Page 35 of Female Fantasy
Next to him, a younger woman with gloriously bright blue hair, dressed head to toe in black, smokes a vape.
From the radio, death metal swells like an ambulance siren.
Nico’s relief falters. Definitely not a tow truck, then.
“Howdy, y’all,” the man behind the wheels calls out. “You folks in a lick of trouble?”
Nico regards the man apprehensively, taking in his off-duty track coach getup.
I lean over his body and jump into the conversation. “Hi! So nice to meet you. Thank you for stopping! We were rear-ended—a hit and run. Emphasis on therun. We’ve been waiting for a tow for, like, five hours.”
My pulse quickens as I remember what that means for my mission. Even if help arrives in the next five minutes, it’ll takeanotherninety minutes for us to get to the shop. That means I’m not making it to New York until at least sunrise—if I end up going at all. I can only afford to take a few days off from work. After all, that campaign slogan for Clever Fox’s Fungal Cream is not going to write itself.
This was sonotpart of the plan.
“Is that so?” the man coos, clocking our damaged truck.
His eyes rake over my colorful printed seventies retro set before snagging on the vintage watch hanging off of Nico’s left wrist. It’s a white gold antique that belonged to his great-grandfather. Nico seems to notice and casually places his hand behind his back, pretending to stretch.
“You see, we were just on our way to the county fair up byHartford. We’re traveling salesmen, Clarisse and me. We do local carnivals, the Renaissance Faire circuit, sometimes farmer’s markets, if you can believe it. Selling trinkets and knickknacks. Specializing in rare objects. Y’all would be surprised by what people find valuable these days. Like to travel up and down the coast, setting up at as many fairgrounds on that circuit as we can find.”
I wrinkle my nose. Why is this man speaking like some kind of old-school game show announcer?
He extends his left hand out his window and toward Nico’s. “Thomas Milford, at your service.”
Nico stares at the hand but doesn’t move the arm he’s hiding in order to shake it.
Thomas chuckles to himself. “Smart man right here.” He turns his attention to me. “And what might your name be, darling?”
I smile apprehensively. My parents warned me against making nice with random white men by the side of the road, especially when they look like they’re in costume. And I’ve watched an absurd amount ofCSI. Despite what Nico thinks, I’m not naïve.
But for circus freaks, these two seem relatively harmless.
Eccentric, but harmless.
“Joonie.” I take his hand and give it a firm, no-nonsense shake. “And this is Nico.”
Nico glowers at him.
“You two make a handsome couple,” Clarisse coos, her voice lined with a smoker’s rasp.
“We’re not a couple,” Nico says quickly.
I nod. “We barely tolerate each other.”
Clarisse lets out a full belly laugh. “Well, hon, I hate to break it to ya, but you’ve got what looks like your enemy’s drool all over your forehead.”
Gasping, I take out my phone and check the front camera. Sure enough, there’s a sticky, wet patch of slobber all over my brow and left cheek. I wipe at it manically with my sleeve, as if it’s a virus.
Great.
As if this day could get any worse.
“Where are you two heading?” Thomas asks.
“Nowhere,” Nico says.
“New York City,” I say at the same time.
