Chapter 16 #2
“Then he went and got himself killed,” Valerie added as she led him up it. She spoke with the same level of care as one might use to describe the inconvenience of a flat tire. “Honestly, what was I supposed to do?”
Adoption. Social services. Orphanage. Boarding school.
He could think of several options that didn’t involve selling her only child into servitude.
“Oh, shoot.” She tutted, her frustration sharp, as they exited the staircase into another expansive corridor. Glancing at the antique grandfather clock on the opposite wall, she stopped abruptly and shook her head. “We’re going to be late.”
Spinning him to face her, she looked him up and down with a critical eye. Then she stepped back with a pinched expression and flicked two scarlet nails at him.
In the next heartbeat, the scratchy hospital gown vanished.
Sammy shivered as a sheer button-down materialized, collar plunging low, and black leather molded to his waist and legs. A pair of matching combat boots, adorned with multiple buckles and lacing halfway up his calves, anchored his feet to the floor.
Behind his mother, the glass face of the grandfather clock reflected a stranger back at him.
His long waves had been trimmed into an edgy, asymmetrical cut that didn’t suit his face, and the soft rose gold now gleamed a startling platinum. Dark liner made his eyes look too big, and the gold powder on his lids disappeared into his pale complexion.
He looked like a prop in someone else’s story. Worse, he felt ridiculous, humiliated.
Before he could protest, another guard came striding down the hall toward them. Average in height but built like a tank, he appeared calm and unhurried. His eyes—wide and darting—told another story.
“Ma’am,” he said, looking past Sammy to his mother. “Mr. Delacour—”
“Yes, yes.” She pushed Sammy forward with a shooing gesture. “Take him and put him with the others.” To Sammy, she added, “Please try not to embarrass me.”
Considering he looked like an extra in a bad vampire movie, he figured embarrassment was kind of inevitable. He said nothing as he watched her hurry away down the corridor.
“Let’s go,” the guard grunted, reaching for him.
Sammy pulled back and shook his head, surprised but pleased to find the magical shackles had disappeared with his mother. “I can walk on my own.”
“Suit yourself, but hurry up.”
They walked briskly, navigating a maze of corridors paneled in blood-red lacquer and gilt trim. Modern canvases splashed in black and scarlet competed with fading portraits in cracked frames, along with an eclectic assortment of artifacts.
Treasures and trophies shared space easily, and relics from at least a dozen cultures crowded shelves that reached to the ceiling.
Ornamental crowns and bejeweled scepters gleamed behind protective glass. Rusted crusader swords hung beside crystal talismans and carved idols without feeling cluttered. Bone masks, ceremonial daggers, war clubs, enchanted mirrors, and jeweled goblets—the collection was expansive and telling.
It spoke not only of wealth and influence, but one of ruthless conquest.
Eventually, the guard led him through a moonlit solarium filled with the scent of blooming vines. In the far corner, a waterfall cascaded over natural stones before emptying into a circular koi pond that dominated the center of the room.
The temperatures in Southern Louisiana had been steadily climbing as they moved into spring, but there in New York, bitter cold clung to the region. An icy gust of wind caught him in the chest as they stepped outside onto the patio, the kind that stung his skin and stole his breath.
Cursing his mother and the absurd outfit she’d dressed him in, he wrapped his arms around himself and rounded his shoulders against the cold as he trudged after the guard. Surely the party wouldn’t take place outside.
Those hopes were dashed as they rounded the corner into a sprawling garden with glowing fountains, hedge-lined pathways, and topiary beasts frozen mid-prowl.
Cocktail tables draped in white satin dotted the greenscape like pale mushrooms, while rows of folding chairs in matching adornments lined the edge of the lawn.
Dozens of men and women dressed in tailored tuxedos and fitted ballgowns drifted through the night, diamonds and gold flashing at their wrists and throats. They gathered in small groups with fake smiles and appraising looks, sipping champagne delivered by servers in suits of shocking crimson.
No one appeared concerned with the temperatures.
He found out why when he was escorted to a raised platform erected in front of an Olympic-sized pool. The moment he stepped off the paved walkway, radiant warmth enveloped him, a welcome respite from the frigid evening.
“Over there,” the guard said in his gruff voice, pointing at the stage. “With the others.”
Sammy followed the motion with his eyes, his brow knitting when he spotted a group lined up in a neat row behind the podium. Four males and three females, each about his age or younger, and all of them dressed in similar revealing clothes.
The female on the far end looked barely old enough to drive.
Everything had happened so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to consider his situation. He hadn’t questioned why a simple contract signing required such a fancy party, or why the new owner of the relique hadn’t met him personally.
In hindsight, those seemed like obvious things to be concerned about, but at the time, he’d been too busy trying to survive.
He climbed the steps onto the stage, each footfall echoing his dread.
Had he been collected like the artifacts inside the mansion? What about the others? And why them?
Joining the group, he eased into an empty chair on the end, his eyes darting down the row. At first, he didn’t notice anything particularly intriguing or extraordinary about the Otherlings seated there. He didn’t mean that as judgment either since he counted himself in the same category.
Then the male two seats down brushed his long, silvery hair away from his face, revealing an elongated ear that came to a delicate point.
At the same time, the female on the end tilted her head, turning her face toward the nearby lamppost. For a brief moment, the light reflected in her pupils, the eyeshine undeniable.
Beside him, a young male with a diminutive frame and waist-length black hair looked like he might vibrate right out of his chair.
Eyes the color of storm clouds peered out into the crowd, wide and terrified, and he twisted his hands together in his lap with such violence that the skin had turned a mottled red.
The subtle webbing between his fingers and the iridescent scales that peeked from the edges of his hairline marked him as an aquatic Otherling. Nixie, or maybe a water sprite. Not well versed about either race, Sammy couldn’t say for sure.
“Hey,” he said, speaking in gentle tones. Reaching over, he placed his hand atop the male’s to still them and offer some measure of comfort. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Dominic would come for him. And the gods help anyone who tried to stand in his way.
The guy didn’t pull away or tell Sammy to mind his own business. His wide eyes stayed fixed on the crowd, fear shimmering in their depths. He took a shaky breath, chest rising and falling as if steadying himself.
“I’m Sammy.”
“I, um, I’m—” His tongue flicked across his dry lips. “—I’m Aerin.”
“Don’t be scared. This is all going to be over soon.” Sammy laced their fingers together, offering a smile of encouragement when the guy immediately squeezed his hand. “Aerin, do you know why we’re here?”
“For the auction.” His attention flickered to the partygoers again. “We’re being sold to the highest bidder.”