Cards on the table, walking back toward the Twisted Club was not made any less terrifying by doing so brazenly rather than covertly.

It was made still more hair-raising by the presence of more money than I had ever seen in one place, burning a hole in my bag. I felt like I had a sign on my front saying 'I'm here to secretly infiltrate your club' and another on my back saying 'I am holding vast quantities of cash, please mug me'. I had asked, of course, where the money had come from - I don't like to pry but... Damn. They hadn't been remotely shy about it - money meant little to a Selkie, it was merely useful at times like this.

"People lose things at sea," Declan had explained. "Often worthless things but often valuable things. We pick them up and sell them."

"Sell them how?"

"eBay."

I'd stopped questioning it after that. The whole concept of seals selling sunken treasure on eBay was pretty weird.

Of course, Connor and Declan had wanted to come along and watch me go in from a safe distance, but I had nixed that idea straight away. That was exactly what Patch's plan had been and look how that had turned out. I didn't know how broad a perimeter the club guards took when they circled the club and I wasn't keen to find out by trial and error. The Selkies were just too easy to spot - too big to be missed and too threatening in size and strength not to rouse suspicion. Even so, they refused to stay in the hotel and were instead propping up a bar about a block away, waiting for a discrete text from me to bring them up to speed or text to say I was in trouble.

Hopefully, the former.

My heart was in my mouth as I made my way toward the building trying to look confident and as if I belonged. The type of people who came to venues like this were shrouded in an aura of entitlement - no one ever questioned where they were going or what they were doing because something about them declared that they were better than you and had every right to be where they were, doing what they were doing and how dare you question it?

If you asked one of these people why they were bludgeoning someone over the head with a pickaxe handle, then they would respond by asking what business it was of yours, and you would retreat guiltily to leave them to their bludgeoning. That level of granite-hard self-confidence was hard to emulate, but I was going to give it my best shot.

As I approached, I could see the guards on the door talking to each other in lowered voices, and I started to imagine they were talking about me. Surely, they had spotted me a mile away. Surely, I stuck out like a sore thumb. They knew that I was not one of their clientele, they knew I was here to bring them down, they recognized me from New York.

Or possibly they just thought I was an attractive woman and were sharing an off-color joke. For the first time in my life, I really hoped that a pair of men were leering at my body.

Whether they were or not, they let me pass without question and I made sure to act as if it should never have been in question. If I could just keep acting like I did this all the time then I would get away with it.

A ramp, that had once allowed delivery vans into the underground unloading zone, led down beneath the store and I kept walking at a steady pace. From up ahead, I could hear the noise of people and an underscoring of jazzy music; I could feel a growing, sweaty heat and smell a weird assortment of odors, some human, some animal, some uncomfortably in between. The red light that I had seen from the outside was now directed right into my eyes, blinding anyone coming as they approached, presumably so they could be watched while unable to look back. It was extremely disconcerting, but, again, I strove to keep it together, keep walking, keep acting like I was cool with all this and not about ready to wet myself.

At the end of the ramp, I passed under a row of red spotlights attached to the ceiling and, after blinking away the colored blotches that swam before my eyes, I was able to see again. But what I saw had me questioning my own eyesight, along with my sanity.

The interior of the Twisted Club was dark, and what light there was, was tinted red, green or purple. Though we must have been in the unpleasant concrete confines of the department store's underground employee car park and loading dock, none of that was visible. The walls and ceiling had been shrouded in swathes of red velvet curtain and black satin, one swallowing the light, the other reflecting it. It was like being inside the boudoir of a Victorian prostitute. The only places that were well lit were the exhibits.

Immediately on my right was a glass globe, a fierce white light shining down into it. At first, I couldn't see what I was supposed to be looking at and was distracted by the moving reflections of light against the globe's surface. Then I realized that those weren't reflections, they were alive. I desperately reeled in my reactions, trying not to swallow my own tongue in astonishment, as I peered closer at what I could only describe as... fairies.

I don't know why fairies should be so much less believable than Selkie, but somehow they were. Perhaps because I had never heard of Selkie before meeting three of them in Battery Park, whereas fairies I had heard of as something mythical, something impossible and something that was now in a large goldfish bowl in front of me.

As I looked closer, my overwhelming thought was; they look so real – which, of course, they were. Their tiny wings beat faster than I could see; their arms, legs, feet, hands, right down to fingers and toes were perfect in their tiny scale; their faces angular, beautifully ugly with black eyes. But there was something not quite right about them - they flew gracelessly, bouncing off each other and off the glass of the bowl. As far as I could tell, it was the light that was bothering them, its brilliance dazzling and dazing them, keeping them off balance.

I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat and moved on.

Even if I hadn't had more important things on my mind, I didn't want to spend a moment longer than I had to looking at these poor creatures. But if I didn't look at them for a bit then I would not be convincing as a patron, so I turned my attention to the next exhibit.

This was a large tank filled with dark green water, so murky that I could see nothing inside, though the movement of the swirling water suggested that there was something there. There was an engraved brass sign mounted on the side of the tank that said 'MERROW', which left me none the wiser. I put my hand against the glass to shade my eyes and peered closer. Suddenly, a monstrous face with long, needle-sharp fangs and wide staring eyes burst out of the murk, coming straight for me. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I stumbled backwards in shock and the Merrow smacked into the tough glass of its tank. It hung there in the water for a moment - about the size of a man, with a scaly humanoid torso, the tail of a fish and a large, fearsome head, like some sort of monstrous mermaid. Then, with a flick of its tail, it was gone, retreating into the isolation of its limpid water. I couldn't blame it for scaring me; I wouldn't like people staring at me all day, either.

Beyond the Merrow's tank was a small cage with a creature chained up inside that I now recognized as a Kobold. Seeing one alive was a surreal experience, and a sobering one, as it inevitably reminded me of its dead counterpart, chucked away in a dumpster like a bit of trash. The little creature sat forlornly on the floor of its small cage, staring at its large feet with an expression of indescribable melancholy. I wondered if it was remembering its departed companion - perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps more. My heart bled for the poor thing.

From exhibit to exhibit I wandered, feeling sadder and sicker with every one that I passed. Some were in tanks, some cases, some cages. Some were chained up, others allowed the comparative freedom of their tiny cells. Some were monstrous, some beautiful, some both in a strange way. They flew, they swam, they trudged, but they did it all with a leaden weight seeming to tug them down. It did not matter if the creatures appeared as terrifying as the Merrow or as harmless as the Kobold, they all carried with them an aura of sadness and I felt desperately sorry for all of them.

But I had to stay focused on the purpose of my visit, and on that subject, I was starting to get a decidedly queasy feeling. So far, there was no sign of Saorise or Patch - no Selkie on display in the Twisted Club.

I completed a full circuit of the room as quickly as I felt I could without arousing suspicion, and then went up to one of the club attendants.

"A friend of mine came to see this in New York. She said you had a Selkie."

The attendant nodded. "We did. I’m afraid we don't have her anymore."

My heart sprang into my mouth and I fought hard not to show my emotion.

"Sold her," the man went on, to my inexpressible relief - it was not good news but compared with what I had thought he was about to say, it was the best news I had ever heard.

"Selkie are a huge draw, especially the females. We were lucky to have her. But this one was a bitch. Tried to escape. And she was attracting interest from the wrong sort. So when a private collector made an offer, we didn't take much time to think about it. He was offering a good price. And a female Selkie is worth a fortune.”

I moved in closer to the man and broke out my sexiest voice. "Can I ask the name of the collector?"

The man grinned. "Sorry. Privileged information."

"I'm pretty privileged."

"Are you offering me a bribe?" he asked with a leer.

"Was that not clear?"

The man shook his head.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "You're genuinely not for sale?"

The man snorted in derision. "Please. Look at where I work. You think I have a moral code that prevents me from taking a bribe? I'd sell my own grandmother if there was a market. You want a grandmother?" he asked with a broad wink.

"I've got two already, thanks,” I said with a chuckle. "If it's just a question of price," I went on, "then I think we can come to terms."

The head shake again. "I wish I could. But it's not about the money. If I tell you who bought it then you're going to go look them up. And then they'll know someone gave out their name. And there are some people whose trust you simply do not betray. Assuming you'd like to wake up with all your body parts still where they were when you went to sleep. Which is how I prefer to wake up."

"I can understand that." I was playing it as cool as I possibly could, but inside my mind was going haywire with frustrated anguish. Once again, we had come just too late. And how did we go about tracking down Saorise now?

My despair could easily have sidetracked me from my other purpose here, but I managed to pull myself together. "I did hear - you know; through the grapevine - that maybe you had a male Selkie. That's something I've never seen. Is it just a rumor or..." I let the sentence dangle.

The man shot a glance around to see if we were being overheard, and gently nudged me more into the shadows. "Where'd you hear that?"

I smiled as confidently as I could. "You’re not the only one with people you’d rather not name."

The man nodded. “It's no rumor, we caught it watching the place last night. Probably looking for his female. So; something of a failure on every level for it. A bad night to be a Selkie."

"Will it be on display at some point?" It went against the grain to refer to Patch as 'it' but I had to fit in.

The man nodded. "That's the plan. There's less interest in the males than the females, but there are a few discerning ladies like yourself who, I daresay, would love a look. And he's a good strong specimen."

"How delightful," I said, hating myself more with every word that passed my lips. "When will he be on show?"

"Little while yet," the man replied. "We're still…breaking him in."

A shudder passed up my spine and my blood went cold.

"Even when you've got their skin, male Selkie can be tricky to control. You've got to show them who’s boss. Don't worry, he'll still have enough strength and spirit to give you a thrill when he goes on show."

"Any chance I could have a little preview?" Maybe I was pushing my luck, and maybe it would not do any good. But I wanted to try, not so much so that I could see Patch, but so that he could see me, so he could know that he had not been abandoned.

The man thought about it for a moment then rubbed his chin. "I don’t know...I’m not supposed to."

I bit my lip, trying to control the surge of excitement. Unlike with my first request, it wasn’t a flat no. Which meant we were negotiating.

“Where are my manners? You've given me all this helpful information and I haven't given you anything for your trouble," I cooed.

I reached into my bag as if I did this sort of thing every day and passed him a handful of bills without even looking at what they were, as if such things did not matter to me in the slightest.

The man's ugly grin broadened. "Follow me."

He pulled one of the velvet curtains back and I followed him through. It was amazing how quickly the artifice of faux Victorian elegance fell away with just the moving of a single curtain. Behind the opulent drapery, it was very obvious that this was no more than a storage space filled with concrete, graffiti and damp. The attendant led the way to a raised platform, onto which deliveries had been unloaded back when the store was in use, and climbed up a set of steep metal steps. He turned back to offer me a hand.

"I’m all right, thanks.” I didn't want to touch him, part from disgust and part because I didn’t want him to feel how much I was trembling.

From the platform, the man led on through an unadorned door into the warehouse area of the store.

"Jack! You around? I've got a guest who wants to see the boy seal." Turning back to me, he pointed at my bag. "Jack's doing you a favor, as well, so you might want to say thank you."

I took out another pair of bills as a large man loomed out of the dimly lit interior of the old warehouse.

"What's that?" He saw the money. "Oh. I see. Right this way." He led me through rows of metal shelving, lit by pale orange bulbs, till we came to a more open space and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying.

Patch was seated on a chair, to which he was tied. He had been stripped to his underwear and I could see livid bruises on his arms and torso. His head was slumped forwards, hiding his face.

"I'll wake him for you," Jack said. He picked up a bucket of water from the floor. "Usually we keep them away from water - helps to break them – but, what the hell."

He tossed the bucket of water over Patch and his head shot up, suddenly awake, gasping in cold shock. His face was a mass of contusions, blood seeped from his nose and from one ear, his lips were swollen and one of his eyes was closed by an overwhelming purpled bruise about the socket. His other eye stared wide as he saw me, and I thought for a moment he might give us both away, but he controlled himself.

"What?" He spat the word out defiantly and I felt a swell of pride breaking through the sick feeling that had colonized my belly - they hadn't broken my Patch yet.

Jack grabbed Patch by his hair and twisted his head back. "You've got a visitor so play nice or you know what you'll get. And crack a smile - she wants to see a Selkie, not a sulky."

Jack and my guide laughed at this attempt at humor.

"Remarkable how human it looks." I could only hope that my emotions did not tell in my voice. I could have burst into tears then and there at the sight of Patch, but I had to keep control of myself for his sake.

"But he's not," said Jack. "Look at that expression in his eyes. Nothing but animal. You want to see something funny?"

I definitely didn't, but nothing I could say would stop it.

Jack reached behind him and picked something up. It was Patch's seal skin. "Watch this. Tickle, tickle, tickle." He scratched his fingers at the skin where the flipper met the body and Patch writhed uncomfortably as if someone was tickling under his arm.

"Remarkable," I choked out.

"Doesn't work with everything," Jack commented. "I mean, they fold their skins up and it's not like they then fold up themselves. But if you put a cigarette out on the skin then they feel it."

"Can't do that, though," said the attendant, sounding disappointed. "Leaves a scar, and the crowd don't like to see it."

"When will he be on display?" I asked, trying to move the conversation away from torturing Patch.

"That's up to him," said Jack. "Soon as possible. I'll give him a kicking later and see how he feels then. Don't know why they hold out like they do. It's going to happen, so why not just let it?"

"I can come back tomorrow," I said, and I saw Patch's one good eye move in subtle response to my hint. "Any chance he'll be out and allowed to transform for me by then and show me what he can do?"

Jack shook his head. "Sorry. Even if he's better behaved, we've got to wait a little while for his bruises to heal. Selkie males are so damn obstinate. By the time they've healed, they want to put up a fight again and they wind up with another set of bruises. Vicious circle. Stupid animals."

"Pity," I said. "Well, I will be back tomorrow, regardless.” I was pretty sure Patch had heard what I was trying to tell him.

Just a handful of hours more before we came back to bust him out now that I knew exactly where they were keeping him. Though, for him, I feared that those hours would seem interminable.

"I'll show you out," said the attendant.

I did not linger in the Twisted Club any longer but made for the exit, thanking the attendant and promising that I would see him again soon, while fighting back the desire to kick him in the gonads so hard that his descendants would feel it - although descendants would no longer be an option for him.

Trying to keep my shit together as much as I could, I walked away, breathing in the cool night air. Once I was sure I was out of sight of the guards on the door and any other guards who were patrolling the perimeter, I ducked into the nearest alleyway and promptly vomited, emptying my guts beside a dumpster.

What the hell had I seen tonight?

It was monstrous.

The hapless creatures whose confinement I had witnessed had more humanity than any of the so-called 'humans' who were their captors. But I had also counted the number of guards and memorized the layout.

Tomorrow, we were going in for Patch. But we were coming out with every last one of the creatures in that godforsaken place.