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I took a tentative sip of my tea – hmm, tasty. Earl Grey, maybe? Then I waited and sipped some more, holding my breath. Beatrice folded her hands across the top of the counter, stared me dead in the eye, then gave me her price.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
I almost spat my mouthful of tea right in her face. I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, stammering as I started to protest.
“T-ten thousand whole American dollars?”
She rolled her eyes so hard that I thought I could hear them squeaking. “Duh. Obviously. What, did you think these things were going to come cheap? Do you even know what goes into crafting a proper cloaking artifact? That takes time, resources, and magic. Lots and lots of magic.”
“Right,” I muttered, somewhat dazed.
“And it all depends on how you want to keep it on your person, too. Now, as someone who specializes in clothing, I would obviously recommend something you wear on the daily. A jeweler might give you a necklace or a ring, so that the cloaking magic affects you all day, every day.” She gave me a quick head-to-toe glance, then grinned out of the corner of her mouth. “I could make them into a snug little pair of undies for you. Boxers? Hmm. Bikini briefs?”
My hand shook as I settled my teacup down, its bottom clattering against the saucer. “Not to sound like a broken record, but give me a break. Didn’t me saving your little box of spider droppings count for anything? A friendly discount?”
“Spider silk,” she hissed, raising a corrective finger in my face. “And that’s already a discounted rate, sweetie. Trust me. I’d only be charging you for the materials.” She twirled her hair around the end of one finger. “And the labor is free, because you’re kind of cute.” She followed that up with the kind of wink that would have had an impressionable boy like me aflutter, but I was too focused on the exorbitant five-figure cost she’d just quoted to feel all twitterpated.
“Why is it so expensive, though? It’s not like you’re making something for me out of solid gold.” I frowned at her. “It’s not because the main reagent is something super skeevy, is it? Like baby’s blood? Please don’t say it’s baby’s blood.”
“Don’t be dumb. I’d have to get some shimmerscale. Really rare stuff, comes from merpeople. And not just any mer, either. Has to be one of the magical ones. Their scales give them the gift of camouflage, and that’s the exact kind of ingredient we need. Of course, you can’t just walk up to one and expect them to rip it off their body and hand it to you.” Her eyes narrowed as they focused on a spot just past my head. “No,” she muttered. “Gotta be more creative than that.”
I blinked at her, dumbstruck. “Wait. Merpeople exist?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sure. There’s a whole colony of them that hangs out by the Santa Monica Pier.”
“Really?”
“Of course not,” she said, laughing. “They’re much harder to find than that, and it’s why this is going to be so expensive. Don’t be so gullible. Oh my God, you’re like a baby. Poor little dumb baby. Emphasis on poor. And dumb as well, I guess.”
“I can’t afford that,” I said, steadying myself against the counter with one hand, suddenly woozy. “I can’t even pay rent this month.”
Beatrice blinked, then shrugged. “Come back when you’re saved up enough, I guess? And before you ask, no. I don’t do installments.” She sighed, then folded her arms. “Listen. I appreciate what you did to help me. I really do. And I’m sure you have your own reasons for wanting to keep yourself so hidden, but you seem like a nice kid. I don’t see a wanted fugitive here, just some guy who doesn’t know why he’s running and doesn’t want to be found.”
I glowered back at her, hating that I couldn’t stop myself from pouting like a child. I didn’t appreciate the fact that she was seeing right through me and calling me out for what I wanted to do with my life. Was normalcy really so bad? It wasn’t cowardice. I just wanted a regular life, one that meant I could walk the streets without risk of being cornered by a cabal of demons.
But I told her none of those things. “Forget it,” I grumbled. “Thanks for the tea.”
Beatrice shook her head and sighed again. “Again, I really am sorry. But if you scrape together what you need, you know where to find me.” She reached towards one end of the counter, then handed me a cream-colored card. “You can call me here, send me an email, whatever.” Our fingers brushed for the briefest moment when I reached for the card, and to my surprise, she clasped my hand, her palm warm against my skin. “Take care of yourself.”
And with that, Beatrice Rex turned to one of the mannequins behind her counter, pinning and poking things into place, and it was like I never existed. I sighed, finished the last of my tea – man, what a crappy reward – and turned to leave. But that was when I caught my second glance of the man in the shop, the one who was looking at all the coats. We locked eyes for a second, and he nudged his head over his shoulder, the universal body language for “Psst, c’mere.”
“Psst,” he said, with his actual mouth. “C’mere.”
I shrugged and obeyed, dragging my feet as I joined him at the far end of Beatrice’s workshop. I’d wasted enough time at the Black Market. Why not waste a little more?
“Listen,” I told the man as we went into a little huddle behind the rack of coats. “This day really isn’t going my way at all, so if you could hurry this up, I need to head down to that notice board they have over at the hub and look for some quick cash. Maybe someone will want to buy my kidneys.”
“Shush,” he said, lifting a finger to his lips. “That’s why I called you here. I overheard you talking to Beatrice. Maybe I can help you out a little. I may have heard of someone who needs a little errand completed.”
I stepped back a little, only far enough to give the guy a once-over. He was handsome, I guess, in that fey kind of way. His longish hair fell a little past his jaw, brushing his shoulders to suggest that he didn’t care that much about styling it, which was why he styled it that way. You knew that he came from money, too. He would
have fit in outside at Silk Road, at least with the way he dressed. Sharp clothes, and an even sharper look in his eyes, a kind of cunning. He looked no older than Beatrice herself, about his mid-twenties, if I had to make an educated guess.
The man tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, his eyes assessing me as he smiled warmly. “Let me buy you a drink. We’ll sit somewhere and talk.”
I rubbed my forearm, watching him warily. “Just to be clear. You’re the guy who needs work done?”
“No. I just happen to know someone who could use a little extra muscle.”
