting near the target, but most often missing it entirely.
And with this little experience, they expect me to kill?
I'm fucking done.
I win, I'll be turned into a shifter. And if I don't win, I'll likely be dead.
Fuck me, right? If Tarren and Richard find out about this, they'll flip.
“That's a shame,” Carla muses. Her red lips wrinkle together like a prune, and her polished nails clasp together, letting the pearl beads on her wrists clank together. It's a strangely intimidating sight, and I'm not sure how to react. I'm a little nervous of antagonizing her so I end up getting that potent venom splashed near my skin. I've heard by now that Janus is dead. Powerful and mighty shifter, and all it took was another one spitting at him to end him. And he likely had no idea he was poisoned until too late.
I for one have never heard of a shifter that can do what she's done. All the ones in America seem to be foxes, coyotes, bears, wolves, big cats and dragons. No snakes or Djinn or whatever. So that makes me realize that shifters must be different all around the world.
“Is there any way I can just... choose not to?” I know I sound stupid for saying this, but she doesn't seem to look at me like I am.
“Well, yes. You can pass it along to the next winner. Assuming you chose to spare one another. Or you can name someone to give it to.”
Lisa does a little awkward jerk at this, and both of us examine her. I then remember what Richard told me about his brother and Lisa.
How she was supposed to be terminally ill. Inoperable. Only a matter of time until she died.
In all the rush, I forgot about that.
Carla's not going to let me go. I know that. She'll put me in the competition.
However, if any of the immunes were obtained the same way I was – there's a chance that they might choose to cooperate to kill the Hunted and split the prize. Maybe they're not terminally ill or anything. Just there with the rare ability of immunity.
“Guess I'll look into passing it, then,” I say with a small smile. The snake woman lets out an arduous sigh, before stretching luxuriously, her opals glittering in the strong underground lights. Finally, I see someone pass through the shimmering gray portal. Looks like a werewolf at first glance, but when I study them closer, I realize they look more like a jackal. Like Anubis from Egyptian mythology.
Interesting.
Well, at least Carla's not torturing me. So that's something.
* * *
Hours before I'm due to take the Hunting stage, I speak to my opponents. We're all gathered in the waiting room, ready to enter the huge underground jungle. And we have the chance to size each other up.
And, since I have little time to lose, I'm straightforward with my announcement.
“Anyone here actually want to be here for the chance of winning the prize?” I say, watching as two women, five men turn to stare at me. They're sat in various positions on leather chairs, like rows of an airport waiting room. All wearing ceremonial white attire, like I've been forced into. People of different nationalities. Can't even be sure they all speak English. “The reason I ask is because I'm not. So maybe we can consider an alliance where we just split the prize money at the end. As for the shifting, unless one of you really needs it, I was thinking of giving it to a terminally ill friend of mine,” I tell them.
They all stare at me blankly, and I start to wonder if they even understood me, or if they just didn't care about my announcement.
Then one of them lets out a derisive laugh. Her lips curl into scorn. “No fucking way.” Indeterminable accent. “So you can stab me in the back?”
One of the men, however, a small, stocky man with weedy blue eyes, bobs his head and gives me a smile with terrible, crooked teeth. “Spose I can do it, luv. I ain't interested in this arsery. Am interested in staying alive.”
He looks about as trus
tworthy as a starving lion, but right now, I need to look like I'm collecting allies. Tarren will probably shriek at me for being a gullible idiot, Richard would be mad, and my mother's diatribe about not trusting them shifters would be ringing out about now. “Great! I swear to you all that I just want to live. You can have all my money and split it. I don't need it, I don't want it.”
“You think they'll let us free after this?” A tall man speaks this time. Blonde, blue eyed. Has a curious, loud and curt way of speaking. Dutch, I think. “Who is to say we won't be kept longer?”
I shrug. “I don't know. But it might help if we can at least, you know, live.”
The Dutch man considers me for a moment, before getting up to shake my hand. “Sure,” he says. “I can't see how much worse it will be, anyway.”
With two people agreed, the others now look under pressure, since they know that if we stick to our arrangement, we will have an advantage over them. Finally, a butch woman, who looks in her early forties, with short red hair and a hard, tough face, comes to shake my hand as well.
“Let us do it,” she says, in a soft voice, at odds with her appearance. Again, not an accent I can place. “I am Kalina.” She examines the other two. “The handsome Dutch man is Johan, and the small British man is Adam. We have had time to speak to one another.” Given that Kalina's built like a tank, I can see why it's easy for her to assume a leadership position. The other four Hunters, however, don't look particularly interested.
“Yeah, fuck that,” one of the men say. “You're vipers. I'll be taking the shifter prize for myself.”
The remaining two who haven't spoken keep their silence. Not wanting to share anything, acting inscrutable.
Well. Looks like it's Kalina, Adam and Johan. I sit with them, probe a little into their backgrounds, how they ended up here. Adam apparently used to be homeless, living in the great underground of London, scrounging through trash cans and supermarket dumpsters for food, and visiting soup kitchens. Johan, despite his immense size and features, is only twenty-one, and worked in a call center in Bulgaria for about a year. He and Kalina were coincidentally in the same call center team, and they both got themselves scooped up when Carla sent feelers for immunes and took them to some shifter city in Algeria. One in a gazillion chance for those two.
After I tell them my background, and where Carla retrieved me from, they're quite intrigued, and finally, Adam manages to say, “Well, spose I can understand why you don't want the money, then. You've got yourselfs some rich bastards in your view.”
“More or less,” I say, being careful. “Money is not something I need, and I'd really rather not be a shifter. I was considering passing the shifting to the senator's daughter since I think she'll be dead soon, but I don't know what the story is with you three.” We're all sat in a circle, having dragged our chairs together, determined to make this work. It's a good sign everyone's being engaged, though we're getting some surly glances from the other four. I was right about my psychological assessment, anyway.
These people aren't in it out of a desperation to win the ultimate prize. They're coerced into it because Carla wants to put on a show. On the wall screens, I see the crowds filling out, and a lot of them seem wealthy, with their own entourages, glittering clothes, and extravagant attitudes. One's even brought a pet giraffe on a chain.
Guess when people from different countries get together, they can't resist showing off.
“Sickens me,” Adam growls, staring at the crowd. “Never liked them Hunts, even when I saw them on the telly. Britain tries to make out it's like some friendly cultural sport, but give me rugby any day.” He shrugs. “Admit I'd like the money. Get me a place of me own. Don't care about that shifting nonsense.”
Kalina nods as well. “Bulgaria is poor, wage wise. I would not mind getting money. It doesn't cost too much to buy a plot of land. I could have a farm with some chickens and cows.”
Johan wrinkles his nose. “Guess money's nice. I work in Bulgaria, too. I was thinking of buying a whole chain of properties and renting them out, once I got enough. Is nice thought.”
“Dobre,” Kalina says, grinning widely at Johan. “Maybe we can make it work out together, da?”
“How cheap's a house in Bulgaria?” Adam gapes at them. “It's not like the prize money's that high. Hundred k, innit?”
“You can get one with your cut,” Kalina says. “Maybe get one on the same farm as me, ne?”
“Hmm. I don't speak forrin, though.” Adam however, wears a dreamy, distant look. As if he sees a different future panning out in front of him.
Well, if they do make it work out, then perhaps I'll be lucky. We can win the competition, and I'll pass the shifting to Lisa. Job done.”
“There is one problem,” Kalina says, her voice dropping to a low growl. “The audience do not like to see us start straight away as a group. It is not as exciting. We will need to seem uh... what is word – spontaneous. Like we made the group up on the way.”
Not so good. I doubt the audience will be fooled, but I sit with them, thinking how we're going to do it, to pull it off convincingly. I also warn them that the others might feel threatened enough to form their own group. “And if anyone else wants to join now, we should refuse. I don't think we can trust them.”
Not that I'm certain I can trust these people, either.
But still. Gotta survive, somehow.
We continue sitting there, brainstorming together. Sudden allies when our potential deaths loom close.
Best not to think about what might happen afterwards. And best to remember that if I do make it out, I'll have people waiting for me. People who will miss me.
Richard
I'm not invited to see this Carla, but Tarren is. However, I'm allowed to sit in the audience at least. Already on the edge of my seat, having spotted Emma among the Hunters. I want to transform, smash through the barrier separating us and just seize her and fly out. Except it won't work like that. I won't even make it past the front seat rows before I'm shot down. It's organized so efficiently, it may as well be an official Hunt. Security everywhere. International sponsors. Items being sold for thousands of dollars in the pop-up markets.
So much wealth everywhere. Snake woman's pulling out all the stops on this. My father was always wary of interacting with Falaks, mostly because he didn't want to be accidentally killed – even if a Falak wasn't intending to harm someone, if they got too excited and shifted into snake form, there was every chance of being poisoned.
I don't see Carla as a foe, exactly. Not in the way Janus was. But she's dangerous. She clearly has a set plan for how things should be done. The odds are displayed on the side, and Emma as the newcomer has the worst odds. She's an unknown, and her occupation seems to be listed as “Profiler.” So Emma must have not mentioned her former position as a Private Investigator. And there's a commentator saying that we should underestimate a Profiler, because they'll know how to talk to other people – most likely Emma will try and form a team, making a risk assessment on the personalities of everyone there. The commentator goes on to talk about who he thinks will be most likely to form an alliance.
The lights dim. Tarren makes his way back to me at last, elbowing past some rowdy crowd members to give me a sigh. “She's keeping Lisa Arrow until she thinks Lisa will not paint the shifters in an unfavorable light. The girl's traumatized. Janus fucked her up, and Carla hates crimes towards women because she's sexist.”
“You gonna let her keep the girl?” I'm surprised, since I thought Tarren would try to one-up Carla.
“Don't really see an alternative. Don't think she'll hurt Lisa. But Lisa's going to die anyway, so I'm wondering if she just plans to keep the girl until her life span's up.”
“Wouldn't surprise me.” I scowl. I don't think I like the sound of this woman. And when I see her appear in the VIP viewer's box with other wealthy spectators, I get the impression of a femme fatale, smiling behind a deadly mask. Her lips are so red they look like smears of blood.
And her eyes hold no warmth at all. Make me think of black holes.
The commentator seems to pick up a signal from her, and he excitedly gabbles, “And in five minutes the Hunt will begin! One of the most expensive Hunts in history, with eight immune humans nonetheless, and a truly despicable criminal that no one will mind seeing dead. Look, here he is, now! Darius Karhold. Look at this vile slime. Look at him.” With the commentator's venom, the crowd begins to boo and jeer. The screens focus on Karhold, and the truly irritating thing is, he doesn't look like a criminal. He looks like he might have been a respectable man fallen on bad times.
But at the sight of Karhold, Tarren leans forward with bloodless lips, eyes burning with extreme loathing. He wants badly to kill this person. Despite everything, I wonder if Tarren didn't make enough effort, because he doesn't want to jeopardize this enemy of his from being killed. The thought settles uneasily in my gut. Maybe he really doesn't care for Emma as much as I believed him to. But this kind of hatred – it's something personal. He knew these people. And he keeps that secret close to his heart.
What secrets do I keep? Only the fact that I do want to settle down. I don't want to just go around fucking people forever, the endless bachelor of the shifter world. I want a family. I want good, strong genes. And maybe someone like Emma.
“Darius Karhold, may I remind you,” the commentator with his brazen, confident voice continues to shout over the crowd in his megaphone, “was part of a sex trafficking ring that dealt primarily with children.”
Shrieks and screams of outrage. Some of the men and women are standing up in their seats and hurling abuse, shaking their fists.
“You heard me right, ladies and gentlemen! This utter scumbag sold, tortured and killed little children. I have a daughter who is eight! And he'd abuse her, make her suffer! I certainly won't be weeping any tears for his disappearance!” The commentator himself puffs up like a chicken, his blonde beard bristling. He's sending hatred, stoking up the crowd into a frenzy, until they're chanting kill, kill, kill!
Seducing Two Serial Killers Page 17