“Thank you,” Daisy said.
“Thank you,” Tulip echoed.
She was such a sweet, shy girl. “Don’t worry. Charlotte will clear your face right up.”
“Do we need you to move the stones?” Daisy asked.
That’s what living in the Broken does to you, Éléonore thought. Daisy had no clue how basic magic worked and wanted nothing to do with it. “No, the stones only prevent someone from coming in. Once you’re in, you can move them or just step over them to go out.”
“Thank you!” Daisy said again. The girls went out. Éléonore heard the screen door slam shut.
She checked the time. Charlotte had been gone for twenty minutes. She couldn’t cross the boundary into the Broken. Her magic was too strong, so she would likely just wait at the end of the road, before the boundary, until Luke came through and delivered the blood.
A hint of anxiety squirmed through her, an unpleasant premonition that left unease in its wake. She couldn’t tell if it was her magic warning her or if she’d become paranoid in her old age. It was terrible to get old. But then the alternative wasn’t much better. Besides, Charlotte would sit in the truck with the doors locked. She had a rifle, what little good it would do her. Not that the girl wouldn’t defend herself, but she didn’t have that steel-hard core Éléonore’s granddaughter did. Rose’s resolve carried her through life’s rough waters. Charlotte had weathered some storms, but she lacked that primal viciousness of a born Edger. That’s what made her so special, and that’s why she liked her so much, Éléonore reflected. She too hadn’t been born in East Laporte. Charlotte’s presence reminded her of a different time and a gentler place.
Éléonore brushed Richard’s hair from his face. “Who is Sophie, Richard?”
He didn’t answer. It could’ve been anyone, a wife, a lover, a sister. Éléonore knew very little about him. She’d only met him once, but he’d made an impression. It was the way he carried himself with quiet dignity. His brother was all flash, charm, and jokes, but Richard had that sardonic, sharp wit. He didn’t speak much, but occasionally he said clever things with a completely straight face . . .
“Mrs. Drayton!” The scream rang out, high-pitched and vibrating with sheer terror. Tulip.
Éléonore ran to the door. Tulip stood at the wards, her face skewed by fear into a distorted mask. “Mrs. Drayton! They have Daisy!”
Éléonore hurried across the lawn. Move faster, legs. “Who? Who has Daisy?”
“Men.” Tulip waved her arms. “With guns and horses.”
A long, ululating howl rolled through the Edge. The tiny hairs on the back of Éléonore’s neck stood up. She grabbed a stone and pulled Tulip into the protective circle. “Inside, now!”
Tulip ran for the door. Éléonore replaced the stone and hurried after her, across the grass, onto the porch steps.
The sound of hoofbeats made her spin. A rider came down the road. His head was shaved. He wore black leather, and as he rode, the sun glinted off the long chain shackles hanging from his saddle.
Slavers.
The realization lashed her like a whip. Éléonore dashed across the porch into the house, shut the door, and locked it.
Tulips stared at her with huge eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Shhh!” Éléonore moved to the window and peeked through the gap in the curtain. The rider paused by the house, turned his horse, and tried to ride up to the porch. The ward stones shivered. The horse backed away, nearly throwing its rider. He glared at the house, stuck his fingers in his mouth, and whistled.
More riders followed, joining the first. They wore dark clothes, and their faces were grim. Some bore tattoos, some were painted up, some wore human bones in their hair. Half a dozen wolfripper dogs, big, savage-looking creatures, flanked the horses. A man on the left, scarred, with the face of a bruiser and long blond hair pulled back into a braid rode up and dumped a body onto the ground. Daisy. Mon dieu. She was pale as a sheet.
The men surrounded the lawn. One, two, three . . . Sixteen that she could see.
Éléonore’s heart sank. There would be no mercy.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“We were walking down the road to the car. Daisy was looking in her purse for the keys. That blond guy rode out and kicked her. He just kicked her right in the face!” Tulip’s voice squeaked. “She fell and yelled at me to run, so I ran—”
The scarred blond man pulled Daisy forward.
“Hush now,” Éléonore whispered.
“Do it,” he barked.
Daisy reached for the nearest stone with a shaking hand. Her cheek was bleeding. She touched the stone and tried to lift it. Magic pulsed. Daisy yelped, jerking her hand back. The slaver sank a kick into her stomach. Daisy screamed and curled into a ball. Tulip cried out, and Éléonore clamped her hand over the girl’s mouth.
The leader’s voice carried over, harsh and grating. “We don’t want you. We don’t care about you. We want the man you’re hiding inside. Daisy here says she can’t open the ward, and given as she tried, I’m inclined to believe her. It’s up to you, then. Give me what I want, and I’ll go away. It’s that simple.”
Sixteen men. Far too many. One or two, even four, she could deal with. She’d let them in and curse them, but sixteen was just too many. Thoughts skittered around in Éléonore’s head. She had to get help.
“Do you have a phone?” she whispered.
Tulip pulled a cell phone out of her pocket.
“Call Charlotte,” Éléonore whispered. “Two-two-seven twenty-one thirty.”
Tulips dialed the number with shaking fingers and thrust the phone at her.
“This is Charlotte,” Charlotte said, her voice calm.
“Where are you?” Éléonore whispered.
“At the end of the road. Luke was running late, and I just got the blood.”
“Don’t come back to the house!”
“Why? Éléonore, what’s wrong?”
“I need you to go down to the Rooneys’. Take the second fork left, then go to the end of the road. Tell Malcolm Rooney there are slavers at our house. There are sixteen of them, and they want Richard. Tell him he owes me, and that he’s got a pretty daughter and he doesn’t want them showing up at his house next. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get the militia together and run them out of the Edge. Go, Charlotte. Go now.”
The phone beeped, and she thrust it back at Tulip.
“All you have to do is walk down and move one of these ward stones.” The slaver called out. Éléonore looked through the gap. He had pulled a knife out. The large curved blade caught the sunlight. “You know how this goes,” he called out. “I’m a peaceful man. Don’t make me do this.”
CHARLOTTE took a turn at breakneck speed. Slavers? It made no sense. Slavery had been outlawed in both Adrianglia and the Broken for centuries. But the fear in Éléonore’s voice was vivid and real.
She had to get to the Rooneys’. East Laporte had no police force, but when something threatened the entire town, the Edgers sometimes came together into a militia to meet it.
Trees flashed by her. Come on, she willed. Go faster, truck. Go faster.
“LISTEN to me.” Éléonore grasped Tulip’s bony shoulders. “They will hurt Daisy now. There’s nothing we can do about it. The ward keeps me from using magic on them, and if we try to shoot them, they’ll kill her.”
“She’s my sister!” Tulip whispered back. “If we give the guy to them—”
“They’ll murder us all. They’re lying, dear heart. They’re lying, bad, awful bastards. We have to wait until help comes.” Éléonore hugged her, wrapping her arms around the girl’s bony shoulders. “No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, you can’t go out there. We have to wait it out.”
“Hold her,” the slaver said.