First, the lorry’s rear doors were opened, and then a yellow machine with two long parallel prongs sticking out of the front was driven up to the back. The machine raised the prongs and, after some maneuvering, reversed away from the truck.

  To Mélange’s surprise, a large metal box a little taller than a person, and as long as a farm vehicle came into view, carried on the prongs. The sense of dread rode down as the prongs were lowered to the ground and, this time, Mélange could hear the tears.

  The short man, Inge, banged on the side.

  “Pipe down in there,” he ordered. “You’ll be let out soon enough.”

  Marion turned to the boss.

  “How’d you want to do this?” she asked.

  “One at a time. Scrub ’em down, and lock ’em up. The auction will be held at midnight.”

  “Here?” Mélange heard unbridle surprise in the woman’s tones.

  “Where else?”

  “But it’s in the middle of a city. How will the other-worlders get here?”

  “You forget there’s a bridge over the culvert, and it’s not far away—the public walking track goes right by it.”

  “Ah,” The expression on Marion’s face said it all made sense to her.

  “Yup, there’s gonna be a bidding war,” Inge said, his voice full of anticipation. “Trolls and fey; they all want the same thing.”

  Cries rose from the crate at the mention of trolls, and more voices rose in alarm when the word ‘fey’ was said. Inge laughed and banged on the side of the crate, again.

  “Keep it down,” he said, “Or we’ll feed you to the unicorns.”

  Some of the cries stopped midway, and others faded in a series of hiccupping stops.

  Unicorns? Mélange wondered, But the unicorns don’t eat…

  Fear formed in her gut, reaching up to freeze her heart. Unicorns didn’t eat people, not unless they were those unicorns, and if the fey were coming, and there was going to be an auction of sentient beings, then those unicorns were more than likely to be in attendance, unless…

  Mélange swallowed, hoping these people, these very human people hadn’t discovered the one sure way of transforming normal unicorns into the bloody beasts that enjoyed human flesh.

  Peering out from between the tires, the tiny fairy watched as two more crates were removed from the back of the truck. As the yellow machine set the last of them down to one side of the warehouse, Inge stepped up on the back of the lorry, and looked inside.

  “What are we going to do with all this stuff?” he asked.

  The tall man glanced towards him, and then started walking towards the crates.

  “Bring it out for the auction,” he said. “The other-worlders like our human toys.”

  “Are you sure they’ll like these?”

  Mélange saw the tall man’s mouth firm in a single hard line, and wondered why the question annoyed him.

  “If they don’t, they won’t buy it, will they?” he asked, and stalked towards the crates. “We’ll find another market for it, if that’s the case.”

  Inge didn’t ask any more questions, but went to the yellow machine to talk to the driver. As soon as they’d decided where to put the rest of what was in the back of the truck, Inge followed his master across the warehouse to where Marion was unlocking the first of the crates.

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  Mélange didn’t dare break away from the cover of the tires, so she watched what was happening peering past the yellow vehicle, as it moved around the intervening space. Once the first crate was open, she could see there were other humans inside.

  Most were grown females, but there were a few younger ones, as well as some males. All were beautiful by human standards, and some would even be considered pretty by the fey.

  They had been tethered to the sides of the crate, forced to stand up by the way their wrists were pinioned above their heads. As the shackles binding them were unlocked, each one cried out, and Mélange could only imagine how much it hurt to be released after having been held that way for hours on end.

  She watched as each one was led out of the crate, their hands remaining bound even after they were released from the chains. The ones she felt most sorry for were those who had been chained in the centre of the crate. No wonder there had been tears.

  Once brought out, the prisoners had their shackles attached to a series of hooks suspended from the ceiling of the warehouse. Some wept, and others moaned in pain, but none protested after the first was slapped hard enough to send them to the floor. That one was dragged off to one side and tethered, spread-eagled, facing out from the wall.

  “You will do,” the tall man said, and turned to the others. “Let me demonstrate what will happen if you try to escape.”

  He snapped his fingers, and a door at the rear of the warehouse opened. The prisoner saw the troll, just as the others did. She opened her mouth to scream, but the tall man leaned forward and stuffed something into her mouth so her first cry was muffled.

  The troll turned to him and smiled.

  “You have brought me pretty?” he said, and the tall man swept a hand towards the one he’d chosen.

  “Punish her,” he said. “She has been disrespectful.”

  The troll laughed, and the other prisoners groaned with fear. Some were already weeping, tears rolling down their cheeks. Once the troll had begun, the tall man turned away.

  “Get them cleaned up,” he said, surveying the prisoners as the troll continued its work. “I’m sure they won’t cause you any more trouble.”

  At his words, the troll paused, and looked towards them.

  “Please,” it said, sliding a claw down its victim’s side, drawing blood and muffled screams. “Please, cause trouble.”

  And then it turned its attention back to the prisoner it had been given.

  It was still busy when the first load of prisoners had been hosed down and led away to what Inge termed holding cells. Marion indicated what it was doing.

  “No trouble,” she said, and the prisoners turned several shades paler, and went quietly.

  Mélange felt ill.

  Midnight.

  Witching hour.

  Midnight, and there would be trolls bidding for these people, trolls and the dark-souled fey. Her gut clenched. She had to find a way to get the prisoners out of here.

  Studying the warehouse, she noted the door through which the troll had come, and a separate, smaller door leading to somewhere else.

  She wondered if there had been anyone to see her leave, if they had been able to contact the local police, and if the Paranormal Operations Squad had been called. Even with the distraction of washing the prisoners, and what the troll was doing, Mélange doubted she could reach an exit without being seen.

  The bulk of the truck did not block the smugglers’ view of any of the exits she could see, and she didn’t know if the smugglers had set it up that way, or if it was pure coincidence,. Either way, she didn’t want to chance it. With their otherworld contacts, there was every chance they had ways of detecting fairy spies.

  The thought abruptly reminded her that she hadn’t been as observant of her surroundings as she should have. She would never have entered a fey camp, or a troll lair, without taking certain precautions, yet, here she was, with nothing in place to deter even the slightest piece of magic. Suddenly afraid she might have been discovered, the fairy crept further back between the wheels of the truck.

  With two walls of rubber enclosing her, she felt safer, especially as she was far enough in that a human hand could not touch her. As soon as she felt secure, she tried to work out what she was going to do next. It wasn’t like she could call for help.

  She couldn’t reach the technology that would let her do that, nor could she fly out into the open and try to reach either the distant warehouse roof, or any of the exits. The windows she could see were all firmly closed, and not a single air current moved past her hiding place. She had no clue what, if any, other openings might exist. The more she thought about it, the more it looked like her only hope of getting out of the warehouse was to get back into the truck.

  And she couldn’t just sneak into the back of the truck, or one of the inviting crevices underneath it. Those spaces were all too full of metal, and would burn her skin.

  No, she would have to get back into the cab, preferably down behind the seat and inside the jacket. The jacket would mask her smell and conceal her from sight, and the truck would get her out into the city. Once there, she could look for the paranormal squad and hopefully help the prisoners.

  The only flaw in her plan was that it didn’t look like the humans were going to move the truck—not that night, at least—and this meant she was stuck in a warehouse that was about to be filled with the sensitive ears, eyes and noses of trolls and elves. If any of them passed with a meter of her hiding place, she’d be discovered.

  The cab it was.