I waved it off, drew my headphones up around my ears, then pulled my hood forward. “I’m all good. Have fun tonight—and be safe.”
She shot me a good-natured smile. “Always. You, too, Jolene.”
She headed one way, and I ducked into the milling crowd, going the other.
TIME TO FACE THE MUSIC
I reached into my pocket and punched the play button on my Walkman. Gary Numan’s “Cars” blasted through my headphones. The upbeat, human 80s classic gave me a little extra pep in my step as I headed for the bridge.
While the rest of Bijou Mer was probably nestled asleep in their beds, the Darkmoon Night Market District was at its peak. Neon signs flashed overhead, hung from the crooked stone buildings that leaned inward over the narrow cobblestone street. Steam rose from an iron sewer grate, and a mix of shoppers, revelers, and shady characters jostled together, some heads down, slinking through the shadows, others drunkenly belting out sea shanties.
I passed by the bathhouse on the corner, the red lanterns still burning bright. I did some quick mental calculations. I’d had a bath just two days ago. I nodded to myself and continued on.
Seeing as the entire island ran on magic, losing mine posed quite the inconvenience. I had no way of using the magical plumbing in my apartment or any of the kitchen appliances. Luckily, I had a human goods hookup who helped me figure out a few work-arounds and luxuries, like the Walkman I used to drown out the constant chatter of animals. But for most life basics I’d simply gone without for way too long.
But now that I’d been working with Peter as a consultant for the police, I had decent money coming in on a semiregular basis and could afford to cover the staples. It felt good to be on a regular bathing schedule, to not be constantly starving, and to have dry socks now that I had new boots that weren’t riddled with holes. Plus, for the first time in a while I could get a comb through my long hair—bonus!
I was still a long way from my life before the curse, when I had a thriving law career, casually bought designer clothes for fun, and lived on an upper tier of the island in a swanky loft. I took a deep breath and straightened my spine. And that was okay.
I wasn’t going to pine for the past anymore. And I wasn’t going to selectively remember the good times—I’d also been a workaholic, had no real friends, and was willing to do less than upstanding things to get ahead.
I wasn’t aiming to reclaim the past anymore. Just to create a better present for myself—starting with a visit to my favorite black market human goods dealer for some new tunes. That’s what the youth were calling them, right?
I hurried on and shoved my hands in my pockets. The air held a briskness I’d missed over the warm, humid summer. Though, once winter came, that posed its own challenges in terms of, you know, not freezing to death. It took spells to heat my apartment… and I had no magic. I rolled my shoulders. I’d deal with that when I had to.
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
