Chapter Twenty-Five #2
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—but little 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’s as 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 the little 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 was my healing cream from my goats and 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 elbowed the little runt behind him, who tossed a bag of coin. “We’ll take it.”
I gave a cheap grin. “Thank you for your business.” And I snatched the money. With a quick sneer and one last look at Laken, they left.
Laken tugged me in closer, kissing my head. And though I’d been ready to tussle, his touch brought me back to the world. “You alright?”
“Me?” We lowered into our seats, and I kicked my feet up on his legs. The sun’s warmth kissed our skin and he held on to me gently. “Yeah. I could definitely get used to this.”
He furrowed his brows.
“The ‘Oh, you want to be mean to me? Well, my boyfriend will beat you up,’ thing,” I explained. With his soft chuckle, I continued, “Nobody’s giving me shit anymore. Even though I think I could’ve taken him on my own… if it came to that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” I dragged out. “Any time, any day.”
Laken hummed. “So I’m your guard dog? You’re using me for my body, aren’t you?”
My grin erupted. “For every purpose it has to offer. Like a feet cushion.” I nodded to where my legs rested on his.
He shook his head. “Nothing but trouble.”
“Wait.” I paused. “Is there anyone I shouldn’t run my mouth to? Anyone you’d be afraid to fight?”
Time ticked by and his head tilted left to right, debating his answer.
Even in the shade, he looked like the sun to me.
Full of warmth and life, thriving more when sharing those gifts.
His skin was kissed by the rays, his eyes but a lost sea I’d happened to find a home in.
But he shrugged and gave a smug frown. “No, I could take them.”
Why that made me more attracted to him, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was I could take him any day, in my own way. But for now, I wanted to sit and sell cream and eggs, maybe make a little coin.
And that’s exactly what we did.
Bouncing on my tiptoes, I eagerly waited as Laken counted how much we’d made at the market. Apparently, being a friendly young couple had helped draw people in for business. Laken said we made more sales than he saw my father make.
Back at home, the sanctuary remained intact. All animals had all their limbs. And fortunately, Gordon swam happily in his bowl. My back ached; sitting in a chair behind our stand for hours had made me sore. Then again, it could’ve been the ride there and back. Or what we’d done on the way back.
As much as I wanted to relive that memory in my mind, I couldn’t stop picking at my fingers and raking my hands through my hair. We had eight days until the fundraiser and nine days until our debt came due.
Laken set the last coin down.
My nervous feet stopped moving, and the world became silent around us as our eyes locked in a deadly stare. Nothing could be heard, save for heavy breathing, perhaps. “So?” I nudged, studying his masked expression for an answer. “Did we do good?”
I dug my fingertips into the counter, leaning farther and farther over. Anticipation ate at my bones, my blood rushing into them as my heart pounded. Come on. Come on. Come on. Tell me already.
“We didn’t make what your father made…”
That was all I needed to hear. My stomach dropped.
I pulled away from the kitchen, facing the living room as I bit my nails.
I wasn’t even a nail biter. But my body needed something to ease it, something to calm its panic.
It’s fine. Everything will be fine. I could sell a kidney to beef-jerky man, and maybe then we’d make a dent.
Maybe I could even sell wax moldings of my—
“We made a lot more.”
What? “What?” I whipped back around and nearly hurled a fishbowl at the smirking little ass.
“To answer your question, yes. We did good.” He weighed the purple velvet bag in his hand, lowering his arm with its apparent heaviness. “Very good, actually.”
My chest heaved, and it took only two steps for my arms to fling around his neck.
Laken’s arms wrapped around my waist, and his embrace felt like comfort embodied.
His hand wrapped around my lower back, tugging me closer as if he couldn’t get enough, while the other held my head, raking through my hair.
Pulling apart enough to look up at him, I smiled.
We were doing this.
We could make it work.
If it was him and me, we’d be fine.
“I have something for you.” He grinned, and my nervous system kicked up as he motioned me to wait and ran off to the storage room.
Rocking back on my heels, I wondered what the heck he could’ve gotten me—and why. Why get me anything?
Laken, smug with tight lips, strutted in with hands behind his back. My eyes narrowed, and I tilted my head as he revealed his gift.
Overalls.
Just like I’d said I wanted.
My laugh burst through the air. “You didn’t,” I exclaimed, smiling too wide as I grabbed them from him.
Real overalls with real pockets… my very own overalls.
I felt the brown fabric in my hand, ran my fingers over the metal buckles.
“When did you”—I faced him—“this is why it took you so long to get back from tying Moon?”
Laken nodded, his cheeks flushing pink. “You said you wanted them and—”
I ran. “I have to try them on right now!” I’d say thank you later; my excitement buzzed in my bones. I had overalls!
Market day was a very good day.