Page 20 of Grimoire Omens

Headache and gritty eyes? Gone. But I did have to pee something fierce. I slipped on my boots and exited the cabin quietly, not wanting to wake Flo. The narrow hallway, containing a handful of other doors held no one.

A pop of my head into the area Beatrice had turned into a living room slash kitchen showed no sign of my hostess or my judgy cat. I wondered where they’d gone. My bladder didn’t care and insisted we had more pressing matters.

I hit the onboard lavatory and tried not to wonder too hard where my pee went when I flushed. As I washed my hands, a glimpse of my appearance in the mirror above the sink twisted my lips. The spray and gel I’d used to tame my curls had given up. My hair frizzed in a wild halo, and I could practically hear Grams’ gravelly voice, Would you do something about that mess on her head? Actually, no, I wouldn’t. This was my hair. Untamed and wild, kind of like me.

And untamed girls weren’t scared of trying new things like roasted rat, especially since their stomach grumbled something fierce. Since I’d slept with my meager wad of cash in my pocket, I headed for the meat vendor at the beginning of the marketplace, an area much quieter than the night before. Most stalls appeared closed for business, and I worried I’d have to starve until sundown.

Lucky me, the man with the shopping-cart barbecue already had his spit going.

“Excuse me, sir. How much for a skewer?”

Jim, if I remembered his name correctly, glanced at me and stared long enough I almost snapped, “Take a picture it will last longer.”

“You are Dame Miller’s granddaughter.”

A single brow lifted. “I am, but what makes you say that? And don’t you dare say I look like that shriveled hag.”

His lips twitched. “Same colored aura of magic.”

“You can see it?” I glanced at myself as if I suddenly could as well.

“A gift of mine. I can see beyond the flesh of living things. It helps me to choose only the finest of meat for serving.”

Okay, this I couldn’t keep quiet about. “You’re serving rat. How much difference between them can there be?”

“The succulence of the meat of course.”

Up close, the smell had me salivating. Those dripping, crispy-edged chunks really did look good and, if I’d not been told of the source, would have eaten it without question. Didn’t some countries openly use rat as a protein?

“I’ll take a skewer.” I dug into my pocket for some bills, only for Jim to shake his head. “No cost to Dame Miller’s heir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very. I wouldn’t want her likely vengeful spirit to curse my food with rot.”

“You really did know her,” my wry reply.

“Everyone did. She left a lasting impression each time she visited.”

“That much of a bitch, eh?” I stated as I took the skewer he offered, the handle of it wrapped in a napkin.

He chuckled. “She never had a kind word to say and was quick to seek retribution against those she felt wronged her.”

“Sounds like Grams. She never liked me either,” I admitted, taking my first tentative bite and almost groaning. Okay, rat cooked right was damned good.

“Most likely because your aura shone brighter than hers. She would have been jealous you inherited more power.”

My brow lifted. “Me, with more magic? You must be wrong. She always claimed I was useless. A disappointment.”

“She was a fool, then. Some would have rejoiced to have an heir they could teach their craft to. I wish I’d been so blessed.”

I smiled at Jim. “Thank you. At least my mom thought I was great.”

“How’s the meat?” he asked as he noticed I’d finished the stick.

“Ridiculously good.” Hence why I ate the second one he offered, and then, on his advice, I went looking for the man with the buggy chocolate who would apparently be opening soon to cater to the late afternoon, getting-off-work office crowd.

As Lester opened his stall and promised me a fresh batch of bug chocolate within twenty minutes—because Dame Miller’s daughter could not eat yesterday’s leftovers—I noticed the market startling to bustle as normal-looking folks wearing business attire began browsing. I’ll admit, it surprised to see the men in proper suits, the women in pencil skirts and lapel jackets, most toting briefcases and laptop bags. One in particular stood out. A man who towered with golden blond hair, a jaw so square it could have been chiseled, and broad shoulders that stretched his jacket. I wondered if the size came from muscle or chunk.