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, too. My eyes widened. “Is that—?”
The big guy leapt to his feet, wand drawn and eyes wide. “Canal alert system. The police are here! I’ve got to hide this stuff—quick!”
A CASE
My chest heaved. “Wait—what? Hide it where?”
I glanced around the tiny tent.
Luckily, I was saved from making up some lie to excuse my lack of magic and inability to help by Bixby’s quickness. I didn’t expect the overweight guy to move so fast, but he muttered spells to himself, pointing his wand here and there. Displays flipped over, turned into shelves containing rows of bottled spices or disappeared completely. Within less than a minute, the whole place had transformed into a nondescript spice shop.
He slumped back down into his human office chair, then startled when he realized he hadn’t changed it. He pointed his wand at it, and in a whirl of glowing green magic it transformed into a wooden stool.
I blinked, still shocked at what had just happened. “Wow.” I frowned. “Does everyone in the canal do this every time the police come by?”
Bixby’s chest heaved, his face flushed. It took him a moment to catch his breath before he could speak. “All the illegal—ones do. The cops—don’t come by—all that often.” He pressed a hand to his chest, gasping. “But we have the alert—system for when—they do.”
I slid up to his desk, all the electronics gone, replaced by large jars of red, gold, and brown spices and plunked a merkle down. “I’ll take the cassette and be on my way, thanks.” I shook the tape at him before stuffing it in my pocket.
He gave me a wary look, then scooped up the gold coin and punched a button on his metal till. The drawer flew open and he counted me out change in silver coins, then dropped them in my hand. He looked at my pocket, which bulged with the cassette. “If you get caught with that, you didn’t get it here.”
I scoffed. “I’m sure the cops have bigger things to worry about than some smuggled human music.”
He shot me a heavy look. “You’d think. But be careful.”
I gulped. Geez. I mean, I’d been working with Peter for a few months now—murders abounded on the island. Surely they wouldn’t care about a cassette?
Then again, I’d also seen plenty of corruption and cruelty within the police department. And the way a Darkmoon citizen was treated down here on a bottom tier of the island was much different than the way an upper tier citizen would be handled. Growing up in the Darkmoon District had taught me that much.
I nodded my thanks to Bixby and ducked back out into the alley. I headed toward the stone steps that led up and out, the place now eerily
