And when the Merchant nodded, his expression filled with laughter, I realized I had to shove down my grief, let Jagger’s blood have free rein, and do what I’d been commanded.
“We’re here about a weapon,” I said.
Next to me, Luvic’s stance relaxed.
The Merchant leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. “A weapon? Then you’ve come to the right place. But first . . . tea.”
If you’re surprised, don’t be. This was the way of things with the Merchant.
If you came to buy, then you could expect to spend hours in his company.
It began with jokes at the entry. Then it progressed to tea. You’d better drink at least two pots. Hot, never cold. There would be finger sandwiches—cucumber, watercress, pimento cheese. There would be tiny tea cakes, little brownie squares, and floral-flavored ladyfingers.
I felt queasy even thinking about eating more dessert, but I forced myself to take a plate and nibble on the concoctions.
We talked. He laughed. We joked. Luvic bled and pretended he wasn’t bleeding. I smiled and pretended I wasn’t raging inside because I’d left Justice in the Den alone. Penrose lay curled in the Merchants lap and pretended he wasn’t listening. Last sat silently and stared slack-jawed at the Merchant with something like growing infatuation, no pretending there.
Finally, when we’d finished our required two pots of tea and the plates of desserts, the Merchant said, “Now the pleasantries are over, what would you like? Armored vehicles, tanks, rocket launchers, grenades?—”
“Don’t play games,” I said.
He laughed. “Weaponized sonar? A satellite laser? Gamma bursts? Something old-fashioned? A hydrogen bomb?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Funny joke.”
Luvic’s eyes widened. Last set her teacup down with a loud clank. Neither of them had ever been to see the Merchant before. They didn’t understand.
“You know what I want.”
He grinned. “Good old-fashioned guns then.”
I scoffed. “I thought we were friends.”
He laughed even harder. “Uh-huh.” He wiped at his eyes, his cheeks reddening.
I waited for him to stop chuckling. “I know you have one.”
“Maybe I just sold it.”
“And maybe I’ll blow up your fun house.”
“And maybe I poisoned your tea and you’ll be dead before you can.”
“And maybe I poisoned you years ago and every time I visit I dose you with the antidote, and if I stop coming, you’ll stop breathing.”
He lunged forward and gripped my throat in his hand. I held still, but Luvic conjured a knife and held it to the Merchant’s throat. Last twisted her hand, and a swarm of killer wasps appeared, buzzing over her palm.
“Is it true?” the Merchant asked, squeezing my throat.
His voice was no longer cheerful. It wasn’t even radio-announcer-smooth. It was a guttural, angry hiss. Even his boyish face had twisted, so he no longer looked cheerful and benevolent.
I smiled blandly. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a joke. You’ll only know when you’re dead. But it’ll be a funny death.”
His brown eyes burned as he searched my face. He tilted his head and smiled at what he saw. “Knock, knock?” he asked.
“Who’s there?” I responded, the pressure on my neck loosening as his hand relaxed.
“Tell your pet conjurers to back off before I incinerate them. I like you, but them, I could do without.”
