Chapter Two

The mark on my forearm burned. Positioned on the inside of my elbow, the sigil was comprised of two circles, with a slash through the center. The demonic language, written. The skin was black but not raised, like a tattoo freshly healed. Vibrant and throbbing.

One by one, we lined up, rubbing our arms. I was the last through the door.

Another wall stood a hundred yards away, with small windows dotted along the top. The ground sat in shadow; mud, water, and barbed wire.

I’d been in prison since I was eighteen. Time passed differently, and I wasn’t even sure what year it was.

One thing I did know was that I was not going to be able to complete the assault course.

I’d been living on prison slop, limited exercise, and anti-psychotic drugs. I couldn’t run ten feet. How could I climb through mud and barbed wire?

The other inmates had the benefit of being slimmer. They wouldn’t have to press too flat to the ground as they crawled.

“I’m not built for this.” One of the other inmates grumbled. I didn’t turn back to see who.

Mr Jingle walked to the first pit, glanced at his watch, and then toward the windows, looking down at us.

“Ten mins.” He announced. “ Go !”

I was the last inmate left at the starting line. Every other woman slid into the ditch and began crawling under the wire, kicking up watery mud behind them.

I tried to follow, but the barbed wire knicked my elbow as I fell down the verge, leaving a burning scratch no bigger than my pinkie. The barbed wire must have been made with an iron alloy.

An open cut was just asking for infection in those muddy waters, but I had no choice.

If I failed, I’d be loaded back onto a bus and taken back to Sandy Village.

It was the Red City or nothing.

My nose pressed to the mud as I snuffled forward on my elbows, and I ignored the creeping chill of the water as it soaked through my prison jumpsuit.

The mud stank, but I couldn’t identify the smell.

I kept moving, pulling myself forward on my belly, teeth gritted and determined.

I wasn’t sure how far I’d traveled when a yelp rang out in front. Harried cries of “ I’m stuck !” and screams that grew to whimpers and curses as someone tried to free themselves.

I looked up, finding Inmate Thomas, her long black hair tangled in the barbed wire. Her scalp bleeding as she tried to pull free.

“What are you looking at, freak?” She bared her teeth at me.

I shrugged, facing forward as I began to crawl past.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” She waved her hand manically. “You have to help me!”

I arched a brow. Do I ?

Inmate Thomas lurched forward, trying again to free herself and failing. She turned to the other wall, her body vibrating with thinly concealed rage and impatience.

She unlocked her teeth and let out a loud curse. Her chest heaved as she staved off a panic attack.

I’d been there.

Trapped. Helpless.

I wasn’t a good person. I’d done too many things to claim that title, but I could help someone. Just once.

I shuffled forward, and Inmate Thomas flinched as I raised my hands to her hair and began unknotting the tangled strands one by one.

Thomas slapped my hands away when she was free, unceremoniously falling face first in the mud.

There was no gratitude as she army-crawled away.

I rolled my eyes and continued after her. Slowly and surely, making my way to the other side. My face was hot, and I couldn’t fill my lungs all the way, but I made it.

I stood up, shivering, and joined the inmates at the end of the line.

“No one triggered any landmines.” Mr Jingle regarded us with a sneer. “Usually, there’s at least one.”

We all stared at the muddy field in horror. Something told me he wasn’t lying.

Two ancient light bulbs sat on the low ceiling, one tinted red and the other green.

I had watched the rest of the women called, one by one, and had no idea what to expect the moment I stepped through the doorway to the stage.

We’d been allowed the shower and given plain black dresses to wear. Sleeveless and shapeless.

As I drew closer to the door, I caught the tail end of the hurried announcement of the auctioneer. Each sentence met with jeering and laughter.

I waited for my turn.

The line had moved quickly, and each of my fellow inmates had spent barely a minute on stage before another had been called up.

I kept waiting.

The auction had grown quiet. Low chatter and no cheering.

Was it over?

I didn’t know how long I waited as I sank to the floor and sat, using the flimsy black dress to try to cover my knees. The concrete was cold. I was exhausted and hungry. The fear I had held at bay for days finally came home to roost.

Had they forgotten about me?

I was used to being forgotten.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

After my mom died, I bounced between group homes for a while. It hadn’t been unusual to go to bed with an empty belly because someone had eaten my portion.

I’d watch other children at events, lapping up the attention from potential parents, and realize I just didn’t have it . That spark that made people take notice.

I was just... Maddie .

I wasn’t sure how long I sat on the cold floor when the door opened with an unhealthy squeak, revealing the auctioneer in his pressed suit and expensive haircut.

He caught sight of me before blinking and looking back through the doorway. “I missed one.” He cursed. “Darlin’, you should have said something. Most of the big spenders have left.”

I offered him a limp smile, pointed to my throat, and shook my head.

His brow furrowed. “You can’t talk?”

I shook my head.

“No, you can’t talk, or no you can?”

I gave him a look.

“Right.” The man barked a self-pitying laugh. “Come with me; I’ll get you up on stage. Hopefully, someone will bid on you before the night is through. I don’t know how I missed one!” He chided himself, waving me through the door.

From the limited noise I’d heard, each of my fellow inmates had been met with fanfare. Excitement.

Most of the chairs were empty. The lights had been turned up, revealing the frayed edges of the stage curtains and the scuff marks on the wood.

I blinked against the spot light, and the MC made his way to his podium. Not a single person in the audience even looked at him.

I’d never seen a demon in real life, up close. Demons lived in the Red Cities as part of the treaty, allowing them to come to Earth from Hell.

The people in the audience didn’t seem much different than regular people, save for the ‘sheen’ that made it feel like I was looking at a celebrity that I’d somehow failed to recognize. Their hair was styled just so, and their skin was perfect, even under the scrutinizing bright bar lights.

“A final addition, folks!” The MC announced. “Mute as a faulty television set, but curves for days! We have...” He glanced at me, realizing he didn’t know my name. “Amy.”

Amy ? I wanted to laugh. I couldn’t even correct him. What kind of demon wanted a silent slave? I’d been told demons liked the sounds of screams.

“She’s the last one before we close up shop until the next auction.” The MC called out. “Amy. Silent. Gentle.”

“What crime did she commit?” Someone heckled. “Did she kill anybody?”

The MC looked at me helplessly.

I rolled my eyes and nodded.

“There you go, folks! She’s got a taste for blood.” The auctioneer announced.

Silence reigned.

I’d arrived too late to the party.

This was just embarrassing.

“Five hundred credits.” A deep voice called from the back. I squinted to see, but the spotlight blinded me.

“Five hundred to start?” The MC coaxed.

No one added to the bidding.

He pointed to the demon hidden in shadow at the back of the room.

“Five hundred to the Flock .” He said, banging his gavel. “The auction is now over.”