The walk to market feels different today. Every few steps, there's a little scuff. A shuffle. Someone's definitely following me, and they're not as quiet as they think they are.
"Morning, Emil!" I wave at the vegetable vendor, who's already set up.
"Olivia! You're up early. And you've got..." He squints past me. "Friends?"
I glance back. My shadow is trying to hide behind a cart that's half his size. It's not working.
"New neighbors," I say brightly. "Very shy. Probably hungry. Do you have any of those carrots from yesterday?"
Emil, bless him, doesn't ask questions. Just loads a bag with vegetables that have seen better days but still have good hearts. Like people, really. The best ones are usually a little bruised.
I set up my stall, trying not to knock things over with my hips as I squeeze behind the display table. My stomach's already growling - should have eaten some of that banana bread myself - but there's work to do. I pretend not to notice the shadow relocating to a better vantage point. Then another shadow joins them. Then a few more. By noon, when the sun's high and my back aches from standing, I've got what appears to be an entire surveillance convention happening around my stall.
"Your paintings." A customer peers at my landscape. "Why does that tree look worried?"
Because I painted it while thinking about whether shadow assassins get enough vitamin D, but I can't say that.
"Artistic interpretation," I offer instead. "Trees have feelings too."
She moves on without buying anything, which is starting to feel like a theme. Maybe I should paint happier trees. Trees that haven't witnessed attempted murder. Optimistic foliage.
"Psst."
I turn, my skirt catching on the corner of my display. One of my shadows - the young one from this morning - is edging closer. He's holding my bread cloth like it might explode.
"Was this... did you... is it poisoned?"
"Why does everyone think I'm trying to poison people?" The question comes out more exasperated than I intended. "It's banana bread. Made with love and cinnamon. Poison would ruin the flavor profile."
He stares at me. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"But... why?"
"Because you've been standing out here since dawn and you look hungry." I dig in my basket, bending awkwardly to reach the bottom. "Here. Apple slices. They're only slightly brown. The lemon juice didn't quite do its job, but they're still good."
"I can't. We're not supposed to interact with—"
"With the people you're stalking? That does seem like it would complicate things." I put the apple slices on the corner of my stall. "I'll just leave these here. For the pigeons. The very large, person-shaped pigeons who probably report back to someone scarier."
He grabs the apple slices and retreats, but not as far this time. Progress.
The afternoon crowd picks up. The sun beats down, making me wish I'd worn my lighter corset. Sweat trickles down my spine. I manage to sell two small paintings to touristswho don't notice the existential dread in the brushstrokes. My shadows multiply. By four o'clock, when my feet hurt and my basket's empty of snacks, I count at least six people trying very hard to look like they're not watching me.
"This is getting ridiculous," I mutter, packing up for the day. My hands shake slightly from hunger - definitely should have kept some bread for myself. "I can't feed all of you. I'm not running a charity for unexpectedly hungry people who follow me around."
Except I absolutely am, because I've already mentally allocated tomorrow's bread budget to include more loaves.
The late afternoon sun slants between buildings as I head home through the quieter streets. My basket's lighter now but my arms still ache from carrying it all day. The attack comes between the bakery and the cobbler's shop. Not my shadows - they've been maintaining their careful distance all day. These are new ones, and they don't feel careful at all.
"Olivia Caldris." The voice comes from an alley that was empty five seconds ago. "Someone wants a word."
Four figures emerge. Different energy entirely. These shadows have edges, sharp and hungry. Their leader smiles, and it's all teeth and bad intentions.
"I'm really very busy," I try, even though my voice comes out higher than normal. "Perhaps we could schedule something? I have Tuesday afternoons free."
"Funny." He steps closer. Too close. My magic starts building under my skin, warmth turning to heat. "Here's what's going to happen. You're coming with us. Quietly. Or we make this unpleasant."
"I should mention I'm terrible at following directions. Ask anyone. Consistently disappointing."
