She was being kidnapped.
Angling her jaw, she moved her mouth experimentally. She wasn’t gagged. If she was anywhere near London, there had to be houses… some kind of neighborhood nearby. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried to scream.
The sound came out in a breathy, thin mutter. “Help me.”
The person carrying her looked down at her. She caught a shadowed glimpse of a wild, inhuman gaze as he remarked, “You just won’t stay asleep, will you?”
“You can’t get away with this,” she croaked. “Let me go.”
The creature lifted his head and looked straight ahead. He said grimly, “I’ll get away with it.”
This time when the world grayed around her, she didn’t go fully under. Cotton wool filled her head, which ached abominably.
I must have a concussion, she thought dimly as she struggled to come more alert. There was a reason why she couldn’t black out, some kind of danger. She had to remember.
As if from a great distance, she sensed when they came to a stop. Full awareness returned as the creature set her down on a hard, rough surface. Cold dampness seeped into her jeans, and she could smell rich, loamy dirt. He had laid her on the ground.
When he left her for a time, she struggled wildly against her bonds, but she was too securely tied. When he returned, he lifted her head and shoulders to wipe her face with a wet cloth that smelled dank, as if it had been dipped in a river.
As he cleaned away the gummed blood around her eyes, her vision became clear. She looked around. They were in a clearing, and over the tops of nearby trees, the darkness of the night sky had begun to lighten.
Panic skittered like mice running over Sidonie’s skin. It had been a long time since the accident. Hours. How far had they traveled by horse? Where were they?
Was she even in London anymore?
Suddenly the pain in her head lessened, and she could think again. A tingling spread through her body and other aches eased. While she might not have magic sense, she’d had magically based medical treatments before. The creature had thrown some kind of spell to heal her.
That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? He couldn’t mean to slaughter her here in the woods if he cared enough to heal her.
Looking up at his strange, shadowed face, she said, “You were the one. You were stalking me.”
“No,” he said. He set aside the cloth and gathered her into his arms. “I was stalking someone else. I found him in Glasgow and started to follow him. When he came to London, I followed him there too. He kept going to your concerts, and it was unusual. Unlike him. For some reason, you… matter to him. So I took you.”
She tried to follow what he was saying, but while he spoke English clearly enough, he sounded insane. “But why?”
His face twisted, and tears began to spill down his cheeks. He rocked her and sobbed. “Because you’re perfect. You’re so perfect I couldn’t have found a better weapon if I had tried.”
“I’m no weapon,” she whispered, staring. “I’m just a musician.”
“I’ll give you to her, and she will be horrible to you. And that will matter to him. With you, I’ll drive a wedge between them so deep it will tear them apart. And they need to be torn apart. You have no idea the damage they’ve caused or how many people they have killed over the years. You have no idea the kind of damage she did to me. If she isn’t stopped, she’ll target a friend of mine, and I will not let anything happen to my Sophie.”
Killed?
Sidonie was tired and cold, damp, and so scared that tears began to leak out of the corners of her eyes as well. This creature wasn’t human. He wouldn’t think in human terms. Maybe he really was crazy. Did he even recognize he had committed a crime?
Even though it was futile, she twisted her hands, trying to find purchase against the cords that bound her wrists as she forced herself to say in a soft, cajoling tone, “Can you please listen to me? Just listen. Whatever you’re planning, I can see it matters deeply to you, but you don’t have to go through with it. You have time to rethink everything, and—and I’ll help you. I promise. But you have to let me go first. I can only help you if you let me go.”
The creature’s gaze focused on her. There was so much emotion in his strange eyes, so much grief and rage, it held her transfixed. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
Renewed panic jolted through her. “There’s no need to talk like that. You haven’t gone too far yet or done anything that isn’t fixable. We can—I can—I have money. Resources. Whoever your enemy is, we can go after her together.”
What the hell was she saying? She had never “gone after” anybody before in her life. Her worst enemies had been rivals at school, and her biggest battles had been won through music competitions and grades.
But she could tell by his stony, unmoved expression that nothing she said was getting through to him.
What else could she promise? The need for revenge was driving him. She ran through all the famous revenge scenarios she could think of, but they were all based on fictional characters. Dropping that idea, she focused on another one.
His friend mattered to him.
“You’re worried about your Sophie,” she said rapidly. “We can get protection for your friend. I have contacts with a good security company.”
His gaze met hers. “Did they protect you from me?”
Her breath caught. Before she could come up with another argument, he wiped his face with the back of one hand and drew out a knife. As her panic escalated, he used the knife to cut a strip of cloth off the bottom of her shirt and forced it between her teeth as a gag. The tears still streamed down his face, but his expression had turned stony with resolve.
“Listen to me,” he said harshly. His strange gaze was lit with a feverish light. “Take my advice for what it’s worth. Don’t tell her about me, or why I took you. If she considers you a threat, she will have you killed—or if she thinks you have any information that might be useful to her, she will do much worse than have you killed. And if you’re smarter than me, if you have it in you to bow to her will and pander to her every whim, it will go easier for you. Because even though I regret the need to do this, you are only one person and your sacrifice will mean so much to so many. I’m afraid you’re going to have a tough time now.”
Chapter Three
Sid had fallen into a nightmare so strange she had no idea how to dig herself out of it. As she stared, the creature eased her away, stood, and his body shimmered and disappeared, to be replaced by a gigantic, thick creature with tiny eyes and skin the color of gray rock.
He had shapeshifted into a… a… troll?
As a human deadhead, she knew almost nothing about magic other than what she read in magazine articles or saw in the news. But from what she had gleaned from idle conversations with others, she was fairly certain of one thing.
It took tremendous Power to shapeshift into a shape that was either bigger or smaller than the original person. The two-natured Wyr accomplished the shift the most easily, as their animal forms were literally second nature to them.
But whatever this creature was, he wasn’t Wyr, and this troll was so much bigger than the creature that had carried her through the forest it meant he had Power, a lot of it.
Realization flared. He had probably been the black horse that had caused the accident and carried her to this unknown place. The kind of deliberation that had gone into her kidnapping was chilling.
She shrank back as the huge troll bent over her, but tied as thoroughly as she was, there was nothing she could do to stop him from picking her up again.
He trudged ahead, following a narrow footpath that wound through the woods, until Sidonie could smell a hint of woodsmoke on the breeze that blew gently through the trees. Soon he stepped into a large clearing that held several buildings—a long, larger building and a few typically English-looking cottages.
Her view was obstructed, and it was making her crazy that there was literally nothing she could do
about it, but she could hear a sudden flurry of movement, a sharp exclamation, and as she craned her neck, she saw they had been surrounded by several tall people.
The newcomers weren’t human any more than the creature that had kidnapped her. They were dressed in dun and green uniforms, colors that would disappear easily in a forest, and they had weapons. Some of them carried both guns and swords.
Sid took in the hard, wary expressions on their angular faces along with the signature golden blond hair they all shared, but it was only when one of them turned to shout an order to the others and she caught a peek of one pointed ear that she could place their race. They were Light Fae.
“What are you doing here?” the Light Fae male asked sharply.
The fake troll came to halt. Without warning, he dropped Sidonie. Unable to do anything to break her fall, she groaned as she made bruising impact with the ground.
The troll said in a deep voice that sounded like grinding rocks, “Tribute for the Queen.”
Forcing herself to breathe evenly, Sidonie latched on to the word.
Queen. The Queen must be the female the creature had referred to. She would be Light Fae, like her soldiers. One of the Elder Races.
The Elder Races were magical creatures that lived alongside humans, with demesnes that often overlaid human boundaries. Then there were Other lands that were connected to Earth by a series of crossover passageways. Most modern technologies didn’t work in Other lands, which were intensely magical places, but she had read interesting articles on the inventive ways people had adapted many modern conveniences.
As a nonmagical human, Sidonie knew only the basics of Elder Races politics and terminology, mostly concepts she had gleaned in school. She had once been invited to play a concert for Niniane Lorelle, the Dark Fae Queen in the Other land of Adriyel that had passageways connecting to Chicago.
While that Queen had been willing to pay an exorbitant amount to make up for the time slippage between Adriyel and Earth, Sidonie hadn’t been able to work the trip into her upcoming schedule for the year, so she had reluctantly declined. The charming and persuasive Dark Fae ambassador had wrangled a promise out of her to consider the trip in the future, but they hadn’t yet agreed upon a date.
In Great Britain, there had to be any number of Elder Races, demesnes, and their individual rulers, but Sidonie only knew of one Light Fae Queen—Queen Isabeau of the Light Court.
While the thoughts raced through her mind, she waited for the Light Fae leader to denounce offering a human being as tribute for anything.
Instead, the male said impatiently, “What’s this? The troll clan has already offered its tribute. We received the shipment this morning.”
Wait, what? No denouncement? This was utter insanity. Nobody offered a thinking, living being as tribute, at least not in modern society as she knew it. Outraged fury pounded under her skin, and she chewed on her gag as furious words piled into rocket launchers in her head, readying for ignition.
The troll rumbled, “We was gonna add this ’un in, but we got her late. Plays music real good.”
“And now, thanks to your bumbling, she’s seen this encampment. But she’s a musician, you say?” The Light Fae male looked down at her and heaved a sigh. “Oh, very well. Next time keep your tributes to items that are easier to transport.” As he turned away, he ordered one of his men, “Put her in a holding cell until we’re ready to leave.”
One of the men hauled her to her feet. The fake troll gave Sidonie one last inscrutable look then turned away. She watched his massive figure amble back into the forest the way he had come.
As the troll disappeared, Sidonie thought, I won’t forget what you did to me. She turned to study the Light Fae leader’s features. I won’t forget any of you.
I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but you will regret doing this to me.
I will make sure of it.
* * *
After the troll disappeared, the soldier slung her over one hard shoulder and carried her along a path to another clearing with more buildings. Then he put her in a primitive prison cell, with honest-to-goodness bars, a rough cot, bare stone floors, and a dirty, horribly basic latrine that offered no privacy whatsoever. She had a small, high, barred window that let in sunlight but gave no real view outside and nothing else.
At least the Light Fae soldier untied her wrists and legs so she could move around. As soon as her hands were free, she had to fight the urge to hit him. The violent impulse might bring short-term relief to the rage and fear beating through her veins, but in the end, it wasn’t a strategy that could go well for her.
Instead of giving in to her feelings, she stood rubbing the circulation back into her wrists while she watched him lock the cell door.
I’ll remember you too, she thought.
After he left her alone, she looked around. The cot was made of some kind of crosshatched leather strung tight on a frame. No pillow, no blanket.
There was no running water, and apparently no electricity or heat either, she saw as she glanced at the ceilings that were bare of any light fixtures. This place was strange and disturbing, almost as if it had nothing to do with the modern England she had been visiting only just yesterday.
Her hands prickled painfully as circulation increased. Giving up on her wrists, she rubbed her arms in an attempt to generate some warmth. Even though the day had turned sunny, the thick cover of trees kept the temperature mild, and the walls of the building were constructed of thick stone that emanated a damp chill.
She was glad she was still wearing the soft cashmere hoodie, jeans, and sneakers she had slipped into for the drive to the airport. Thanks to her kidnapper, the T-shirt under the dirt-streaked hoodie was ragged, and her jeans were smeared with grass stains and blood, but if she were still wearing the thin spandex outfit she had worn for the concert, she would be freezing her ass off.
Her kidnapper had said Vincent, Tony, and the driver would live, and she didn’t think he had lied to her. He had said scary, crazy stuff, but as far as she knew, no falsehoods.
“Buck up, Sid,” she whispered. “Vince and Tony will be looking for you.”
At least they would be looking as soon as they were able to. How badly had they been hurt in the crash? How long would it take for the news of her disappearance to hit the tabloids?
Some time ago she, Vince, and his wife, Terri, had talked through strategies for a variety of extreme scenarios.
In the event of her disappearance (how they had chuckled at the unlikelihood of that), the security company was authorized to offer a reward for any credible information on her whereabouts.
They were also authorized to conduct transactions, in case she had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. After the first two stalkers, she had taken Vincent’s advice and now carried an insurance policy that would cover any ransom up to five million dollars.
So they had mechanisms in place to handle almost any situation, but none of it brought her any comfort, because what had actually happened was completely outside any scenario they had discussed.
They had no protocol in place for how to deal with crazy magical creatures bent on enacting an elaborate scheme of manipulation and revenge. No protocol to handle something like this.
Human trafficking was a crime that mostly involved victims who were too poor and vulnerable to protect themselves against it. Life had skidded so far off the path of anything that seemed remotely feasible she felt utterly adrift and more alone than she had in years.
Someday I’m going to look back at this, she told herself. And while I’m never going to laugh at what happened, I’m going to be grateful I made it through alive. Someday this experience is going to be in the past, and I will know what it feels like to seek revenge myself.
As foreign as the concepts were to her, nursing her anger was far better than sinking into depression or giving up. They gave her something to focus on, somewhere to direct her rage.
Desperate to take some kind of
action, she started counting the strips of leather in the crosshatched cot. There were twelve strips in length and thirty-six strips across. Anxiety knotted her stomach. Had she counted right? She started over. Twelve and thirty-six.
Then again. Twelve and thirty-six.
Maybe she needed to touch them to be sure. Compelled forward, she moved her fingers along the crosshatching, whispering to herself as she counted. After going over the leather strips fifteen times, she pressed both clenched fists to her forehead and forced herself to step away from the cot.
If she thought going on tour was stressful, it was nothing compared to this. To try to distract herself from getting trapped in more OCD behavior, she studied the details of her surroundings more closely. Goose bumps rose along her arms.
Everything looked… historic. Was that the right word?
Walking over to the bars of her cell, she ran a finger experimentally down one. The slightly rough surface disturbed her more than anything. They were strong, well made, and sturdy, but they had not been generated by modern machinery.
There were fourteen bars.
Fourteen.
Fourteen. Agh!
She tore herself away from them, stepping back to turn in a circle. The lock on the cell door, the cot itself, the window—none of it looked sleek or mass-produced, or as if it had come from the industrial age.
She felt as if she had almost traveled back in time, or… or as if she wasn’t quite on the same Earth she knew anymore.
As if she wasn’t on Earth at all, anymore.
Her throat closed as panic threatened to set in.
What would it be like to travel through a crossover passageway? She had always wondered, but she didn’t know. She had read stories of how deadhead humans experienced crossovers, but she’d not yet visited an Other land herself. She had thought her hypothetical trip to Adriyel might be the first time.
Since she had no magic, she couldn’t make a crossover passage on her own. A deadhead had to be touching someone with magical ability in order to make a crossing, and she had always known she would have to rely on someone else with magic to walk her through the passage. The most common way was to hold hands.