Guilt flickers through me, because a real best friend would have told Meg everything as soon as I got back to Nashville. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t have launched into a spiel about how myths are real and supernatural beings exist, but I could have explained the throuple I’m now a part of. I didn’t. And to her credit, her concern for me outweighs any lingering hurt she might feel because I didn’t confide in her.
I love Meg for wanting to go with me and make sure I’m okay. After everything I’ve failed to do as a friend, it means a lot. But I also want to scream at her to run, because who knows what the other two will do to her and Gabriella once they meet up with this brute outside.
“Sure, come along,” says the big shifter genially. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you when she wakes up.”
They ask him a few more questions, and he lies easily and convincingly until I hear the squeak of the outside door and feel the cool air hit my face. There’s a gasp and a faint shriek, immediately stifled, then a scuffling sound and the familiar squelch of fangs puncturing flesh. One bite, then another, followed by the sound of two bodies thumping limply onto the concrete.
“Just leave them here. They’ll recover in a few hours. We have to go.” It’s the snake shifter, the woman. “Ollie, once we get to the van,give Ms. de Chagny an update and our ETA. Brit will take care of any camera footage, and then she’ll join us at the rendezvous point.”
I’m bundled ungraciously into a vehicle and dumped on the floor. At first, I’m hopeful because my fingers and toes are beginning to tingle as feeling returns to them, but the next second, cold metal presses against the skin of my wrists, then my ankles. A chilly metal band clicks shut around my throat, and a chain clanks. I feel the death adder’s breath on my face right before her fangs sink into my cheek.
They’ve shackled and paralyzed me. They’re not taking any chance that I might get loose.
Did they do something to Raoul? If anyone has hurt him or traumatized him even more, I swear I’ll claw their hearts out.
The drive feels interminable, especially with my head lolling and my body tumbling every time the vehicle veers around a turn. The driver seems to like braking sharply, which makes me slide across the floor of what seems to be a work van of some kind.
For a while, I try memorizing the turns and counting the seconds, but eventually I lose track and give up. To amuse myself, I contemplate what I’ll do to each of these shifters when I get my mobility back.
Eventually, I’m able to open my eyes and twitch my fingers. The two men are up front while the snake woman sits in the back with me, fully clothed now, holding the end of the chain that’s fastened to the collar around my neck. She doesn’t bite me again, but I’m sure she will if I make the wrong move.
Looking down, I discover that my handcuffed wrists and shackled ankles are connected to each other by a short chain, probably just long enough to allow me to walk. The restraints look thicker and stronger than anything I’ve seen on TV. They’re probably designed to hold creatures with supernatural strength.
When the van finally stops, the two men drag me out. We’re at the back of a long brick structure—an ugly, serviceable kind of building. Brown, brittle weeds sprout thigh-high from cracks in the concrete.
The shifters escort me up several steps and through a grimy back door. I dislike the slow, shuffling pace I have to maintain thanks to the chains, but at least it gives me a few minutes to look around.
This building used to be a high school, judging by the dingy hallways, the rows of graffiti-splattered lockers, and the mildewed posters congealed to the walls. In several places, squares of the drop ceiling have rotted away, but the electricity must still work, because a few watery fluorescent bulbs glimmer here and there to illuminate our path.
While his friend waits out in the hall, the big shifter shoves me into an empty room with a single chair. The dust-coated plaques on the wall hint that this room might once have been a school official’s office—maybe even the office of the principal. Despite my anxiety for Raoul and for my own safety, I almost laugh at the irony of it.
When I was in school, I was particularly careful not to do anything that might get me in trouble. As a vampire, I couldn’t risk any additional attention, so I stayed low and kept quiet. I wasn’t popular or unpopular—I just floated along in the middle, being unremarkable, average. Not worth a second glance.
When I got older and boys started to notice me in spite of myself, I dressed in baggier clothes and avoided contact most days. I interacted with them just enough to ensure that I got invited to parties where I might be able to sneak a few swallows of blood from people who were too drunk or high to notice.
Being brought here feels odd, not only because of the rush of unbidden high school memories, but because this decrepit place doesn’t fit with the bits of information I’ve gleaned about Raoul’ssister. By all accounts, Philippa de Chagny should be operating out of a gorgeous office building with elegantly villainesque decor. A grungy abandoned high school doesn’t seem like her thing.
But apparently it is, because a moment after I’m forced into the battered chair, a woman walks in who can’t be anyone but Philippa de Chagny.
Her sleek bob is auburn, darker than Raoul’s hair, but she has the same pale green eyes, along with the same delicate, angular jawline and crisp features. Except wherever there’s softness in Raoul’s face, there is only hardness in Philippa’s.
She wears a blouse, tailored slacks, and a pair of heels that I’m fairly sure are Louboutins.
“Let’s get right to the point,” she says. “I’m a busy woman, Christine Daaé, and you’ve made me waste entirely too much time on you as it is.”
“If you’re going to try to bribe me to stay away from Raoul, save your breath,” I tell her. “Where is he? If you hurt him, I swear—”
“Hurt him?” Her green eyes flash. “He’s my brother. He’s family. No, Christine, you’re the one hurting him. In his email, he wasn’t specific aboutwhyhe suddenly decided to leave the family and the Collective, but I knew it had to be a lover. I had my people ask around, and they discoveredyou. You’re the girl who’s been messing with his head, with his life.”
“All I’ve done is encourage him to be himself.”
She scoffs lightly. “You know, when I first heard your name from my sources, I thought it sounded familiar. Imagine my surprise when I discovered who your parents were.” Philippa’s merciless eyes never leave my face, like she’s reading me in spite of my silence. “The Shifter Collective keeps tabs on all the supernaturals in Nashville. We’re rather territorial, you might say. Any supernatural who isn’ta shifter has to register with the Collective and pay an annual tax in order to remain within our territory. Your parents paid their dues without fail, for all three of you.”
Yet another thing my parents did without my knowledge or input. Why am I not surprised?
“Since their deaths, you haven’t paid your dues.” Philippa takes a slim smartphone from the pocket of her pants. “It slipped our notice, but we would have discovered the issue during our next audit. As it is, you owe two years’ worth of fees to the Collective.”
“Add that to the debts I can’t pay,” I say dryly.
