Page 8 of Vicious
“If I never see a river bean in my life, then I will die one happy man,” Randolphsaid.
Said the guy who’d survived on nothing else while on top of theVicious’s elevator for over a week to hide from the ghosts. I couldn’t blamehim.
Orin seemed to be a melting pot of several different kinds of species. Fur and flesh and everything in between—even some non-Saelis scales—strolled, crawled, or bounced either down the road toward the outdoor marketplace or up the road toward a large cluster of squat, red-stoned buildings. Mase had landed theViciousamong a long line of ships on the side of the road between two parking meters. Some of the ships had maintenance crews washing the windows and performing other services I knew nothingabout.
We started toward the marketplace. It looked similar to Mayvel’s the closer we drew, right down to the hellish number of bodies. Various goods crowded tables and racks inside tented booths. As if there wasn’t enough light already, some tent poles had multi-colored Christmas lights wound around them or dangling in strings from the top of the entryways. Christmas was over, I thought, but maybe Orin celebrated all year long. Customers and vendors haggled. Children of all species squealed and raced each other around theirparents.
The air squeezed from my lungs at the press of the throng and loud volume. I stiffened my shoulders and arms since a misplaced elbow could potentially be enough for someone to recognize me. Especially if someone bumped into me and I accidentally turnedferal.
Randolph, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at home, nodding and smiling as we made our way to thealcohol.
Light from the thousand suns glinted off something silver ahead. Lots of silver somethings. Saliva flooded my mouth, and need urged my footsteps faster, away fromRandolph.
A whole booth filled with iron. Knives, wrenches, nails, screws, chains, support beams, and the list went on and on. Holy Feozva, it was a shrine to my self-created goddess. Or my own private corner ofheaven.
Randolph placed a hand on the back of my neck as if sensing my awe. “You have a currencycard?”
I tore my gaze away long enough to look up at him andnod.
“I’ll be in the next booth over.” He gave me a squeeze then left me to myworship.
I ran my fingers through a giant roll of chains and smiled at the musical clink the various sizes of loops made when they slid past each other. My other hand automatically swept over my hair. It had grown these last few months, but it was still cut too close to myscalp.
You can grow some moresies. That was a lyric from the hair-brushing song Ellison and I used to sing when we were kids. I could grow more, or could help it along in an appearance modificationbooth.
“You need chains?” a female voice asked fromabove.
I squinted up at the rustling flaps of the tent. Had my made-up goddess Feozva just spoken to me? Nope, just the small, winged vendor sitting atop the entryway. She had a hooked beak nose, bright red feathery wings instead of arms, and a row of eyes like black buttons trailing up and over her head, but the rest of her appeared to be allhuman.
And she sat right next to a flapping wanted poster ofme.
I curled in on myself, shrinking into the hood of my sweatshirt, and heaved a shaky breath. Too many eyes, the vendor’s and mine on the paper, looked down on me in judgement. But maybe my picture had hung there long enough that it blended in with its surroundings and nobody really looked at it. Wishful thinking? Hellyes.
“Um.” I glanced up while I tapped my fingers over the iron in my pocket. For once, there wasn’t any need to steal iron. I had a currency card, which I’d stolen from a dead man who’d tried to rape and kill me. “No chains.” Those would come later. “Just…” My gaze flitted over several items, each one forming a plan inside my head inspired by my own wanted picture. “That box ofwashers.”
Thanks to Ellison and her iron cubes, I didn’t need the washers, but it seemed like a waste not to buy something. At least, that was what I toldmyself.
The vendor winged down, her red feathers rustling, her row of black eyes always watching. Good thing I didn’t intend to use my five-fingered discount. She collected my iron goods with feathered fingers tipped in sharptalons.
“Seven hundred forty-eight credits,” shesaid.
Even though I knew how expensive iron was these days, I blanked my face at the shock. Because the Ringers used iron to build their space-bending rings, iron was a rare metal. I handed the vendor Nesbit’s currency card with slick fingers and squeaky leather on my fingerless gloves. If she asked for identification to match the name on the card, I was rusted. If she happened to look up at my wanted poster, I was even more rusted. Sweat tracked down the sides of my face in rivers, and my heart threatened to come tumbling out of my mouth. This had beensucha great idea. I readied myself to run just incase.
But the vendor froze, Nesbit’s currency card in her feathered hand poised in the air. A crackle of white lightning zigzagged across all of her eyes. I swallowed, my gaze glued to her, afraid I’d just hallucinated again. What wasthat?
She tracked something over my shoulder, movement from right to left. I stiffened while the hairs at the back of my neck lifted, glancing from her to either side, while I prayed whatever happened behind my back had nothing to do withme.
Still peering behind me under her long lashes, the vendor swiped the card on a machine and handed it back. “You broughtcompany.”
I stared at her, my eyes narrowed, silently ordering her to tell me what was happening. Several breathless seconds passed while the vendor slowly packed up my washers in a brown cloth bag. Did she know who I was? Was that why she was trying to tell mesomething?
“Who?” I deepened my voice to make me sound more like a boy, but it ended up agrowl.
“Parker Donatrough and friends.” She finally flicked her row of black eyes to me. “Drugbaron.”
Drug baron? If I were to have brought company, it would’ve been the police or ghost kind. Not a drug baron. Wait… Mase had said a drug baron was after him. Could this guy, Parker, be the sameone?
“How many friends?” Iasked.
