Using the crates for decoration, I stacked all of our products and carefully placed the egg cartons before sloppily plopping myself into position on a small, frail, and uncomfortable wooden chair. I crossed my legs and straightened my friendly-but-not-too-friendly outfit.
Across the street, two men sat behind a booth, setting up their jewelry. I knew even from looking it wasn’t typical silver and gold adorned with gems. It’d been enchanted—or cursed. One man must’ve been over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and limbs so big I’d bet he could rip me in half. A bear of a man, really. Raggedy short black hair messily lay over his head, topping his dark demeanor, followed by eyes so dark I’d consider them black. The other man, also uncomfortably tall, wasn’t so much a bear but a snake. A slithery little snake. His green eyes were shadowed by a lock of brown hair looking as if it hadn’t been washed or brushed in days. Even his hands were long and dainty, like spider legs.
I laughed silently to myself.I am in danger.
I could choke on the jewels they sold, large enough to black an eye. The kind of jewels someone wore to have you say, “Oh my Gods, look at that rock! Must’ve cost you a fortune.” Or, of course, the undeniably beautiful kind you give to someone knowing they won’t deny it, and the second they put it on—the curse is activated. Set and trap. Could be used to lure a dragon, too, I supposed. Unarguably, no matter their uses, they were definitely stolen—butlittle problems, big world, right?
On my right, the docks and sea. On my left, however, another booth run by a woman on her own. A shorter woman, close to my own height but a bit older, chewed on a piece of grass. Long, curled ripples of purple hair flowed over her back and round brown eyes made it easy for her to beg for sales without saying a word. Circles of color burst from her tables where weaves of yarn hung all over. Pools of moody greens and blues, vibrant pinks and yellows, and soft oranges and reds like the sunset. As she must’ve noted my stare, she turned to me.
“Ay.” She nodded. “Where’s old man McCarthen?” She spoke with an accent I didn’t recognize.
“Oh, he’s dead,” I answered, then realized not everyone uses humor to cope.
Her eyes bugged. “Really?”
My lips thinned into an ashamed smirk. “No, but he is on some grand adventure with no plans to return.”
Her head tilted back in such a way, I knew she knew. “So he really did it then?”
“Yeah, up and left everything he loved and cared about,” I explained.
She shifted in her seat, grinning. “Said his daughter did the same thing.”Aw, he actually spoke of me to someone. How sweet of him.“So who are you then?”
“His daughter.”
I received an “oh shit” side-eye for that. “Oh.”
Oh.
“Welp”—she grabbed a weave from the table—“if he’s dead, you can try to capture his soul with one of these. It’sas hard as saving a demon to do, but if you succeed, you can torture him forever if ya want.” She winked.
I perked up. “Really?” Interesting. I didn’t buy one yet, but I did thank her for letting me know.
The runaway daughter, the one who’d fled, the coward who’d left her town and never looked back until she had to. ’Tis me, through and through. I didn’t mind it; I had left, and I didn’t regret it. I did regret this seat, though, because my ass cheeks were already numbing. Waiting for Laken to return from whatever was taking so long, I kept to myself and people-watched.
Another thing about the market: anything went. If I weren’t mistaken, a man had walked by with eyeballs in jars. From my days in school, I knew that many magic wielders used body parts for potions, spells, curses, and enchantments. Creatures of all kinds roamed on leashes or were hauled in cages to avoid their escape. Ausprins flew overhead, eel-like birds with elongated necks and blue-purple scales. Peeking out of a few pockets from a group moving past our cart was a family of gruggos—insects resembling dead grass.
I’d become so wrapped up in people watching, I didn’t notice when a goth mountain of a man came to my booth. His leathers were so tight he might well have been personified beef jerky with auburn hair and a nose ring.
“Can I help you?”
Standing there in all-black leathers, brooding and careless, he smirked. “With what, exactly?”
Between his arrogance and his teeth, I didn’t notice thelittle man behind him. Cowering like a stray pup behind its bitch. They eased around, soaking in the sun or smelling the body odor in the air—something weird. Something was off.
He started screwing a tin lid off and I stood, sending my chair inches back. The weaving woman watched, the jewelers kept a tight stare, but neither moved. Neither would. The man popped the lid off.
“What the hell are you doing?”
But he didn’t answer me. Fucking brute; I’d jump over the table and poke his eyeballs out if need be. That wasmyhealing cream frommy goatsand nobody—
A familiar, firm grip slid around my waist. I didn’t flinch or look back; I knew who stood there. Laken propped his other hand on the table, leaning over. “Is there a problem here, sir?”
His tone was soft and light, not as if he truly cared for this customer’s satisfaction, but in a lingering, haunting kind of way. A way that makes chills run up your spine and, even after you think you’re safe, one little thought makes you jump. The dog running to fetch a stick from the woods and not returning.
The man didn’t move, but his eyes did. They glanced down at Laken’s arm, where the sleeve had been rolled up over his elbow (which always drew my attention as well but for different reasons. What was it about a scrunched-up shirt and vein-covered forearm?) and his tattoo showed. His Wraith tattoo.
Beef-jerky man met Laken’s eyes once more and the muscles in his jaw clenched. He set my cream down and elbowedthe little runt behind him, who tossed a bag of coin. “We’ll take it.”
