Page 23 of Fated Angel
Someone jostles Gabby from behind and Colt instinctively pulls her closer. Snapping out of her thoughts, she focuses back on her surroundings. The auction is being held in the center of the underground bazaar, and it seems everyone in the city is streaming toward it.
They allow the tide of people to draw them along, keeping their gazes low and disguises firmly in place. Kenna was quite proud of them, saying the swathes of fabric, along with the awful-tasting potion she provided to disguise their auras, would be everything they need.
No one would know that the angel and demon who have been wreaking havoc on the cult are amongst them.
The streets widen as the colorful shops and stands fall away, opening to high stone walls on either side of a large, cobbled area. The whole place still feels oppressive, but that may be the feet of soil above them. Or the danger that’s pulsing all around them. Someone rushes past Gabby, and she slides a glance as her hand wraps around the backpack she now has strapped to her front. Looking like she’s gained several pounds only adds to her disguise. The man in a rich, purple turban continues past, barely glancing at her.
Which is just the way she’d like it.
Unobtrusive is what she and Colt need to be. Invisible.
Until they start bidding.
Then they practically have a blank check thanks to Kenna and the Order so they can rescue Asher.
Not for the first time, Gabby wonders who Asher is and why he’s so important. Not only are the cult using the obsidian to hold him, but Kenna traveled all the way to the Lost City to free him. Gabby’s intent is to find out.
The crowd dissipates as the space opens out, and the sight that greets them is both fascinating and unsettling. Gabby discovers they’re in a large square, a wooden platform erected in the middle. Mystical artifacts and peculiar creatures are on display at stalls and in cages. The bazaar is like a crossroads of the supernatural, a place where beings from different realms and dimensions converge.
The centerpiece is the raised platform, adorned with ancient symbols, clearly waiting for the supernatural auction to commence. The crowd mills around, a patchwork of color and cloth, perusing the mystical items, powerful relics, and even sentient beings brought forth for bidding.
It feels archaic and cruel. Gabby suppresses a shudder. Probably because it is.
She and Colt blend with the crowd, remaining at the back and close to a stone wall. People murmur among themselves, the sense of excitement palpable.
“Going to bid big and get me a shifter for the fighting circles…”
“…hopefully I can grab a bargain.”
“I hear they have a dangerous one, too.”
It’s the final comment that has Colt stiffening. There’s no doubt it’s a reference to Asher. And if he’s dangerous, no wonder they’re using the obsidian shard to contain him.
Just as Gabby finishes the thought, she sees him. Feels it. Asher. The undeniable power of the obsidian.
He’s trapped by it, the cage holding him captive. He looks like an ordinary man, brown hair, average height, but the vessel containing him says otherwise. The iridescent surface of the cage shimmers with an unsettling aura. Its structure seems to pulse with an eerie energy, the bars throbbing in dark, intricate patterns that seem to writhe and shift, containing its contents with insidious totality.
Gabby’s gaze is drawn away as a sinister being shrouded in shadows steps onto the platform, the gnarled walking stick it carries looking more concrete than it. The crowd is already falling silent, but one sharp crack of the stick and the very air is rendered mute.
“Our first item,” it says in a hoarse whisper that reaches every corner.
A cage is carried up to the platform by several men wearing nothing but loin cloths. They place it down and leave, never glancing at the being inside. The man looks like he used to be strong, but now his hair’s disheveled, his clothes tattered, his eyes dim and haunted.
“A shifter,” the auctioneer hisses. “With the power to take the form of whatever animal it pleases. A fine specimen for those who like to bet on the fights. Do I have an opening bid?”
Calls ring out and within minutes, the shifter is sold. Gabby’s chest is so tight she finds she’s rubbing it. This is wrong, yet there’s nothing she can do.
The weak are bartered and sold.
The strong decide what’s bought and sold.
The obsidian’s voice is almost welcome in this cruel auction. It means she’s not quite so helpless…
Colt’s hand wraps around hers, warm and reassuring. “Without the obsidian, these markets aren’t possible.”
Gabby stills, realizing he’s right. That he just gave her hope. That she just listened to the obsidian…
There is no light without dark.