Not to Olivier, of course, but he was fairly certainsomeonewould appreciate it.
He wasn’t there for the illegal goods or the Burden’s Moon cheer. He was there for one reason and one reason only: his sister.
A few weeks prior, she’d taken him to see what had once been her underground clinic in this very Market. He’d asked her to, and despite her hesitation, she’d guided him through the massive fire code violation that was the soap factory. They’d been accompanied by her guard, of course, which meant they stood out like sore thumbs, but he didn’t mind.
If people gave him a wide berth, all the better. And if people stayed far away from his delicate sister, it was safer for everyone involved — especially them.
The visit to her clinic, which she’d set up in secret to serve an overlooked community who otherwise might not have sought out a healer, was… enlightening.
And deeply distressing.
To know his talented, brilliant little sister had felt compelled to work in conditions likethatmade him sick to his stomach. He had no qualms with her providing services to the overlooked, but she had no reason to do it in a repurposed factory locker room, of all places. It didn’t even haveheat.
If he’d known, he would’ve had it renovated for her, top to bottom. No expense would be spared. No detail overlooked. If his sister wanted to save lives, then it was his honor to help her.
But he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known anything.
Olivier’s jaw firmed as he pushed his way through the crowd. People did their best to step out of his way, but there wasn’t much room for it. Hundreds of bodies crammed in the narrow alleys between stalls, filling the air with heat and competing scents. Even swathed in his thick black coat, gloves, and tinted sunglasses, his skin crawled with the sense of exposure that came with so many people so close to him.
But doing this for Margot was worth any amount of discomfort.
The stall she’d pointed out was close to her old clinic. Decked out in an atrocious amount of cheap Moon decorations and blasting festive music from a small speaker, the troll’s electronics stand would’ve been hard to miss.
The man himself lounged behind the makeshift counter, phone in hand, and appeared to be completely uninterested in any potential customers that might want to purchase his dubiously supplied wares. It took Olivier a full minute to get hisattention, and even that only came when he reached over the counter to silence the speaker.
“Excuse me,” he drawled. “I’m looking for Jimmy.”
“Found him,” the troll grunted, barely looking up from his phone.
The man who ran the Market and who gave Margot the space for her clinic was a mountain troll. His skin was a deep, dark gray and his body was as tall and thick as whatever mountain his people hailed from. Olivier imagined he was fairly good at intimidating people, which must’ve proved useful in his line of business.
Not that it worked on Olivier, of course, but he could imagine.
Narrowing his eyes at the troll, he announced, “A pleasure to meet you. I’m your new landlord.”
Jimmy slowly lowered his phone. Arching his dark brows, the troll rumbled, “Wasn’t aware the Market was for sale.”
“It wasn’t.” Olivier offered him a cold smile. “I bought the building anyway. I’m good at things like that.”
“And you are?” Jimmy eased out of his seat to stand with his arms crossed. “Besides a snooty elf with a stick up his ass, I mean.”
“You don’t need to know my name.” Retrieving the pertinent papers from his pocket, Olivier pushed them across the counter. “All you need to know is that this is now my property.”
The troll dragged the papers closer. Looking down at them, his expression gradually morphed from suspicious to outright incredulous. Eyes wide, he demanded, “What on— Why? What could an elf possibly want with this place?”
Olivier pushed his sunglasses up his nose with the tip of one gloved finger. “Only one thing.”
“What?”
Tilting his head toward the clinic’s closed door, he answered, “The clinic. I’m going to have it renovated and reopened with a dedicated healer. I don’t care about rent. I don’t care about what you do here. I only care about that clinic.”
The troll looked lost. “But…”
“And,” Olivier added with a grimace, “I want sprinklers installed. This place is a damn hazard.”
Sweet Treats for Sweet Treats
“Isa!”
