five minutes may as well have taken an eternity. An older man, with the first hints of silver touching his temples, strode in through the door I’d used, joined me on the platform, and stared down his nose at the gathered bidders, a feat considering we were below them. Judging from his suit, the man could afford to be one of the few seated in the eerily quiet auditorium.
The standoff lasted another few minutes, which I observed with one ear back and the other pricked forward, intrigued by the silent dance between auctioneer and bidders. Who won the odd battle? What were the rules? Beyond playing at being statues, what was the purpose in sitting and staring at each other?
I appreciated that the bidders paid the auctioneer a lot more attention than they paid me.
I pondered why I also played the statue game, decided I didn’t care, covered my mouth and yawned. Being polite mattered to a certain degree.
Their money would become justice for the Alley, and I wanted them to bid big or go home.
It would take time, effort, and cunning, but I would make the most of my situation. Dr. Dorothy’s very existence proved freedom could be obtained. It would be harder for me, but the possibility existed.
Difficult challenges hadn’t stopped me before, and they wouldn’t stop me now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer greeted. I could only assume the start of an auction involved some ritual, as everyone else in the auditorium straightened in their seats and nodded once to the man, the fabric of their robes rustling from their movement.
The auctioneer used the silence to build anticipation, and the bidders lost to his prowess on the stage until the moment he gestured to me. I almost turned both ears back, but rather than show my disdain, I forced them both forward and lied with my body, relaxing when I wanted to tense, reveal Peace’s pristine blade, and warn those watching I would not become easy prey for them or their wayward eldest sons.
No son of mine would be so helpless he needed his damned mother to help him find a wife, that much I would see to. And if he even thought about buying a wife on the market, I’d give him something to cry about.
Change would begin with me.
I wouldn’t be content to remain a fox. If needed, I’d become a dragon, a strong and fierce one ready to breathe fire.
Straightening my back hurt enough I amended my plans: I’d become a strong and fierce dragon sometime after my ribs healed. I forced myself to lean back in the chair, offering the illusion I’d straightened so I could make myself more comfortable.
“Jade Tamrin is twenty-six years old, a mixed Caucasian with natural auburn hair and brown eyes. She was born a hybrid, and there are no other known hybrids in her line of any species. She is a red fox, and she does not change species crossing through the boundaries. She, even when injured, recovers within a few hours with minimal problems, mostly nausea. It is uncertain if the nausea was due to her injuries or not, which puts her in the top percentile for boundary crossing. Both her maternal and paternal lineage includes mages and witches, and she is a gene carrier for all primary magic types. Her grandfather on her paternal side is an elementalist of notable strength, and her grandfather on her maternal side is both mage and agriculturalist.”
The auctioneer paused to give the bidders a chance to digest my heritage. I wondered if he’d ask me to show off my teeth or stand up and turn in a circle for their amusement.
Once satisfied the bidders had been given ample time to consider me, he continued, “On her paternal side, her family immigrated to the United States in 1619 at the start of the African slave trade in America. They settled in New England after arrival and have always had at least minor involvement with the fledgling United States government. This side of the family is predominantly British, with some French and German mixed in. Her maternal side has more common roots, also predominantly British, joining the Revolutionary War movement, with several men on her maternal side becoming officers in the United States Army.”
Huh. The auctioneer knew more about my family line than I did. Personally, I found the whole history lesson to be a waste of time. Those people didn’t define me, nor would they. Did people really care when someone’s ancestors