Free MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) by Kresley Cole

manacle.
    Earlier the three had cracked open wine coolers to celebrate their catch. “We are the tanda of twenty-thirteen!” the brunette said.
    Tanda?
    “This is our year!” the Asian beauty said. “Our auction will be talked about for eternity!”
    Was Chloe about to be . . . auctioned?
    “Long live the House of Witches!” They all clinked bottles.
    Witches. Going to vomit. The Book of Lore said that Wiccae were mystical mercenaries, obsessed with amassing wealth. They sold their spells and tonics—and apparently, they weren’t above human trafficking.
    But then, Chloe wasn’t quite human, was she?
    Rub some dirt on it, rub some dirt on it. She realized that her optimism had gotten benched tonight, and might never return to the game.
    She could only conclude that the Order was real, her dad’s mission was real, and he’d made some immortal enemies carrying it out. Having met some of these detrus, Chloe wished Dad all the success in the world with his extermination endeavor.
    Except she was one. That house of cards had come tumbling down. Time to face facts, Chlo. If detrus existed, then she was transforming into one of them.
    Because her mom had been one. Chloe’s eyes widened. Her mother could never have passed away from cancer! That had been just a cover story. So how had she died?
    I need answers! Filled with impotent frustration, she yelled against her gag, “Ey! Elp a itch out! Ake is ag ov!”
    The witches ignored her, turning up the stereo. She cringed when yet another Bieber song pumped away. Great, she’d been captured by fucking Beliebers.
    They planned to sell her at auction? When “Beauty and a Beat” played for the fifth time, Chloe decided she was ready for the block.
    With a huff, she renewed her struggles. If she could get free, she could yank up that removable table—the one with all the old wads of teenage-witch gum stuck to the underside—and use it as a weapon.
    The RV door opened, revealing a young black-haired female with luminous brown eyes. Definitely not human; no one’s hair could possibly be that glossy without Photoshop.
    She had a clipboard in hand, a walkie-talkie attached to her belt, and a backpack slung over her shoulders. The others greeted her with a chorus of “Belee!”
    At the sight of the wine coolers, this Belee’s shoulders stiffened and a weird electricity began to fill the air. “Drinking on the job?” The RV briefly shook as the other girls scrambled to dump their drinks.
    Alpha-bitch alert. If this was a team, Chloe had just met the playmaker.
    Belee’s walkie-talkie hissed. “Bee, you said there might be a few hundred people here tonight,” another girl’s voice said. An audible swallow sounded over the line. “We’ve got about five thousand, and they’re still filing in. What are we going to do?”
    Five. Thousand.
    “Hellooo, then start charging for admission,” Belee snapped. “You’re acting like this is your first rodeo.”
    “It is. We’re worried. If Mari and Carrow find out, they’ll bring the heat,” she added in a Mom and Dad’ll bust the party tone. “Maybe I shouldn’t have added that last part to the auction announcement.”
    “What last part?” Belee asked.
    “That they had to forward the message to ten other people or something bad would happen to them.”
    Chloe rolled her eyes. You have got to be kidding me.
    Belee pursed her lips. “Mari and Carrow are deep in the bush, offplane for all we know. They’ll find out after we’ve staged this coup! Belee out.”
    The walkie-talkie continued transmitting. Two girls spoke:
    “Belee scares me.”
    “All the transfer students from Blåkulla do. What do you think that coven must be like?”
    Blåkulla? Chloe had never read about that.
    Belee radioed: “Your transmitter’s still on, idiot!” After gazing up at the ceiling for patience, she turned to Chloe, telling no one in particular, “The package isn’t displayed as well as it could be.”
    I’m the package?