Chapter 38: Chapter thirty-seven

Present day

 

The man arrived late that night, his clothes looking uncharacteristically rumpled and smelling slightly of another woman.

Liz felt an irrational pang of jealousy at that, which was obviously ridiculous. Their relationship was one of rescuer and rescued, and one he likely shared with many people given his past. It wasn’t romantic. She wasn’t interested in him like that. Or, at least, she didn’t think she was. He was good-looking though, and intellectually stimulating. And it was hard to deny that being an actual real-life superhero had a certain appeal.

Then again, he was a nearly emotionless killer. That wasn’t exactly her type.

“Have you decided?” the man asked, putting no pressure into the question whatsoever. She wondered how he managed that; saying things without sounding like a monotonous robot. She supposed it might be something one learns at superhero school.

“Yes,” Liz said. “I’m in.”

In truth she had made up her mind not long after he had left. She didn’t relish putting her life in danger again, but believed in the man’s ability to protect her and she wanted to pay him back for saving her life. More importantly, if this Program wasn’t taken down, she would be hiding until the day she died, and she had had enough of being confined. She had big things planned for her life and none of them involved being stuck in that apartment until the day she died.

“Thank you,” the man said. “I will register for the Night Market tonight. It’s in Washington, and I will need all time I can to scout the area, so we will need to leave tomorrow since we can’t fly there while the Program is looking for you.”

Liz nodded. “Ah, what exactly does it mean to be sold at auction? Am I going to be in a cage or what?”

“Nothing so dramatic. The human trafficking side of the Night Market doesn’t involve any sex-slavery or anything of that nature. The prices simply aren’t high enough for them to bother with. It’s strictly kidnapped scientists and the occasional member of a royal family. The implicit threat of violent death is enough to keep most of those people in line. You will go in as my guest and mount stage when you come up for auction, though with luck it won’t come to that. We’ll need to get you some formal clothes.”

Conversations with this man really were very strange.

“Okay,” she said. “And, um, not to come across as ignorant or anything, but presumably this Market is going to advertise me being for, well, sale. Won’t the Program notice that and send someone to kill me?”

“Probably,” the man said. “But I have a plan. Here’s what we are going to do…”

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