Page 45 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 45

A stor, Peter, and I are in the Nomad’s office, the tension in the air palpable. The Nomad seems to be enjoying it.

It’s the morning of the day we’re to infiltrate Whittaker Manor. Whether it’s simply bad luck that this day coincides with my last day to fulfill the Nomad’s bargain is unclear.

I have my suspicions. Especially after how long we spent at port in a nearby town yesterday.

“Now, about the Whittaker family,” says the Nomad. “What do we know about them?”

“Franklin Whittaker is infamous, even among privateers,” says Astor. “He pays well for discretion, but even most privateers won’t take on his jobs.”

“Why not?” I ask.

Astor taps his foot, his forearm muscles bulging as he crosses his arms tighter. “Franklin was born into money, but he tripled his fortune exploiting the helpless.”

I narrow my brow, confused. “You mean trafficking?”

Astor gives me a look, and the Nomad says, “Come now. I believe Wendy Darling here has suffered enough in her life that she’s not going to wilt from hearing the truth.”

Astor sighs. “He runs a ring of kidnappers. They take infants from the homes of impoverished families and auction them off to aristocrats struggling to conceive.”

I gasp, pain crawling through my belly. “How has he not been exposed?”

“He has a slew of midwives who are in on it. They sedate the mothers, claiming medical reasons, then later claim the infants were stillborn. They typically target mothers who have no one looking after them, women who are all alone, no one to witness or question what’s happened. And the mothers who do question…they’re usually found in a ditch eventually, having overdosed on whatever drug is popular in their region.”

My stomach turns. “And we think Tink is with them?” And Michael, I don’t add as the Nomad is still in the room, and I’ve intentionally left this information out.

“Franklin has a strict protocol he uses. Only infants, and only ones he deems as perfect,” says Astor.

Mingled relief and anger fill my gut. Relief that Michael won’t have been sold to the highest bidder. Anger that he wouldn’t have qualified by Franklin’s standards.

Tink will protect him, I tell myself. Even if she’s a servant in his house, she’s doing it to provide for Michael. I tell myself this over and over, yet I can’t seem to get my heart to believe it.

“Does this alleviate your concerns, Wendy Darling?” asks the Nomad. “Even the slightest bit? Knowing that I’m not ripping your friend from a life of peace and luxury?”

I don’t answer the question. “If this is the case,” I say, “how do we get Tink out?”

“That’s where you come in,” says the Nomad.

“I’m confused as to why it always has to be Wendy Darling,” says Peter.

“Do you possess a uterus that I’m unaware of?” asks the Nomad.

Peter sneers.

“Wendy will pose as an expectant mother,” says the Nomad. “Whittaker won’t be able to pass up on such an easy sale.”

“You want me to go to him asking for him to take my baby?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” says the Nomad. “As impressed as I am that Astor’s crew taught you swordplay, we need to infiltrate their manor with more power. I want you to be dragged in by your baby’s father.”

“I’ll go,” say Astor and Peter at the same time.

The Nomad looks back and forth between the two of them, blinking lazily. “I’m sorry, Astor,” he says, “but I’m afraid it’ll have to be the winged boy this time.”

Peter’s expression is nothing if not gloating.

Astor goes to argue, but the Nomad interrupts him. “I entrusted you with the last mission. Remember, the one where you were supposed to leave Vulcan with his heartbeat intact? And now, thanks to you, I have a bounty on my head.”

“It won’t happen again,” says Astor.

“Now, why don’t I believe you?” says the Nomad, glancing at me.

“And you will believe him?” asks Astor, gesturing to Peter. “The person in the room who is obsessed with keeping her as his prized possession?”

“You have a point,” the Nomad concedes. “What do you have to say to that, Peter?”

Peter takes a step forward. “My shadow powers will keep Wendy safe. I’m our best chance of getting both Wendy and Tink out alive. If we don’t do this, Wendy’s dead anyway,” says Peter. “I’d rather her die at the Whittakers’, knowing I did all I could to save her, than at the hands of the bargain.”

Than at the hands of another man’s bargain, he doesn’t have to say.

I wonder now if he’ll kill me anyway, if it comes down to the last few minutes. Just so that when it comes to my life, he can have the last say.

“I want Peter to be the one,” I say.

Astor jerks his head to the side, confused. At first, I can tell he thinks it’s my bargain, but I shake my head, hoping he won’t push further.

In truth, I know deep down that if it comes between keeping me alive and handing Tink over, both of my Mates would make the same choice.

And if that’s to be the case, if either would sell my friend to the Nomad to save me, I’d rather hate Peter.

The three of us are filing out of the room when the Nomad calls Astor’s name. “Stay behind a moment,” he says. “Since you won’t be involved in the plan to infiltrate the Whittakers’, I have another task in mind for you.”

I find myself pausing at the door, lingering, but the Nomad glances up at me from behind his desk. “Did I misspeak and say Darling instead of Astor?”

I bite my lip, but Peter’s already dragging me out of the room.

On the way out, I glance at Astor, a question in my expression I hope he’ll be able to read, but he’s not looking at me.

So when Peter shuts the door between us, my question goes unanswered.

That night, the Nomad, Peter, and I assemble on the deck, having just docked in Shrinedale that afternoon.

Upon meeting, the Nomad presses a small leather pouch into my hands. “Rushweed,” he says. “In case Peter here becomes indisposed, and you need a little extra help with wrangling our friend.”

Peter scowls.

“Where’s Astor?” I ask, desperately searching the deck for any sign of my Mate.

Peter stiffens next to me, but the Nomad appears unfazed. “Did you not hear me earlier when you were eavesdropping? Though your once-Mate is of no use to me on this particular mission, that doesn’t mean his skill-set would be wasted elsewhere.”

“Where did you send him?” I ask.

The Nomad, clearly still irritated with me after our unsuccessful dinner conversation last night, says, “Would you also like to stay apprised of how many times I relieve myself in a day? I’m unsure when you got the impression that what is my business is yours.”

Anxiety for my Mate swells in my chest. It’s not as much that I’m concerned for his safety. Astor can take care of himself.

It’s that I’m not confident I’ll make it out of tonight’s mission alive.

In fact, if I’m to be a good friend to Tink, I’ll need to find a way to make sure I don’t.

“You’d be so cruel not to let me say goodbye?” I hiss.

“Wendy,” Peter scolds, but I pay him no attention.

The Nomad tugs absent-mindedly at his coat sleeves, buttoning them before granting me the honor of even a dismissive glance. “Consider it further incentive to succeed tonight.”