the dark.
Smart, smart girl.
Quinn had to interrupt her to say, "So, you two girls want to surrender to the darkness?" He said it as if
he were asking if they wanted to order pizza.
"Yes," Rashel said.
"Oh, yes," Daphne said. "It's just like we always say. I think that would be just the most seriously cool-"
Quinn made a gesture at her as if to say, "For God's sake, shut up." Not a rough gesture. It was more
like an exasperated choir director trying to get through to some soprano who wouldn't stop at the end of
the measure. Stop here.
And Daphne shut up.'
Like that.
As if he'd turned off a switch in her. Rashel twisted slightly to look at the backseat and saw that Daphne
had slumped to one side, body limp, her breathing peaceful.
Oh, God, Rashel thought. She was used to the kind of mind control other vampires had tried on her. The
persuasive, whispery-voice-in-the-head type. And when Quinn hadn't tried to use that, or to call for help
in the cellar, she'd assumed he was low on telepathy.
Now she knew the truth. He packed a telepathic punch like a pile driver. No, like a karate blow: swift,
precise, and deadly.
He turned to look at her, a dark shape against a lighter darkness. Rashel tried to brace herself.
"And the rest is silence," Quinn said, and gestured at her.
Rashel fell into a void.
She woke up as she was being carried into the warehouse. She had enough presence of mind not to
open her eyes or make any other sign that she was conscious. It was Quinn carrying her; she could tell
even with her eyes shut.
When he dumped her on a mattress, she deliberately fell so that her head was turned away from him and
her hair was over her face.
She had a moment's fear that he was going to discover the knife in her boot when he shackled her
ankles. But he didn't even roll up her pant leg. He seemed to be doing everything as quickly as possible,
without really paying attention.
Rashel heard the shackle snap shut. She kept perfectly still.
She lay and listened as he brought Daphne in and chained her. Then she heard voices close by and the
sound of other footsteps.
"Put that one down here-what happened to her purse?" That was Lily.
"It's still in the car." Ivan.
"Okay, bring it in with the other one. I'll do her feet."
Thump of a body hitting a mattress. Footsteps going away. The metallic clink of chains. Then a sigh from
Lily. Rashel could imagine her straightening up and looking around in satisfaction.
"Well, that's it. Ivan's got number twenty-four in the car. I guess we're going to have one very happy
client."
"Joy," Quinn said flatly.
Twenty-four? One client?
"I'll leave a message that everything's going to be ready for the big day."
"Do that."
"You're awfully moody, you know. It's not just me who's noticed it."
A pause, and Rashel imagined Quinn giving one of his black looks. "I was just thinking it was ironic. I
turned down a job as a slave trader once. That was before. Do you remember before, Lily? When we
lived in Charlestown and your sister Dove was still alive. A captain from Marblehead asked if I wanted
to ship out to Guinea for some human cargo. Black gold, I think he called it. As I remember, I hit him on
the nose. And Fight-the-Good-fight-for-Faith Johnson reported me for brawling."
"Quinn, what's wrong with you?"
"Just reminiscing about the old days in the sunlight. Of course, you wouldn't know about that, would
you? You're lamia; you were born this way. Technically, I suppose, you were born dead."
"And technically, I suppose, you're going peculiar. My father always said it would happen."
"Yes, and I wonder what your father would think about all this? His daughter selling humans for
money. And to such a client, and for such a reason-"
At that moment, while Rashel was listening desperately, hanging on every word, heavy footsteps
interrupted. Ivan had returned. Quinn broke off, and he and Lily remained silent as another body
thumped on a bed.
Rashel cursed mentally. What client? What reason? She'd supposed the girls were being sold as regular
house slaves or food supplies. But clearly that wasn't the case.
And then something happened that drove thoughts of the future right out of her mind. She heard
footsteps next to her bed, and she was aware of someone leaning close. Not Quinn, the smell was
wrong.
Ivan.
A rough hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Another arm slid under her waist, lifting her
up.
Panic shot through Rashel, and she tried to push it away. She forced herself to stay limp, eyes shut, arms
dangling passively.
I ought to have been prepared for this.
She'd realized from the beginning that playing her part might include allowing herself to get bitten. To feel
vampire teeth on her throat, to allow them to spill her blood.
But it bad never happened to her before, and it took every ounce of her will to keep from fighting. She
was scared. Her arched throat felt exposed and
vulnerable, and she could feel a pulse beating in it wildly.
"What are you doing?"
Quinn's voice was sharp as the crack of glacier ice. Rashel felt Ivan go still.
"I've got something to settle with this girl. She's a smartass."
"Take your hands off her. Before I knock you through the wall."
"Quinn-" Lily said.
Quinn's voice was painfully distinct. "Drop her. Now."
Ivan dropped Rashel.