10
The Boring Kidnapping
If you're going to kidnap someone, you should at least put some effort into it.
That was my primary thought as I sat in a cold metal chair in the center of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, my wrists bound with scratchy rope that smelled faintly of mothballs and regret. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in a sickly yellow glow, and the air tasted like rust and old chemicals. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped with maddening regularity.
I'd been here for hours. Maybe longer. It was hard to tell time when your only entertainment was watching a scrawny warlock pick at his cuticles and a vampire with a regrettable mohawk pace back and forth like he was auditioning for a community theater production ofCrime and Punishment.
"This is the worst kidnapping ever," I announced to no one in particular. "Like, genuinely terrible. Zero stars. Would not recommend."
The warlock—I'd mentally named him Kevin, because he looked like a Kevin—glared at me with watery eyes. "Shut up."
"Make me." I rattled my bindings for emphasis. "These knots are a joke, by the way. I could probably chew through them if I got bored enough. Is this your first time? It feels like your first time."
Kevin's face reddened. "I've done plenty of kidnappings!"
"Sure you have, Kevin."
"My name's not Kevin!"
I shrugged as best I could with my hands tied behind my back. "You look like a Kevin. Accept it."
The vampire with the mohawk—I'd dubbed him Spike, because originality was overrated—stormed over and got in my face. His fangs were yellowed, and his breath smelled like he'd been drinking something that had already been dead for a while. "Listen here, you little bitch. We're getting paid good money to deliver you to the Blackburn Coven, and I'm not about to let some mouthy human ruin my payday."
Blackburn Coven. The name pinged something in my memory—Selene had mentioned them once, a rival organization that had been sniffing around the family's territory. Darius had dismissed them as "ambitious but incompetent." Looking at my current captors, I was inclined to agree with his assessment.
"So you're subcontractors," I said flatly. "You couldn't even get the job directly. You're thebudget optionfor supernatural kidnapping."
Spike's eye twitched. "I'm going to enjoy watching the coven drain you."
"Drain me? That's so unoriginal. At least threaten me with something creative. Ritual sacrifice. Eternal torment. Forced to watch reality TV for all eternity." I sighed dramatically. "You guys really need to work on your villain game."
Kevin and Spike exchanged a look that suggested they were seriously reconsidering their career choices. Good.
The truth was, beneath the bravado, I was scared. Not terrified—I'd faced down a werewolf's knife, a demon's worship, a vampire's control, and a witch's magic. Two-bit mercenaries with poor hygiene and worse planning didn't quite measure up. But I was uncomfortable, cold, and genuinely annoyed that my afternoon plans—which had involved finally organizing the manor's library with Azrael—had been so rudely interrupted.
I'd been walking the manor's perimeter, enjoying the rare solitude, when they'd grabbed me. A hand over my mouth, a bag over my head, and a bumpy ride in the back of a van that smelled like wet dog and cheap beer. They hadn't even bothered to blindfold me properly—the bag had a hole in it, and I'd watched the streetlights blur past through the gap.
Amateurs.
The warehouse they'd brought me to was a masterpiece of cliché. Rusted metal walls, flickering lights, puddles of stagnant water on the concrete floor. There was even a dramatic chain hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently in a draft I couldn't feel. All it needed was some ominous music and a villain monologue, and we'd have the full set.
"So," I said, breaking the silence that had settled over my captors like a suffocating blanket, "what's the plan here? You hand me over to the Blackburn Coven, they do whatever it is they do, and you get paid. Then what? You retire to a nice beach somewhere? Buy a timeshare?"
Spike sneered. "None of your business, human."
"It kind of is my business, since I'm the commodity being traded." I shifted in my chair, trying to find a position that didn't make my shoulders ache. The ropes were tight enough to be annoying but loose enough that I could probably work my way free if I had enough time and motivation. "I'm justsaying, if you're going to base your entire criminal enterprise on kidnapping innocent women, you might want to consider the long-term career prospects. What's your exit strategy?"
Kevin blinked. "Exit strategy?"
"Yeah. Retirement plan. 401(k). Health insurance—do supernatural mercenaries even have health insurance? What happens if you get stabbed on the job?"
"We heal," Spike said flatly.
"Must be nice. Us humans have to deal with deductibles and copays and waiting six weeks for a specialist appointment." I shook my head sadly. "You don't know how good you have it."
Kevin was staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "Are you... giving us career advice?"
