A dog-eared woman leads me through the crowd like I’m a prize she’s delivering.
Her tail wags the whole way, bouncing behind her with an enthusiasm that feels wildly inappropriate given the circumstances. We weave between chairs and bodies until we reach the back of the hall where the elf is waiting, and up close she’s even more striking than she was from the stage.
Tall. Really tall. At least six-six, maybe more. Athletic in a way that says she actually uses her body for things other than looking good, though she manages that too. Her braid is thick, draped over one shoulder, and those green eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me wonder what her deal is.
“Here you are,” the dog-eared woman says brightly.
The elf glazes over me slowly. Head to toe, then back up again. I’m still filthy, still covered in dried mud and lice and god knows what else, and I watch her take in every inch of it.
She sighs. It’s not disappointed, exactly. More like resigned amusement, the sound of someone who just made a terrible decision and knows it.
Then she smiles, shaking her head. “My wife is going to fucking kill me.”
Wife.
The word lands like a stone in my stomach.
The dog-eared woman’s tail keeps wagging. “Let me go get the binding letter.”
She bounces off, leaving me standing there in front of this woman who just spent three gold on me and apparently has a wife waiting somewhere who’s going to be thrilled about this development.
The silence stretches between us. Her eyes are still on me, curious and warm and uncomfortably direct.
“I’m Vincent,” I manage.
“Ah, shit. Sorry.” She blinks like she just remembered basic manners exist. “I’m Tisha.”
Her eyes travel over me again, slower this time, cataloging details.
“Lice?”
“Yeah.”
“My wife can fix that.” She says it with the casual confidence of someone who’s dealt with it before.
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.” Her smile widens a fraction. “You’ll clean up very nicely.”
The words hang there for a moment, and I feel something shift in my chest. A question I need answered before this goes any further.
“Are you going to torture me?” I keep my voice level, casual, like I’m asking about the weather.
Her eyes go wide. “Woah, woah.” She holds up both hands, palms out. “No. Of course not.” She looks genuinely horrified by the suggestion. “I mean, it’s illegal to even do something like that to a stud slave.” She shakes her head hard enough that her braid swings. “Gods, no, Vincent.”
Relief loosens something in my shoulders I didn’t know was tense.
“Will I have to work a lot?”
She shrugs, the gesture easy and unbothered. “I mean, my wife is probably going to make you earn your keep.”
“What kind of work?”
Before Tisha can answer, the dog-eared woman materializes beside us again, her tail still going like a metronome. She’s carrying a silver parchment that catches the lamplight in strange ways, covered in writing I can’t read. Strange symbols that seem to shift when I’m not looking directly at them. A black feather rests on top of it.
Tisha reaches into a pouch at her belt and pulls out three gold coins. They gleam dully as she hands them over.
The dog-eared woman beams. “You can sign here.”
She points to a line near the bottom of the parchment.
Tisha takes the feather and signs without hesitation, her handwriting flowing and confident across the silver surface.
The collar around my throat vibrates.
It’s not painful, just sudden and disorienting, a hum that resonates through my bones. Then bright purple light erupts from the metal, flooding my vision, washing everything in violet for one long heartbeat before it dims and settles back to nothing.
“Alright.” The dog-eared woman tucks the parchment under one arm, still smiling. “This human slave is now your property.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
Tisha glances at me, eyebrow raised, then turns back to the dog-eared woman. “I want to share him with my wife. Can I just have her sign too?”
The dog-eared woman nods enthusiastically. “Just have her sign under your name with your blood and that will work.”
“Alright, great. Thank you.”
The dog-eared woman bounces off again, and suddenly it’s just me and Tisha standing in the back of the auction house while the auction continues.
Tisha looks down at me, and there’s something almost awkward in the way she shifts her weight. “So, uh. Do you have anything you need to grab?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She blinks, then nods slowly like she’s processing that. “Well. Alright, let’s get going.”
She turns toward the exit and I follow because well… what else is there to do.
We push through the iron-banded doors and step out into the narrow street.
“Hello!”
The voice comes from our left, bright and theatrical, and I turn to see the woman with the domino mask hurrying toward us. Her top hat bobs with each step, and her cane clicks against the stones. That smile is still fixed on her face, but up close I can see the strain around the edges.
Tisha stops, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?”
The masked woman comes to a halt in front of us, slightly breathless. Her eyes flick to me, then back to Tisha. “I wanted to talk to you about your purchase.”
“Okay?” Tisha’s tone goes flat, guarded.
The masked woman straightens, adjusting her top hat with one hand. “I was bidding on him earlier. Vincent, was it?”
My name in her mouth sends that same jolt of recognition through me. The shape of her lips, the cadence of her voice. It’s so close.
“What about him?” Tisha’s voice has an edge now.
The masked woman’s smile widens, but there’s desperation bleeding through at the corners. “I’d like to buy him from you.”
Tisha barks out a laugh. “I just bought him.”
“I know, I know.” The masked woman holds up both hands in a placating gesture. “But I’m willing to make you a very generous offer. I can give you... four gold.”
Tisha’s laugh is sharp. “You don’t have four gold.”
The masked woman’s smile doesn’t falter. “If you just give me till the end of the day, I could get it. No issue.”
“Not interested.” Tisha’s voice goes flat, final. “We both know he’s easily worth double that.”
The masked woman takes a step closer.
Tisha’s expression shifts to irritation. “Come on, Vincent.”
“Can I talk to her for a second? There’s something I want to ask…”
“Don’t say a word.”
The collar vibrates.
It’s not strong, just a low hum against my throat, but it cuts off whatever I was about to say like someone pressed mute on my voice. My mouth opens but nothing comes out, just a strangled sound that dies in my chest.
Tisha’s hand wraps around my wrist, firm and warm, and she’s already moving. Pulling me away from the masked woman, away from the auction house, down the narrow street.
“Fine!” The masked woman’s voice rings out behind us, sharper now, stripped of that theatrical warmth. “I guess I’ll just get the lizard slave.”
She’s going to buy Silvy.
I twist my head back as Tisha pulls me forward, catching one last glimpse of the masked woman standing in front of the auction house. Her shoulders are rigid, her cane planted like she’s bracing herself against something, and even from this distance I can see the tight line of her mouth below the mask.
Then we turn a corner and she’s gone.
“That was weird,” Tisha mutters, more to herself than to me. Her grip on my wrist loosens slightly but doesn’t let go. “She gave me the creeps.”
Woman with the Domino Mask