Page 1 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

Prologue

Every two hundred years, the monsters of the zodiac become flesh to claim a virgin tribute. They may stay in the world for the duration of the tribute's lifetime. But one of them never left.

1

YEN

Yen Ching, you have been chosen as a sacrifice to Karkinos, the Cancerian Zodiac God.

I rub my eyes, blinking at the screen, trying to process the email. It’s 2am. I’ve been finishing an assignment after a long shift in the restaurant, so I’m not at my best. The email is from the Zodiac Association. My brain lags to comprehend the message and remember who they are. My pulse picks up, one step ahead.

My parents are asleep and the house is quiet. The glow of the computer screen bathes my bedroom in cold, eerie light. My messy single bed calls to me, but there’s no way I can sleep now.

You will be picked up at an address of your choosing at 9am on June 21st. From there you will meet Lord Karkinos in the City of Atlantis. You will be returned at noon, June 23rd. Please sign the attached contract to commit to this arrangement.

The 21st of June is only two weeks away. It’s a strange message, but I applied to sell my virginity as a ‘sacrifice’ to a Zodiac God, so I can’t complain about strange now. My friend Sofie convinced me to apply, and she knows my situation.

I’m tempted to call her, but it’s late, and I already know she’ll be happy for me.

It’s a weird reaction to prostitution, but Sofie was raised in a zodiac sect, so her whole family was in on the deal when she sold her virginity. It was apparently an enormous honor for her. I can’t see my parents being so cool about their oldest daughter losing her v-card to a stranger.

There’s only one reason I signed up for this insane scenario. I scan the attached contract quickly, and it’s all there, like Sofie said it would be. The contract promises me five million dollars and is authorized by a legitimate legal firm right here in New York.

I rub my eyes and stretch, catching sight of myself in the mirror of my vintage dresser.

The dresser is too big for my childhood bedroom, squeezed in around piles of textbooks and memorabilia I can’t let go of. There are ornate swirls in its dark wood and it’s pretty and impractical in a way nothing else in my life has room to be. It’s the same size and color as the pianos I used to play in recitals, and although it’s much less grand than those instruments, it reminds me of when I still had time for music.

Those days feel long gone now.

My eyes are deep pits of sleep deprivation, but my ponytail is still intact. I smooth my hand over my head, feeling that every hair is in place.

The skin of my forehead is pulled back tight, its severity jarring with my oversized t-shirt and pajama pants. I smile at myself, trying to look like someone desirable enough to pay five million dollars for, and it comes out like a grimace.

Oh well. With five million dollars, I can afford a facial. And I can finally move out of my folks’ place, somewhere my impractical vintage dresser won’t look out of place. I can even buy the piano I’ve always dreamed of.

My phone dings. It’s from an unknown number. Dreams of bigger apartments and pianos are wiped from my mind. I don’t need a number to know who it is.

Hey. You up?

Yeah. Are you okay?

Yeah. I’m safe. It’s weird here. Not bad weird, just weird. I miss home. I don’t wanna be one of these girls.

My chest tightens. I imagine my sister Aya now, typing in the dark, forehead furrowed, one finger tightly curled in the ends of her bleach-roughened, wavy pink hair.

I want to talk more, ask a million things, ask what it’s like in the safe-house, and what the other women are like. But she can’t tell me much, even on a burner phone.

Just hang in there. The police know what they’re doing. Do you want to talk on the phone?

Nah, everyone’s sleeping here. I just wanted to touch base. Thanks for being there. Sorry for being such a screw-up.

You’re not a screw-up. It’s not your fault. It’ll be okay. I’m working on something. Give me a week or two.

I can’t see how you can help, and how I’m not a total screw-up, but thanks.

The phone goes dark, and I sigh. Aya has always been hard on herself.

Her message and the email have left my body thrumming with exhausted tension. My stomach growls with neglect.