“Then what?” Grace asked.
He lost Rebecca, or the woman who he thought was Rebecca, in the crowd. He turned to Grace in attempts to make sense of his own jumbled thoughts. He didn’t want to say anything yet, to give her false hope or endanger Rebecca. “I don’t know.”
“Did that lady work some type of magic on you already? It’s forbidden to play with the merchandise before they purchase.” A serious tone laced her words. “I can tell the manager.”
“No, no. It’s just—It’s a long story.” He searched for her again, but drawing attention to Rebecca wouldn’t help. He turned away from the crowd, worried his face may give something away.
“What are ya thinking, muscles? Better not be thinking about running again. I still have a damn headache from the last time.” Her voice was light, but her brow was tight with worry.
“Don’t you want to be free?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you take a chance if you got one?” He couldn’t believe she was reconciled to this unknown fate. He would fight to his dying breath.
He remembered the last time he’d tried to escape. It didn’t matter. He would try again and again, no matter what the cost.
It took Grace a minute to answer with eyes lowered, her expression icy. “You’re naive to believe this all ends happily ever after. I can only wish for the lesser of these evil bastards.” She plastered a forced smile on her face and turned back toward the crowd. “You’re not on the farm anymore, muscles.”
Time slowed as Becca waited for the auction to start. She sat in the back of the outdoor theater, on a chair created of twisting branches and twigs, surprisingly more comfortable than it looked. She leaned back, legs crossed. The large wooden clock on the top of the stage ticked the minutes by.
Enormous trees formed the sides of the stage, the branches twisting to frame the raised platform. Fall leaves and flowers, growing on the branches, dotted the stage with color. A beautiful stage to house a human atrocity.
Wizards slowly filled in the seats as the seconds ticked away. The seat beside her was empty, waiting for Darion to return. He’d left to get the market gossip from the servants’ bar. Something unsuitable for a lady of her supposed position.
It took several minutes to convince him that she would be all right sitting here alone. A few people had said hello, but for the most part she enjoyed the few minutes to herself to think.
“Excuse me,” an old magician said to her, startling her out of her thoughts. “Found anyone in particular, dear?”
She looked up at one of the oldest people she’d ever seen. His light blue eyes were surrounded by heavy wrinkles and a huge nose. Minty breath wafted toward her as he waited for an answer.
“No. No one in particular.”
“Really? And I thought you were eying that muscular boy. One of the few healthy ones here.”
She swallowed, cursing herself for being obvious. “He was healthy, as you say.”
“Yes. You don’t want to be infested with bugs or sickness.” He stood straighter. “What did you say your name was?” He held his hand out, spotted and wrinkled. His predatory look set every nerve on edge.
She ignored his hand. “I didn’t.”
He chuckled. “Good girl. Maybe you’ll be more competition than I expected. These things can be a terrible bore.”
She glared and forced a smile with the idea of smacking some sense into this revolting man. People were being sold, and he found it boring.
“Good luck,” he said with a slight nod and continued down the aisle to the closer seats.
She rubbed her bare arm, trying to shake off the chill.
Darion slid in beside her. His warmth was welcome. He handed her a tall glass.
She sniffed at the drink. “Is this safe?”
“It’s just iced tea.”
“Thanks.” She took a drink, not realizing how thirsty she was. “By the way, who’s the old wizard in the front row?”
“Abel. The oldest wizard in this city. I’m surprised he’s here.”
“Why doesn’t he change himself? He’s so old.” She had seen pictures of her great-grandparents who’d lived that long, but that was before The Rising, when medicine and hospitals were easier to find and cheaper to afford.
“He likes people to know how old he really is. It takes a lot of magic to still be alive in this shark pit at his age.”
“Creepy.” She set her drink down. It wasn’t his age that bothered her. Something was a bit off about him.
“I won’t disagree. He stays out of politics, and Ryma leaves him alone. There’s a reason for that.”
The crowd quieted as the man she’d met earlier, Pove, took the stage. His Soultorn remained a couple feet behind him. His words of welcome were lost on Becca. She tapped her foot, anxiously awaiting Caleb.
The auction began with an older woman, beaten down with age. Bidding began at fifty silver coins. A man in the back won the bid at a hundred.
Next a young boy entered the stage with an expression that tore at Becca’s heart. Three hundred silver coins. She wished she could raise the paddle, again and again, as people sold like common cows. She wanted to rescue them all. And destroy Pove in the process. But she didn’t have the money or the power.
A thin pretty young woman stood on the stage. Seven hundred silver pieces. Becca ignored the tightness in her chest and focused on Caleb.
Darion leaned close. “You okay?”
“Yes. No,” she whispered. “How can all these people, humans, be sold so easily? Many headed to a certain death as a Soultorn. Why do magicians need so many?”
“Do you want to know?”
“Of course.”
“People have been experimenting with ways to transfer hosts. Move a demon from one person to another, in case the host is injured or not as aesthetically pleasing. The price of potential hosts has risen dramatically in the last year. Markets like these are reaping the benefits.”
She noticed she was gripping her dress, above where she’d hid a knife. She placed her hand in her lap. The woman currently on the auction block was sold.
How can magicians do this? They really must think they’re an entirely different species. In some ways they are.
“Not everyone agrees with Ryma’s rule.” Darion brushed her hand. “But enough do.”
“I know.”
Darion had risked everything to go against Jeremiah and help Becca. She regretted her words when they broke up, for his actions now spoke of so much more.
Caleb’s number was up. He climbed the stairs, a guard at his arm. The Soultorn on stage moved toward him with a hungry look on its face.
Pove, in his smooth elegance, told of the great benefits Caleb had—muscular physic, no trace of magic, so easily controlled, strength, and not too bad to look at either. A couple buyers itched forward in their chairs. Becca straightened her back, the paddle ready.
“Let the bidding start at three hundred silvers. Who’ll start at three?”
In a flash, the old magician in the front raised his paddle.
Pove didn’t pause, but kept rattling off prices. “Do we have three-fifty? Three-fifty?”
And with a flick of the wrist four-fifty, five, and six hundred went in a blink. Her pulse raced as her hand tightened. The bidding finally slowed at seven hundred, and Becca joined the race. She ignored the glare from the red-haired woman to her right.
“Seven-fifty? Did I tell you what strength he had, with a defenseless mind,” Pove called out.
“Eight hundred,” said the old man in the front. He turned and winked at Becca.
She hesitated for a second before answering the call to eight-fifty. Darion brushed against her hand in warning. They only had a thousand dollars for this bid. No one had gone over this yet at the auction, but there were more players on the table. She focused on Pove in the front.
“Nine hundred,” the woman called out.
“Nine-fifty,” Becca countered. She sat at the edge of her chair, her heart thumping loudly in he
r chest.
The red-headed woman lowered her paddle, glaring in Becca’s direction.
“Eleven hundred dollars,” Abel said in the front.
A couple interested buyers lowered their paddles. Out of their price range, and out of Becca’s. It didn’t matter. She would give all they had and more to free Caleb. His face was stern, but those green eyes held a history she could never forget. She couldn’t leave without him.
“Becca,” Darion started in warning.
She raised her paddle this time, her voice loud and clear. “Twelve hundred.”
People turned to stare—so much for inconspicuous. She glared at Abel in the front, daring him.
He nodded with a smile, surrendering the bid. But it wasn’t until Pove uttered “Sold,” with a grin that traveled ear to ear, that Becca leaned back in her chair.
Darion turned toward her, leaning in. “We don’t have twelve hundred dollars.”
Adrenaline from the bidding coursed through her body. She set down the paddle as Pove introduced the next person for sale. “Yeah, I know.”
In the front row, Abel stood and headed to the exit, passing by Becca. He turned and leaned over the back of her chair. “Interesting to see just how much that healthy boy means to you.” He patted her arm and strode out.
She grasped her purse, trying to steady her hand. If she thought the bid was hard, what about trying to collect a prize without the cash.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Darion’s tall frame kept close as they headed to collect Caleb. She could almost feel the magic from those passing by, like insects crawling over her skin. She probably was imagining it, or maybe it was her own illusion affecting her.
“Keep calm. Once they free Caleb, I’ll pay them what we have, and you focus on leaving,” Darion murmured as they approached the station at the side of the stage.
Becca wished she hadn’t bought the amulets or the drinks. But a couple of coins wouldn’t even cover a two hundred-dollar difference.
They approached the purchasing area at the side of the stage. The older woman from the auction walked out, her arms pinned behind her back. The guards brought her to the desk, where a short fat man took the payment.
Becca struggled to watch the transaction, a sick fear for the woman, and for Caleb, making it hard to swallow. Becca averted her gaze, unable to watch the new owner take her away.
“How can I help you?” a short fat man asked, sitting behind a desk.
“Number Thirteen.”
The man’s finger scrolled down a paper. “Yes, for twelve hundred.” He paused for a moment, as if there was a problem. The attendant spoke to a nearby guard. The short man turned back to Becca. “It’ll be a minute. Someone will come to escort you back.”
“I can retrieve him, if security is a problem,” Darion offered.
The man didn’t reply, but pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “It’ll be a minute,” he repeated then turned back to his paperwork.
Another prisoner was escorted out of the doors, a tall man, worn and beaten with age. After a few words, his new owners took him away. Becca tensed. Why weren’t they bringing Caleb out like the rest of the prisoners?
Pove emerged from the closed door with his Soultorn close at hand. “Chima, wasn’t it?” he said with his normal exuberance.
Becca’s stomach sank at the sight of Pove. “Yes. What’s the problem?”
The auction must be over. They’d been hoping to avoid Pove. His open smile and raised brow held excitement—or anticipation—while the Soultorn’s black eyes had a cold steadiness to them. Darion moved closer to Becca.
“No problem. I just wanted to personally escort you to get your prize. Especially after such an exciting bid.” His hands moved with a nervous energy as he spoke.
“I appreciate the concern. But I’m in a hurry.” She tried to act annoyed and affronted like the witch she was supposed to be.
“I’ll be as quick as possible.” He clapped his hands, as if there was some sort of agreement, and headed back to the cages.
They followed Pove and his Soultorn through the row of cages. Her heart picked up speed with each step. She glanced at Darion, whose face was unreadable.
The cages were scattered with various prisoners. Several empty. The merchandise already carried off. They approached Caleb. He stood in the middle of his cage, hands behind his back, face void of all emotion.
Her chest tightened. As good as it was to see him, she couldn’t breathe easy until he was far from here.
Pove waved the guard to the side and pulled out the key. His hand stopped inches from the lock. “Where did you say you were from again?”
“Up north.” Her gut twisted, knowing what he probably found with a single call. They couldn’t go back. They would never get this close to Caleb again. The key held steady, mere inches from the lock.
“I recently learned that there’s a bounty out on a couple of magicians,” Pove continued, pulling the key back. “Said they robbed an old witch and burned the place to the ground. And I’d hate to see this fellow fall into the wrong hands.”
“Are you looking for the reward?”
He beamed like a child ready to eat candy. “I figure it’s only fair to get not only the bounty, but the price of the boy.”
Darion shifted in front of Becca. “We don’t have it.”
She remained focused on the key in Pove’s hand.
Darion opened his hands, a steady heat coming off of him. “No one needs to get hurt.”
The Soultorn chuckled and for the first time spoke. The voice was high and smooth. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The empty silence lasted only seconds but felt like minutes.
Becca discretely pulled the knife from her purse and noticed the surrounding guards. Two escorted a prisoner out a side door. Another couple of guards, both wide and tall, stood off to the side, as if awaiting Pove’s command. Not great odds with magic involved.
The Soultorn opened its mouth. In a flash of movement, Darion sent fire flying at the Soultorn, exploding in its face and spreading over Pove and the surrounding guards. The key fell out of Pove’s hand as he frantically extinguished the flames.
Chaos erupted. Curses and spells shot through the air. In a fiery haze, the Soultorn launched itself onto Darion. Becca wanted to run to his aid, but the sooner they freed Caleb, the faster they could leave.
Becca darted to pick up the key and shoved it in the lock. “Caleb.” His name came out in a rush.
As she turned the key in the lock, he shouted. “Behind you.”
A guard grabbed her hair, pulling her to the ground. She lashed out with her knife. Blood welled up on his forearm, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. Swearing loudly, he slammed her into the cage.
Pain shot through her temple. She gripped the bars to steady herself. Before she could attack again, Caleb tackled the guard to the ground.
Becca blinked several times to clear her head. Caleb pummeled the guard on the ground—punch after punch—swinging his heavy fists.
The door to his cage swung wide, the key still in the lock. She thought of the old woman from before. Was there any way to retrieve the key, and give it to the other slaves? She only made it one step, when an inhuman pain pierced the inside of her mind.
It was a sharp screeching sound, containing no words, but a throbbing so intense that it blocked out thought or reason. She staggered against the cage.
Caleb rolled off the guard, his face tight with pain. Every person except Pove and his Soultorn were huddled in pain.
The Soultorn’s burnt frame was terrifying, leaving any pretense of human discarded. With hair burnt black on its skull, the once beautiful features were distorted and grotesque. What was left of the dress carried a small flame near its feet. The only feature not blackened with soot was its white teeth, its mouth open with glee.
The Soultorn stood over Darion, who lay on the ground. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He lived. But w
ith him unconscious, there was nothing left to protect them.
Becca wasn’t strong enough to fight this monster. The pain from the creature reverberated off her skull, driving into the core of her being. Becca sank to her knees, watching the dark soul of the demon blaze through its human eyes.
An evil lived inside that shell, something dark and rank. Or was that the pain? She couldn’t believe this was how it would end. At the hands of the one thing she detested more than anything. Demons.
Her fists, clenched in desperation, pressed against her temples. The shooting, aching pressure was unbearable.
A burning sensation slowly grew in her chest. The warm anger pushed against the pain, fighting the constant noise and stabbing agony. Her fingers began to tremble, and it traveled up her arms. Uncontrolled. Dangerous.
Becca lifted her eyes, heavy and burning, watching the Soultorn bend over Darion. Its charred hand traced his face as he arched back in pain.
Black spots filled her vision. Is this it? Her body shook. A hot sensation threatened to explode inside of her.
With her head thrown back, her body contorted in pain, she screamed without thinking. The warmth fled, exploding out of her mouth, almost tangible. A rush of adrenaline seared up her spine—and, like a fire extinguisher, muted the deadly noise.
Silence.
What the hell happened? Her breath came out in rough gasps. A slight tingling sensation coursed through her body.
The pain. The noise. Gone.
Becca slowly stood. Unsure of herself. Was it her? How? The pressure that was building inside of her was gone. It had vanished and taken the pain with it.
Scattered moans and cries of misery grew among the cells. Becca’s head ached, the screeching noise echoing in her mind. She didn’t have time to think about what this all meant.
The Soultorn stood in the middle of the wreckage, eyes wide and angry. Before Becca could blink, it lunged at her. It knocked the knife from her hand and lifted Becca by the neck, her feet dangling in the air.
Becca tore at the blackened hands around her throat. The Soultorn hissed in a foreign tongue. Its breath retched and foul as it began to squeeze the life out of Becca. Crushing pain pounded in her throat. Black spots clouded her vision. She flailed, kicking and struggling against the Soultorn. The monster didn’t even acknowledge her protests.
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