Chapter 69 Auction’s Edge
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
Valenticia's POV
Seryne’s auction hall was a gilded cage, the chandeliers spraying prisms onto velvet-draped tables, the murmur of money and power a low drone beneath the clink of crystal-made flutes. I cowered in the shadows of a marble column, my black shift dress suctioned to my body, a smooth laptop bag slung across my shoulder, fear thumping like a drum through my veins. The memory chip’s revelation—Lazareth serum auction, Dr. Lena Voss as Gregor Galden’s ally—singed my thoughts, the antidote vial kept back at Clawford estate a tenuous defense against viable warning: neural overload. My dark wig was irritating, my spy name, Clara Vane, art dealer, a flimsy cover at best, my mettle, iron. I looked into the crowd, my fear razor-sharp—is Gregor here? Natasha’s Lazareth connections, Patel’s evidence, Rosanna’s alert about Gregor’s dirty tricks—they stitched a net around me that was slowly closing in on itself, and Stefan’s affair, his hand on Natasha’s in that damning photograph, was a slash to my heart. I didn’t trust him, the pain of his leaving dull and manageable, but I pushed it down, Eleanor’s lullaby—Hush, my star—a weak echo inside me, the fuel of the mission: Expose them.
The auctioneer, a small, wiry man in a tuxedo, clinked his gavel and his voice rolled out: “Lot 17—proprietary biochemical patents, starting at five million.” I gasped, terror spiking—that was Lazareth’s serum, Gregor’s mind-control weapon. I slid into a booth at the far end, my laptop purring softly as I dialed into the hall’s insecure network, fingers shaking. The crowd parted, and I saw Dr. Voss, her blond hair drawn up, paddle raised, her eyes cool, clear—the proxy of Gregor. Rage clamped in, her mark on the chip’s serum trials a betrayal, and I typed, fear murmuring: What if they find out? The glamour of the room fell away, my focus sharp as a whetted blade, and I wove through the auction’s system to snatch Voss’s Galden contracts — emails, payments, trial logs. I got in a fierce, whispered voice, “They’ll fall.” I pressed the leak, and it broadcast to each bidder’s tablet, my heart racing— for Mother, for Father.
Rosanna’s text was glowing on my burner phone in my clutch now: You’re Eleanor’s spunk, kid. Be safe. My heart clenched, her faith a line to hold onto, and I breathed out, fear not gone but loosening— she believes in me. The auctioneer’s drone rose under the spike of bids, but I looked at Voss, her paddle unwavering, my trap unknown to her. My finger poised over “enter,” fear a cold pulse — what is Gregor’s revenge? The chip’s video, the sedated young me, Gregor’s evil Wipe her, taunted me, and resolve flared, a promise to fulfill my parents’ plea: Keep the antidote safe. I pressed send, the leak cascading onto tablets, and the room gasped, heads swiveling, whispers blossoming. Voss’s face turned ashen, her paddle falling to her side as she took off, pushing past rings of the bidders, her heels clicking across the marble. My lips twitched, victorious blade and fear swept through me—he’ll come looking.
I shut my laptop and shoved it back into my bag, the pins from my wig digging into my scalp. The hall was abuzz, chaos spreading, and I edged toward the door, panic welling — did they see me? I missed Stefan, ached for him, and his plea — I was looking into Natasha — was a specter I couldn’t depend upon. I wanted you, I had thought, my heart raw, but I’d barred him, his privacy a break I didn’t know how to repair. The murmurs of the crowd pressing closer and closer ground, tables glowing with my leak—Voss, Galden, Lazareth—and I heard a bidder say, “She’s dead.” My resolution solidified, though fear murmured: After this? I made it to the foyer, lurching doors trimmed in gold, and a man in a gray suit bumped by, his hand slipping a note inside my clutch. I drew in a sharp breath, a surge of fear—Galden’s spy? I turned around to look at him again only he was gone, lost in the crowd.
Ducking into the shadow of a vestibule, my fingers shaking as I opened the note: Marrow’s lab—noon. Hot panic bloomed, a fire in my chest—Marrow, again? His pier rendezvous, the chip, his warning―It’s dangerous―reverberated, and I squeezed the note, resolve to ignite. I would locate the lab, I promised, fear igniting a kind of fire in my chest, my parents’ faces — Eleanor’s fierce eyes, James’s steady voice — a beacon against the darkness of Gregor.