It didn't look like something that had been killed in the heat of battle to me. More likely, Gerald senior had caught it napping and lopped the head off before it was fully awake, assuming it wasn't a clever fake. Gerald's sold some genuinely valuable pieces, but caveat emptor was definitely the house motto. The general feeling was that anyone dumb enough to buy the magical equivalent of snake oil deserved what he got.
The Fey came around the side of the huge head. "You're part of the auction staff?" He sounded surprised. I suppose that was fair – Gerald wasn't in the habit of hiring people who couldn't take care of themselves, and I guess I looked fairly harmless.
Looks can be deceiving.
I waited until a crescendo of canned music and the automated voice-over announcing the imminent start of bidding ended. Then I pointed at the nearest plinth. "Do you know what that is?"
He surveyed the small, quivering box on top of the marble stand for a beat. "No."
"It's a djinn. A very old, very pissed off one. Gerald recently acquired it from the estate of the mage who trapped it. Only the spell he put on the container is deteriorating now that he's dead, and if it goes altogether before they can unload it, he's likely to take out half the block."
The box gave a leap as if it had heard me, and almost managed to jump off its plinth. I gingerly sat it back where it belonged, and it quieted down. For the moment.
"How does your presence prevent that?" the Fey asked, sounding bemused.
I stopped looking for the gavel, which Matt had mislaid somewhere as usual, to stare at him in surprise. "You don't know?"
"Why would I ask if I did?"
"I'm a projective null," I told him slowly. What possible reason could he have for faking ignorance? If he was here for me, he certainly knew what he was getting. And if he wasn't, why would he have come?
"You can block magic?" His expression suddenly became a lot more intense.
"For a certain radius. I'm here to make sure nothing blows up in a customer's face." I smiled at him sweetly. "At least, not before they can pay."
"How much of a radius?" His voice had lost its teasing tone, and was now all business.
I glared at him. I knew it. For all their magical strength, the Fey had never produced a null, a fact that seemed to rankle. They'd been looking for a way to add that particular gift to their magical arsenal for some time, but with so few nulls to choose from, and most of them too weak to do more than disrupt a ward now and then, their hunt had been frustrating. Until they found me.
Father's dinner guests had offered him a deal that he could have refused; instead, he jumped on it like a starving dog does a bone. It must have seemed perfect: a chance to get rid of an unwanted burden – and a constant reminder of his wife's preference for red hair – and get paid handsomely to boot. Too bad for him that I was tipped off. Great-Uncle Pip had always had a soft spot for the one person who didn't treat him like an idiot child. By the time the deal was finalized, he'd insured that I was nowhere to be found. And no one hides better than a null. The usual tracking spells are useless on us; we simply don't register, not even as a norm – and I can walk through most wards as if they aren't even there. The Fey did not take my disappearance well. The nobles who had intended to escort me into slavery in Faerie instead took back Father's head.
I pushed the memories away and pointed to a spot off the side of the stage. It was where the auction assistants usually stood to bring out new items for bidding. Since everything for sale tonight was already in place, no one was likely to be coming or going. "You can stand over there. We can talk after the sale." Assuming he could grab me before I managed to slip away in the mass exodus.
Matt lumbered up beside us. He was sweating despite the temperature, and his collar appeared to be eating into his thick neck. "Bidders aren't allowed on stage, sir," he told the Fey with fake bonhomie. "Perhaps you would like to take a place in front?"
"What I would like – " the Fey began, but I cut him off with a curse. For the second time that night, someone came through the main doors I really didn't want to see. In fact, I'd have preferred a whole room full of Fey to the sight of that narrow, smirking face.
Chapter 2
"What's wrong?" Mart's head whipped around. He scanned the plinths with anxious eyes, but I wasn't looking at them.
I gripped his arm. "It's Seb!" I pointed to where a tall, elegant figure in a dove gray suit had just entered, surrounded by no fewer than eight bodyguards.
"What?" Mart's eyes practically crossed, trying to take in the whole room at once.
I smacked his arm. "Sebastian! My cousin!"
I turned to run, but Mart's big paw descended on the back of my neck. "You can't leave. We're about to start."
"Didn't you hear me?" I asked furiously. "He isn't here to say hello!" Mart's hand didn't budge. "If I'm dead, I can't keep anything from going haywire," I pointed out.
"He's not here to kill you." Matt suddenly looked much calmer. A minute before, he'd been heading for a stroke; now his flushed face wore an expression of smug satisfaction that sent my own blood pressure skyrocketing.
"And you know this how?"
Matt shrugged. "I'm surprised you didn't notice. There's only twelve plinths, Claire."
It took a second to register, then the words hit home. Despite selling fakes whenever he could get his hands on one, Gerald was a superstitious old coot. He knew better than anyone that some of his merchandise was the real deal, and a witch had told him that selling them in lots of thirteen would be an added safety precaution. I hadn't noticed the omission tonight, but I should have. I'd been so worried about the sudden appearance of the Fey that I'd forgotten – they weren't the main reason I was in hiding.
"You're planning to sell me?" My voice went up an octave and Matt winced.
"I didn't have a choice," he said defensively. "Sebastian's boys tracked you down a couple days ago. I could have handed you over then, but I figured you might do better in an auction. So I told your cousin to show up tonight if he wanted you. Looks like he does."
Seb was staring at me, a little smile curving his thin lips. Match point, he mouthed.
Like hell.
"Matt! What do you think Seb will do with me if he wins?"
"He said something about the family business being tied up so one heir gets it all, and the rest are out of luck."
"And did he happen to mention what they do with the losers?" I almost screamed.
"I guess he forgot that part." It was pretty clear that Matt didn't give a damn. His own inheritance rested on keeping his father happy and showing a profit. What happened after the sale wasn't his problem, a fact he demonstrated by chaining me to the podium.
"I'll kill you," I promised as the manacle snapped shut around my wrist.
Matt laughed. "You're a null, Claire. You couldn't do a spell to save your life! Now settle down and don't make a fuss."
"You have no idea what kind of a fuss I'm about to make."
Matt didn't bother to reply. He started the bidding on the first item, keeping me for last. Practical. I'd be there to keep the peace until the other items were carried away by successful bidders. Then it would be my turn, unless I could figure a way out of this before then.
I looked around, trying to crush down my rising panic. For a minute, I thought the Fey had gone, then I spotted him propping up the wall just offstage. No help there. Matt must have called him in to give Seb some competition, and ran the price up.
After a fierce bidding war, the djinn was sold to a tiny old woman swathed in black silk and pearls the size of cherries. She placidly stowed him in her huge purse, showing no sign of worry about her acquisition. Either she was barking mad, or she was a powerful witch. Considering that she kept well away from me, I was betting on the latter.