Menagerie.
The word lingered in her mind. Ridley had no intention of becoming a permanent part of the Menagerie, whatever the hell that meant.
Get up. You need to find a way out of here.
She took deep breaths, focusing her powers inward. She couldn’t use the Power of Persuasion on herself, but trying pulled her out of the drug-induced haze faster. Anything to keep her mind sharp.
Another silver tray rested on the nightstand. Instead of soup, this time her captors had upped the ante and left a plate of filet mignon and baby carrots, as if the meal could fool her into believing they weren’t going to do something terrible to her.
They probably put something in the food, too.
She stared at the meat as if it was a cherry lollipop. To Link, it would’ve been.
How did the words go? Little Fillet, I think of you most every day.
Her mind flooded with memories of stupid lyrics, until she almost smiled. With every word, the haze of the drugs lifted.
She looked down at her hands and realized she had scratched something into the side of the lacquered wood table next to her bed. One of her long pink nails was hanging off.
Rid traced the scratches with her finger.
A long line, and a shorter one—an L.
He was coming for her. She had to be ready.
Stay clear and get up.
As Ridley pushed herself up, she noticed that the dark purple bruises on her arms were gone. Come to think of it, her neck didn’t hurt anymore, either. If it weren’t for the drugs, she probably would’ve felt fine.
But I haven’t been here long enough to heal, have I?
The familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway sent her flying back under the covers. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.
Please don’t come in here.
The sound of metal clinking and another girl’s scream tore through the hallway.
“Come on out. We’re taking a little trip.” She recognized the Darkborn’s Southern drawl.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” the girl begged. Names started to come back to her. It wasn’t Drew or Katarina. This girl had an Italian accent. “Please, just let me stay here.”
“Now you want to stay?” the Darkborn asked. “After you’ve spent months begging to leave?”
Months. A knot formed in Ridley’s stomach.
How long have I been here? She couldn’t handle staying in this cell for weeks, let alone months.
Unless I already have.
“Don’t worry,” the Darkborn continued. “You’re coming back.”
Ridley heard shoes scraping against the concrete. He must’ve been dragging the poor girl.
“Where are we going?” The Italian girl sounded frantic.
“Men in the Syndicate are willing to pay a lot of money for an Empath’s services. Depending on the services.” He laughed cruelly.
Ridley opened her eyes and stared at the bars. She could tell from the sound of their footsteps that they were moving in the other direction.
Power trafficking. That’s what these scumbags are doing.
She’d heard rumors about it in some of the darker Caster clubs, like Suffer. Casters being abducted and sold for their powers. Or in this case, rented. Either way, it was a dirty trade, something even Dark Casters looked down upon.
There’s no way I’ll let them drag me around like a dog and make me do tricks.
I’m not for sale.
I’m Ridley Duchannes.
Ridley waited until the footsteps were long gone, letting the anger churn inside her. She grabbed the plate from the nightstand and hurled it against the wall. The white bone china shattered across the rug.
She didn’t like people messing with her, but using her was worse.
Just try me. Go ahead.
Treat me like a dog, and I’ll bite you. But the anger only exhausted her. She was still so weak.
Ridley climbed off the bed and stumbled toward the bars, her legs unsteady beneath her. “Hey, Katarina? Drew?” she whispered. “Are you out there?”
For a moment, no one responded. Maybe the Darkborn had taken them all at the same time.
“Can you guys hear me?” she tried again.
“Shut up, Pink,” Drew hissed from the darkness.
“He’s already gone,” Ridley said. “And my name is Ridley.”
It took a moment for the German girl to answer. “Katarina—I’m here.”
“What happened to that girl? Where was he taking her?”
“Her name is Lucia,” Katarina said. “Silas rents out our powers to members of the Syndicate. He was taking her on a job.”
“Shut up,” Drew snapped. “Are you stupid? You don’t want him coming back for you.”
Silence fell over the cells, until Ridley spoke up again. “How many of us are here?”
Katarina finally answered. “Six, I think.” Her voice was shaky.
“No. It’s at least seven,” a girl with a French accent whispered. “You’re forgetting about Angelique.”
“Idiots,” Drew hissed.
“Who’s Angelique? Did something happen to her?” Ridley gripped the bars, her knuckles turning white.
“Plenty of stuff happened to her, but she also escaped,” Katarina said. “She didn’t talk much to anyone, except Lucia. She went crazy every time they took Lucia.”
Ridley sensed there was more to the story, but right now she needed to know something more important. “Are you all Casters?”
“I’m a Sybil,” the French girl answered.
“Diviner,” the German girl said.
“Thaumaturge.” This girl sounded Spanish. “My name is Alicia. I’m the one they brought in to heal you.”
Like Ryan. No wonder I don’t feel like death warmed over anymore.
American. Italian. German. French. Spanish. Siren, Sybil, Diviner, Thaumaturge. Silas has his own little version of It’s a Small World down here.
“Thanks for fixing me up.” Ridley rubbed her hands over her arms where the bruises had been. At least that answered one of her questions. “Anyone else?” she asked. “Come on, we can help each other.”
“An Illusionist and a Cypher were already here when they brought me in,” the French girl said. “I don’t know if they’re still here.”
“I’m here,” a voice called out.
“Me, too.” Another one.
“I’m
a Siren,” Ridley whispered. “Does anyone know what they’re giving us? The drugs, I mean?”
Or am I the only one?
“You’re pretty stupid, Pink,” Drew said. “Sunshine is the only drug strong enough to knock some of us out. Including a Siren.”
Ridley wondered who this girl was. She had backbone, which meant she was probably Ridley’s best ally in the group.
Even if she is a pain in the ass.
“Sorry I’m not up to speed on all the drugs Casters are using these days. I’m not accustomed to anyone being able to knock me out under any circumstances.” Ridley racked her brain, trying to figure out what kind of Caster would be as difficult to drug as a Siren. She needed to know more about this girl so she could find a way to bring her around. “Are you a Shifter?”
Drew laughed. “Please. An antihistamine could knock out a Shifter.”
A light went on in Ridley’s brain. Of course. She’s almost as defensive as Necro.
“You’re a Necromancer.”
“Give the girl a prize.” Drew sounded bored, or scared. It was hard to tell without looking at her.
“Is that why the Darkborn calls us the Menagerie? Because we’re different kinds of Casters?” Rid asked.
Or is it because they treat us like animals?
For a moment, no one said a word.
“His boss chooses us because we’re different types of Casters,” the French girl said. “He’ll keep doing it until he completes his collection.”
The word collection sent a chill up Ridley’s spine.
“Or until he needs a replacement,” Drew said.
Ridley clung to the bars, her legs suddenly weaker. “Who’s his boss?”
No one answered.
Footsteps echoed somewhere down the hallway.
“Shh,” someone hissed.
A familiar scent floated through the passageway.
The stench of the Barbadian cigars Abraham favored when he was alive.
No.
Anyone but him.
But there was no denying it.
I’d know the smell of those smokes anywhere.
Up until that moment, Ridley had believed her life was in danger because she’d been kidnapped by a crazy Darkborn. Now she realized someone far more deranged and deadly was controlling her fate.