Page 37 of Female Fantasy
Wait. Did I mention having a brother?
Clarisse hums. “Y’all would make good salesmen. Fair folk. True vagabonds. Maybe you should join us. Become a part of our shtick.”
“I’d love that.” I beam, imagining myself in a tight, sparkly getup and top hat.
“Though it’d be a mighty big shame if one of you were to go missing,” Thomas adds.
The air in the car seems to shift slightly, growing colder. I move closer to Nico.
“What exactly did you say you sold again?” he asks. “Trinkets and knickknacks?”
His question drips with aggression, maybe even a bit of accusation.
“Nico, chill,” I whisper. “Don’t be weird.”
“I’m just wondering what kind of traveling salespeople drive limited-edition red Jaguars down dirt roads that don’t even appear on most maps.”
Thomas and Clarisse stir silently.
I bite my lip. I mean, when he puts it like that, the whole thing does seem kind of suspicious.
“You guys said you specialize in rare and valuable objects, right?” I ask, trying to remain optimistic. To believe the best about people. “What kinds of things do you sell at Ren Faires? Like, handcrafted jewelry and leather goods? Turkey legs andmead? Ooh, those pendant lockets with cutout silhouettes inside always seemed like pure magic to me. Any chance I can buy one off of you?”
“Our goods aren’t really the kind you can just buy,” Thomas says.
“They’re free?”
“In a sense.” Clarisse cocks her head toward me slowly. “You see, we work for specific people, specifically one very peculiar man. And he caters to what you might call a unique kind of clientele. Thomas and me, we’re professional dealers. But only for the people who pay to be dealt in, you feel me?”
“Joonie,” Nico says, something like understanding dawning in his voice. “Stop talking.”
“We’re hunters, too,” Thomas adds. “Collectors.”
I shake my head. “I’m not quite sure I understand.”
“Joonie. Please.” Nico’s voice is hoarse, strangled.
“It’s real simple,” Clarisse says. “Thomas and I do a lot more than wheel and deal. We also play finders keepers. Sometimes people have the audacity to steal from us, to take what’s ours. And our boss hates it when someone makes off with what’s his. So sometimes he sends us out on little missions. We go retrieve things for him. His products. His commodities.”
Just then, the music goes off, and the radio lets out the sound of a man breathing heavily.
“Thomas, Clarisse—do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?”
Nico face goes pale. “That wouldn’t happen to be your peculiar boss right now, would it?” he bites out.
Thomas and Clarisse make eye contact, a silent conversation taking place between them.
“No, no,” Thomas says. “That’s just our favorite podcast.”
“A true crime podcast,” Clarisse adds.
“Pick up, you idiots!” the voice barks. “Do you have the boy? And his girl?”
My next breath gets trapped in my throat.
“Boss, you’re on speakerphone,” Thomas mutters. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
“What?” I stutter. “But…I thought you were salespeople!”
