For now, I’d worked a long night, had food in my pantry and clean hair—and I was going to treat myself. I swung by a pod of food carts and grabbed a gyro, which I devoured as I walked, and soon came to the bridge.
Bijou Mer was a maze of bridges and canals, but in the Darkmoon everyone knew the bridge meant the big one that spanned a long dry canal. A warren of businesses, some above board, others a little more… unofficial… crowded together under the bridge and under tarps strung over the stone-lined canal.
Fog gathered under the bridge and covered the top of the canal. The red lanterns that seemed to be a requirement for bridge businesses lent the place an eerie glow. No wonder tourists and partiers tended to avoid this place—it was for locals, and maybe pirates, only.
A few silhouettes of people moved in the fog, but I ignored the bridge and headed for the moss-covered stone steps that led down into the canal. I jogged down, my legs nearly disappearing below me in the mist, and entered a crowded alleyway between tents and tarps.
An old woman with a hard look shoved past me, a basket slung over her arm full of paper bundles and glowing potions bottles. I turned sideways to let her pass, then edged down the path. People and businesses slowly emerged from the fog, the tarps overhead making it feel like a low tunnel, a hidden underground world. The only light came from the red silk and paper lanterns hung from tent poles.
A thumping bass beat cut through the music of my headphones as I passed a makeshift nightclub that looked like it could hold about ten people, tops. A heavenly fried scent came from the next tent, where a few men hunched over a tall countertop while the cook turned skewers of meat and onions over a grill.
I tugged my hood off—the tarps overhead did a good job of keeping the rain out—and wound my way through the warren of shops until I found Bixby’s. I pressed the stop button on my Walkman, which he’d sold me, and tugged my headphones down around my neck.
My friend looked up as I ducked through the split curtain hung in the doorway and grinned. “Jolene.”
I winked. “Hey, Bixby. How’s business?”
The tiny shop was empty aside from the two of us. He leaned back in his rolling office chair behind his desk. It was littered, as always, with a mess of human electronics in various states of disassembly. The guy had an obsession with human goods, especially their technology. I didn’t share his interest, but I enjoyed benefiting from it.
“Eh. Slowing down.” He removed his glasses and polished them with his shirt, revealing his round, hairy stomach. He replaced them and tugged his shirt back down. “It was busy earlier, though. Got a bunch of teenagers in from one of the upper tiers.” He chuckled. “Apparently human goods are very in right now. They bought half the store.”
I grinned. “Sweet.” I moved through his displays of metal boxes, screens, plastic cases and cords and wires. He’d told me what all this stuff was before—told me way more than I wanted to know, in fact—but I’d forgotten it all. “At a markup, I’m assuming?”
Bixby splayed his thick hands. “I can’t give the Jolene discount to just anyone.”
I clicked my tongue at my friend. “You flirt.”
He chuckled, the hairs of his goatee bristling. “Hardly. You and your referrals make up half my business.”
I gave him a little salute as I perused his wares, looking for what I was really here for. It was true that I’d gotten Heidi, and apparently her friends, pretty hooked on human music. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s an inter-kingdom tragedy that not everyone has heard the synth masterpieces that are human 80s music.”
Bixby nodded, his ponytail bobbing behind him, in mock solemnity. “Agreed, Ms. Hartgrave. Agreed.” He grinned. “Unfortunately, the authorities feel differently.”
The magical kingdoms had originally been formed, in part at least, when human knowledge of magic led to persecution of witches and wizards and our ancestors were forced to create secret havens. Since then, a distrust of humans and everything related to them had persisted, and it was nearly impossible to get a permit to visit the human lands. I wasn’t sure how Bixby got ahold of his merch—he was always fairly dodgy when I asked him about it—but I appreciated it.
He pointed to a shelving unit in the back of the tent. “Cassettes are back there.”
I grinned at him and headed to the back. “Thanks. Anything good?”
He swiveled in his chair and pointed to the right side of the shelves. “Find the cassette by a guy named Sim—Sim—” He snapped his fingers. “Simon something. I think you’d like it.”
I shook my head as I reached the jumbled shelf. Cassettes were stacked on more cassettes, some labeled, others not. “You know, if you organized this, at all, it’d be a lot easier to find things.”
“The hunt is half the fun.”
I rolled my eyes, my back to him, and trailed a finger along the plastic cases of cassettes, flipping some to read them. I grabbed one and turned, holding it up to him. “Paul Simon?”
My friend gave me double finger guns. “That’s the one.”
I frowned down at it, turning the little rectangle in my hands. Not the flashiest name, but Bixby rarely steered me wrong in the music department. Books were another story. I’d told him to stop recommending me human reads long ago. He loved something called sports biographies? Didn’t see the appeal.
I scanned the rest of the cassettes for another minute without seeing anything new before turning around and holding up the Simon one. “Alright. I’ll take it.”
Bixby opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when a brass bell that hung over the door started ringing frantically. I froze and listened. Bells all around us in neighboring tents rang,
