Page 63 of Tainted Souls
“I know what Evan’s getting,” Haden chimes in.
“What?” I ask, but it seems as if Evan is questioning the same thing.
“Probably some ridiculous charm that supposedly enhances your stamina.” Haden smirks, taking a jab at him. “Though I don’t think he needs it, considering how many women I constantly hear leaving his apartment at dawn. Last week it was, what, three different ones? I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t filed a noise complaint yet.”
Evan’s mouth drops in mock offense. “At least I’m getting laid. The only thing you’ve been intimate with lately is that strategy game you play until two in the afternoon.” He turns to me with a dramatic eye roll, his lips twitching like he’s barely holding back a laugh. “Did you know he named his character after Marcus? Corny, right?”
Haden’s cheeks flush at the revelation.
“No way,” I snort.
Haden recovers quickly, a mischievous glint emerging in his eyes. “At least I can hold an intellectual conversation that lasts longer than five minutes.”
“Five minutes is all I need,” Evan winks, causing me to groan.
“You two give me a headache,” I say, smiling despite myself.
Evan holds back a retort, one he knows I’ll slap him for. “Anyway, I’m getting those glowing mushrooms for my apartment.”
“The ones that change color based on your mood?” Haden asks, to which Evan nods. “Fun stuff. I’m more interested in the tech section. I heard someone’s selling modified neural interfaces.”
My law enforcement instincts kick in. “Illegal ones?”
“No, mom,” he whines. “Custom ones. Those with better sensory feedback for gaming.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Just checking.”
More and more people crowd the tunnel as we approach Holloway. The air becomes warmer, carrying the mingled scents of incense, fresh herbs, exotic foods, and the distinctive ozone smell of tech demonstrations. The music grows louder, a fusion of traditional Mythcrest melodies and modern electronic beats. We finally emerge into a vast underground cavern which has been cozily transformed into a vibrant marketplace.
Hundreds of stalls stretch in all directions, their colorful awnings creating a patchwork ceiling below the natural rock. Holographic signs pulse beneath them, advertising everything from ancient artifacts to cutting-edge technology.
“Whoa,” I breathe, briefly overwhelmed by the sensory input.
“I know, right?” Evan grins, all teeth, already eyeing a nearby stall selling bioluminescent plants. “Where should we start?”
“Food,” declares Haden, pointing toward a row of stalls emitting delicious aromas. “I’m starving.”
We weave through the crowd toward the food section. The market is a perfect microcosm of Penn City itself, with humans and vampires mingling freely, their differences temporarily set aside in the pursuit of commerce and curiosity.
A venator in civilian clothing examines a display of rare medicinal herbs and alchemy tinctures, while a histrionic vampire chef demonstrates a certain cooking technique that seems to incorporate plasma extracts for enhanced flavor.
We stop at what seems more like an open flame-glazed theater than a food cart, selling skewers of hematic meat glazed with an ebullient sauce. The aromas drag in every passing customer like an undertow, the nocturnal in particular.
Marinated slabs are flipped over a blue-white fire, the glaze shimmering with a metallic, almost magical luster.
“Three, please,” says Evan, his voice already thick with anticipation.
We take a moment to watch the chef’s hands move with a rhythm that seems both practiced and celebratory. This is not just food, but ritual: the chef skewers each chunk with a strange metal rod, submerges them in a vat of glowing orange sauce, clearly infused with blood, then sears them until the sugars and spices fuse into a lacquered crust. The finished orders are presented like gems on a tray, each skewer still steaming and dripping with fragrant glaze.
Evan hands one over to me and then Haden, and for a beat the three of us stand in silent accord, transfixed by the scent—smoky, sweet, with something sharp and unfamiliar lurking underneath. We bite down at the same moment.
The meat is tender enough to melt between my teeth, saturated with layers of flavor that hit the best notes of salty, fiery, and somehow electric. I look to my left and right, searching for words, but Evan’s eyes are wide and delighted, and Haden has already started on his second skewer, mouth too full for speech.
“Holy shit,” Haden moans, when he finally pauses for air. “This is amazing.” He shakes his head, as if language can’t quite stretch enough to contain this kind of pleasure.
Evan tilts his head back, finishing his own portion with a reverence usually reserved for something sacramental. “This has got to be illicit,” he says, wiping sauce from his lip. “There’s no way this is legal.”
The vendor grins, teeth rimmed with gold, and shrugs in thespian innocence. “Family recipe. Passed down since before the war,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s sincere or just playing the part. Either way, we’re all hooked.
