Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

I ripped at the dried grass as the gnome continued to extol the Forum’s ‘merchandise’ cage by cage. Number three held a selkie. The one who’d been squatting on the Golden Hind – the replica warship – moored on the Thames at Southwark? I decided I didn’t want to know. Cage four held a small black Labrador-like puppy. He was listed as a Black Dog, untrained, so his howl could not be guaranteed to bring about immediate death.

There were five swan maidens, evidently numerically appropriate in someone’s mind, in cage five. Cage six: a centaur; cage seven: Mini the Minotaur; and cage eight: a hairless cat in a blue sweater. Looked like the Forum’s procurers had raided the Carnival’s shows to up their auction specials.

I felt bad for them all and, if I could, I’d help them.

Cage nine was another ailuranthrope – shifter subspecies: sabre-tooth cat cinereus beta – which apparently meant he’d been Bitten, not Changed by Ritual or Born, so was infertile according to the gnome’s candid description, and was bound by loyalty, so was ideally suited for the epicurean markets. Gold Cat stirred inside me, and at her prodding I lifted my head to check: the man in the cage was the third of the grey and black big-cat-shifters. Steve Dean , she murmured, her sorrow filtering through my own thought that Steve was more baddie than goodie, so while the idea that he was going to end up as some sick fuck’s ‘Special of the Day’ turned my stomach, he really didn’t register that high on my ‘Person Who Needs Saving’ scale.

The kidnapped woman and her son – listed as ailuranthrope shifter subspecies: Royal Bengal tiger – were in cage ten, to be sold either as one lot or separately, dependent on bids. I raked my hands through my hair. Katie was my main concern, but neither she nor I could turn our backs on a little kid and his mother. Fuck. This was so going from bad to evil. It was almost a guilty relief to hear that cage eleven and twelve held a giant squid in a huge glass tank and an Arabian phoenix respectively, and neither were anyone I knew.

‘And last we come to lot thirteen, a number of much import I’m sure you’ll all agree,’ the gnome’s excited voice boomed out. ‘Thirteen is The Star Of Our Show. A Once In A Lifetime, Never To Be Repeated Offering here at the Forum Mirabilis, or anywhere else, for your delectation. Thirteen is a Creature of Such Rare Heritage that a name is yet to be coined for it, and all of its abilities have yet to be discovered. Ladies, gentleman and Others, please check the catalogue details for lot thirteen’s full history, and please ensure you make your bids with care. Payment will, as for all lots, be due in full immediately bidding is closed.’

Again I had the sensation of movement, of anticipation and eagerness, from the shadowed crowd on the stage.

I looked up, vaguely curious despite myself. And was surprised to see even the Emperor was leaning forwards, an expectant expression on his face—

He was watching me. Not the tent where all was about to be revealed.

Fear cramped my stomach.

I jerked my head towards tent thirteen.

The tent vanished.

My heart stuttered.

Inside the cage was a small dog – a Norwegian elkhound – sitting bolt upright, ears pricked, fur a fluffy mix of silver and grey tipped with lime green—

My niece, Freya.

A booming voice was wittering on about lots, how to bid, how to pay and complimentary refreshments. I wasn’t listening. I hugged myself, almost paralysed with panic. And pain. So much pain. Part of me knew the pain radiating through my body wasn’t physical, but that didn’t matter, I still hurt. Still felt as though my heart had been ripped out. As if it had been chopped in half with a blunt axe, the two halves pierced with silver nails and then shoved burning and broken back in my chest.

Freya. Or Katie.

No way could I choose.

Katie. Or Freya.

No way did I want to choose.

Freya.

I slowly opened my hand. Stared at the gold coin in my palm.

Katie.

Blood smeared the coin where I’d clutched it so hard my nails had split my flesh.

Freya was blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. An eight-year-old child.

The booming voice was saying something about barterers getting the chance to tender their coins for their corresponding ‘lot’ before open bidding could commence.

Katie wasn’t my blood, wasn’t my flesh, and was a young adult of seventeen. She’d never agree to my saving her over a child, if she was asked. But that didn’t mean I was going to leave her to the wolves.

Rage and determination pushed back the horrified panic and indecision swirling through me.

I was damned if I was going to choose between Katie and Freya. Or anyone else.

I lifted my head, scrubbed my face and took a few deep breaths to clear my mind. I fixed the Emperor, the Empress, the gnome and the anonymous gathering on the stage with a calculating look. No, the only choice I was going to make was who I was going to kill first. And to do that I needed my, so far elusive, plan.

As the gnome sold some smaller, less sought-after lots, the various items held up for viewing by the centurion vamps, while more centurions wandered among the shadowy bidders with platters and jugs, I counted the chain circles behind me. Including the one I was in, there were thirteen, same as the cages. But only twelve of the circles had shadowy figures in them: someone hadn’t turned up. I fisted my hand around the gold coin; I couldn’t imagine any of Freya’s or Katie’s relatives not turning up, so whoever’s coin I held, there should be someone here for the other girl.

Like Paula, Katie’s mum and my friend. Or Ana, Freya’s pregnant mother and my niece; we might not get on, but that meant nothing as it was down to Ana’s fear for herself and her child. And, same as with Katie and Freya, no way could I live with myself if anything happened to their mothers.

Not to mention there was still the price to be paid for bartering the coins, and the Forum’s future deterrent.

No. If anyone was going to be bartering, it had to be me . . . I eyed my boots, then glanced down at the gold coin in my hand, a plan finally forming in my mind. If I could make it work.

‘Hey, Gold Cat, help me save the kits?’

Save kits , she growled low. Yes.

She might be my ùmaidh , and house a supposedly powerful primal spirit, but her conversational skills were definitely on the basic side.

‘Okay, here’s what I want you to do, ’ I said, and pictured a series of images in my mind. When I finished, I stripped my bra off from under my T-shirt, refastened it and held it in front of me. Gold Cat leaped out of my body with a tickling brush of fur, sticking her head through the circle of the bra so it hung round her neck like a wacky-looking collar. I took a moment to check her out. She was virtually transparent, fading fast enough that I doubted she’d last the night. An odd sadness settled in me. I shook it off and released my hold on the bra. Now I wasn’t touching it, the Unseen veil I’d taken from my T-shirt and tagged to the bra activated, and Gold Cat totally vanished.

‘Good luck,’ I whispered, then slumped in relief as a barely audible chuff told me she’d crossed the circle. I’d been right; the circle didn’t stop things like my boots, the gold coin and the centurion’s arm, so it had been cast to hold me specifically. Just as when Gold Cat had crossed the circle in the cat-shifters’ cave, she registered as ‘not me’; she didn’t have enough of my soul in her to keep her trapped.

Now I just had to pray she managed to do what I needed. In time.