Elemental Omen (Paranormal Public Book 10) Page 9

  His eyes burned into me. I shifted, still watching him. Something about him gave me an involuntary shiver, and something about him felt familiar, but I told myself that maybe it was just that my body recognized evil. I shivered again, but I didn’t look away. At my defiance he smiled a little, and that was even creepier. At the other end of the front of the platform was the Appraiser, and I had the feeling that they were trying to keep their distance from each other.

  Now everyone at the Black Market was watching me.

  “Darkness calls to darkness! Darkness calls to darkness! Embrace the darkness! We are the night! We are the forever black!”

  I listened to the chants as the bonds around my wrists started to chafe. No matter how hard I struggled against them, they stayed tightly fastened. My ring was gone and so was my hope; without it I didn’t have enough power to escape. I knew that I should fight what was happening, but I felt like it was useless. Even if I did manage to get off the platform, there was nowhere for me to go. Maybe if I had stayed where my friends and family had expected me to, enrolled in college like other paranormals my own age . . . but I hadn’t. I had run away and now I was paying the price. For a split second I glanced up at the sky and thought of my sister and her friends. I wondered if anyone would come for me, but my furious insistence that I be left alone was probably answer enough. No one was coming. I was not going to be saved, and I didn’t have the strength or power to save myself. Silently, I whispered an apology to those I had loved, or, as I was thinking of them in this moment, those I had let down.

  Fear squeezed my heart and sweat broke out on my brow. I fought for air, but it was as if a massive hand was pressing into my chest and constricting my windpipe. The Executioner, as he was affectionately called, could see that I was starting to despair; through the black hood of his mask I saw him smile. Fear now overwhelmed me, and for a second I couldn’t even see out of my open eyes. My vision blurred and an unsettling strangeness filled the air as the massive crowd writhed and started to grow out of control. Heat pulsed through the air and I was instantly drenched.

  As the hulking, hooded figure of the Executioner trundled toward me I tried to push myself away, but I had nowhere to go. When he was almost near enough to touch, the crowd surged. From one heartbeat to the next they had escaped the bonds of control.

  At the same moment, the massive paranormal grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. I gasped. Air escaped my lungs and my head felt like it was going to explode.

  “Let’s start the bidding at three pixies,” he yelled out. The crowd stopped its restless motion in stunned silence. All the other paranormals had been for sale with monetary prices, but not me. I was so important, I was so valuable, that the price on me was expressed as some number of living breathing paranormals. And they had tagged me as a dream giver, a move that I couldn’t make sense of from any angle.

  I looked at the cloaked vampire again. His eyebrows were delicately raised, and a smirk bloomed on his face as he looked at me thoughtfully. In that moment the realization slammed into my chest and I knew one thing with a certainty beyond all certainty:

  He knew who I really was. And he had come for me.

  Had he been there yesterday when Greta died? I had no evidence, but I would have bet anything on it. Did he know the paranormal who had killed my friend?

  Could I find a way, prisoner as I was, to get my hands around his throat and squeeze? I wished I could. Just give me one minute alone with him and preferably give me my ring, and I would make him pay.

  Unfortunately, as the bidding got under way it quickly became clear that the cloaked man was intent on not screwing this up. He didn’t even bother to participate in the bidding at first, and I had the sense that he was waiting and watching, and when all the others were tapped out he would say whatever he needed to in order to outbid everyone else.

  What was worse, I knew that if he won I would never be seen alive again. The Appraiser seemed to have the same idea, except that the would throw in the occasional bid, until after a while it had gotten up to eight pixies.

  “You don’t have EIGHT pixies, Reginold,” bellowed the Appraiser when a scrappy-looking paranormal raised his hand, “So I don’t see how you could bid TEN of them!” The paranormal called Reginold gave a response I couldn’t hear, but it made the Appraiser’s face bulge.

  Just then, as the Appraiser was still fuming over Reginold’s bid, the vampire stepped forward with his hands folded calmly in front of him. He was still looking at me curiously, but then he turned to address the Appraiser.

  “Are you sure he’s a dream giver?” he asked lightly. But he glanced at the sky as he said it, as if he was suddenly uneasy.

  “Are you sure you’re a vampire?” the Appraiser responded roughly.

  “Course I’m sure.” The vampire nodded once. He didn’t believe the Appraiser, and now he had planted a seed of doubt in the minds of all the bidders as well. The crowd pressed forward eagerly, but they also knew enough to stay quiet.

  “Yeah, what is he, really?” demanded another bidder. “If I’m going to give you the shirt off my back I have a right to know!”

  The vampire actually smiled now, showing perfectly white teeth. The Appraiser was glaring at him as if in warning, while I felt sick to my stomach.

  I gave one last hopeless tug, and suddenly everything changed. I felt the rope holding my hands behind me slip and fall away. I staggered away from the pole, quickly bringing my hands forward and crouching low as I looked back to see who had freed me. There was no one and nothing there. I could have sworn I’d felt a pair of hands letting me loose, but there was no sign of my helper.

  The crowd was going insane. In the chaos, they had forgotten about me and the exorbitant prices they were expected to pay for the most basic goods, and they had turned on each other. I slipped off the podium and started to make my way through the crowd, keeping my head down but looking back now and then to make sure no one was following me. Eventually, still moving forward without watching very carefully where I was going, I slammed hard into something in front of me. My eyes started to water as my nose came into violent contact with something hard and metallic, and it was with a sinking feeling that I looked up into the eyes of the Executioner. In very tight formation behind him were two of his guards.

  I looked up into the night sky as the stars were closed out by black clouds. Realization made me dizzy. Darkness had come.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Let’s go,” said the Executioner, and he grabbed me by the back of my neck to haul me away.

  All around us there were cries of anger and lots of yelling; I saw one man grab another and bash his head into a rock. The injured man got up with the rock in his hands and bashed his attacker in the face. Pure chaos reined, and in the midst of it, we started to get away.

  It all happened so fast that I could barely grasp what was going on, but then, suddenly, everything slowed and time rolled. I felt the whirl of wind and the pull of darkness. The sun disappeared as a black night enveloped the chaotic scene. The darkness was so thick that I could see very little, but sounds weren’t muffled; all around us I could hear screams and yelling.

  The shift came with the next breath. The crowd backed away and the Executioner and his henchmen came to a halt, ironically, right near the Appraiser. The three of them had formed a sort of circle around me, and each one of them now held out a ring or a sword or some other weapon. I looked all around, but I could see nothing that would account for the sudden change in mood.

  The frantic crowd at last fell silent, and in the sudden stillness I heard a whizzing sound. In the next instant something burst through the night sky, as if one firework and then many had lit up the world. I closed my eyes as the people near us gasped. No one moved; everyone simply stared upward in wonder.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the Appraiser screamed. He was fat and round, and when he yelled, his whole belly flopped. He stomped forward waving his arms and the crowd stepped back. They had bee
n through a lot that day and they didn’t see any good coming out of the Appraiser’s rage.

  “Who is doing that?” Three more purple fireworks. “I demand to know!”

  He turned to me and glared. “Is it you?” he hissed. He held a short sword, I thought rather like a pirate’s - not that I had ever met one of those - and he was now pointing it at me. I shook my head. It really wasn’t me. It was far worse than me. I nearly smiled.

  “You cannot fight me and win!” he screamed into the darkness, whirling around again like a madman yelling at the wind. “I will sell this elemental and retire to the tropics! You want him? You must go through me!”

  For a split second nothing happened; it felt like the crowd was holding its breath as the Executioner kept a painful grip on my neck. I tried to stay still so as to not make it worse.

  Then the wind stopped. The fireworks stopped. The world felt like it settled a little. Only the nighttime darkness stayed the same.

  “What sort of fight are we talking about?” asked a dry voice that I knew incredibly well but had never dreamed I would hear in this forlorn place. My face split into an involuntary grin as a tall hooded figure stepped through the crowd and stopped in front of the Appraiser. Paranormals scattered, tumbling and clawing over each other to get away. They were like rats placed suddenly in a cage with a dragon. The hood remained in place as the Appraiser turned his anger on the new target, while the Executioner let go of my neck and he and his minions melted into the night.

  “Who do you think you are!” sputtered the Appraiser. “You must have a death wish, for death is what will happen to you now that you have crossed me! Guards, take him!”

  Three massive guards, including the guy who had kept watch over my cage through the night, came forward. I watched with a sort of strange fascination as the figure didn’t move.

  She didn’t even raise her hand.

  The three guards - tall, burly men every one of them - went flying backward as the crowd oohed and made space for the bodies to plunge through the air. I turned to watch but I had to wince as my movement made the Executioner’s grip tighten all the more.

  I caught a glimpse, I heard one thud, then another, then a third.

  “They must have gone at least thirty feet,” whispered someone in the crowd.

  “They won’t be getting up anytime soon,” another spectator added.

  The Appraiser turned his beady eyes to the hooded figure. “What sort of witchcraft is this?” he whispered.

  But the wisp of uncertainty didn’t last long.

  “Guards!” He motioned for another set of three to come forward. They did what they were told, but they all looked like they were bracing themselves. In fact, they didn’t even get as far as the first three before the hooded figure also sent them flying. Gasps and even a few cheers rose up from the crowd as each of the guards slammed backward onto the ground.

  Madly undaunted, the Appraiser tried to get another three to come forward. When no one responded, he turned in a circle as if to assess his forces. The first six guards had been tossed into the air like trash being thrown away, and most of the rest were slipping into the anonymity of the crowd. The ones who had stayed in their rough ranks didn’t move; one of the Bounty Hunters to my right was visibly trembling.

  “Who are you?” the Appraiser whispered to the figure again as she stood motionless and silent.

  The figure didn’t respond or raise her head.

  “Very well,” said the Appraiser. “I will do this myself.” He paused as if to collect his courage and again demanded, “Who are you?” When he still didn’t get an answer, he moved close enough to see under the hood, and then - I could see it even in the near-dark - he paled. One more time he looked at me, but it was as if his eyes weren’t telling his brain anything useful any more.

  “I really wouldn’t, if I were you,” I told him. I didn’t say it for his benefit, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “She’s trying to take my treasure for herself,” he spat. “I won’t let her.”

  “It’s not for her,” I said, but when I didn’t elaborate, the squishy man turned around to glare at the cloaked figure.

  “You will pay for ruining my auction,” he hissed. “You will pay dearly.”

  He lunged and I saw a flash. Something like a cane, or a very long stick, appeared in the cloaked figure’s hand. The stick was black, but adorned with jewels the color of ice. It flashed once and the Appraiser’s sword went flying, another flash and the man fell to his knees. Before anyone could blink, the cloaked figure was on him. He looked up and his expression changed. The abject terror that distorted his face wasn’t a sight I would ever forget. I looked around for the cloaked vampire to see how he was reacting to all this, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mine,” she said, pointing at me.

  “Uh oh uhh,” was all he managed to get out.

  I couldn’t help it. “I told you so.”

  “That’s enough,” came another familiar voice that made me smile outright. The little hands that had untied me were explained. This time when I looked for the speaker I couldn’t see her, but I saw the crowd, still a little confused and jeering, start to part. Eventually another cloaked figure, much shorter than the first one, came into the cleared circle.

  “Hey, look here now, you can’t just disrupt the market and be on your way. That kid is worth his weight in gold,” said one grizzled-looking man, stepping forward. He was obviously more clan than Bounty Hunter, and he, like most of the rest of them, looked hungry. But he hadn’t yet seen what the Appraiser had seen, nor had he noticed who had just moved through the crowd.

  Sipythia Quest, president of the paranormal world, removed her hood. Gasps went up around the group as paranormals realized who she was, while her purple eyes scanned the faces that stood before her. Some people even fell to their knees, and whispers of her name went around the open square.

  Sip was legendary. As the youngest president in paranormal history she was known far and wide to be fair, nerdy, and entirely devoted to three things: 1) justice, 2) her friends and family, and 3) a good cup of tea.

  “Are you alright?” she asked me.

  I nodded. “I’ve never been so happy to be owned in my life.”

  Sip smiled a little to acknowledge my weak attempt at humor.

  “They just said he was a dream giver,” cried one woman. “They didn’t say he was Ricky Rollins.” My own name sounded strange to my ears. “We’d have left him ‘lone if any’d said that!” I saw several others nodding with her.

  The hooded figure, who had long since stopped bothering to stand menacingly over the Appraiser, turned toward the woman who had spoken. Lisabelle Verlans, the Premier of All Darkness, reached up heavily tattooed hands and pushed back her own hood. Her black hair was in an elaborate, plaited braid, and her black eyes burned in her pale face.

  The first time I had ever seen Lisabelle Verlans was the first time I knew that magic was real. My sister would still take a precious long time to admit as much to me, but Lisabelle’s magic was not something that could be hidden. She brought with her a sparkling black power that radiated out of her in violent waves; there was a barely leashed explosion happening behind her eyes at all times. And I knew that she and her two best friends had paid dearly for whatever leash she did have. Lisabelle Verlans was, quite literally, pure magic.

  At the moment, in the dim light of the Black Market, she was glaring at me. I was sure she didn’t appreciate my dumbfounded expression. “Yes, we knew where you were and yes, it is so very shocking that you do not know everything. I know. Like, whoa.” She made a big show of rolling her eyes.

  If Sip’s presence had caused shock once the crowd recognized her, the sight of Lisabelle Verlans caused a sort of still panic. Lisabelle was feared far and wide. Wherever the wind blew, over valleys and around mountains, caressing sea and streams alike, Lisabelle was feared. There was the tiniest chance that Sip showing herself first had saved several paranormals
from having heart attacks, since the friends were known to travel together, but imagining an inkling of a chance that the famous Lisabelle Verlans would be there and having her actually standing in front of everyone in all her angry, dark glory were two different things.

  “It’s Lisabelle Verlans!” shouted a voice in the crowd.

  “It’s the darkness premier!” another voice cried.

  “It’s the most powerful mage in history,” said a third. When the cries subsided, a ringing shock pierced the momentary stillness. As if on cue, many of the clansmen - at least, the ones who hadn’t already - fell to their knees. Lisabelle looked around the massive group as if she was used to this. On the ground, still at Lisabelle’s feet, the Appraiser stopped even breathing. If he kept it up he’d soon lose consciousness from lack of oxygen, but that would probably be better for him anyhow.

  “This shouldn’t be a surprise,” said Lisabelle, continuing her history since birth of having no sympathy. “You kidnapped the little brother of a Paranormal Public professor, who also happens to be the second-to-last living elemental. You’re surprised I’m pissed off? Sometimes I understand a surprised reaction. Not in this case. While we’re sharing our feelings, I’m surprised you aren’t all dead.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sip start to tell Lisabelle that wasn’t a feeling, but then the little werewolf thought better of it. Back in the day, Sip would have reined her in. But back in the day, their best friend’s baby brother wasn’t about to be sold.