Page 133 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
I stilled, finding the seller within random piles. He was diminutive, even for a Goblin, and schmoozing a trio of orange-skinned Middling feyrs in the market for human grade paper, which stood in an uneven, spiraling stack before them, weighed down by a rusting socket wrench. He was too engrossed with his current customers to notice my impatience, but Pete was right. If I rocketed right for the ketchup without browsing first, the seller would know he could rip me off.
Once I calmed, Pete released me and untied the worn leather pouch at his belt. “Would you like me to buy it for you, or do you want to try your hand at striking your own bargain?”
I narrowed my eyes at his amused tone. Was he questioning my capacity to get a good deal? I clicked my tongue. “Please, this ain’t my first spin around a flea market. I got this.”
“Very well.” His lips twitched with dubious mirth. “What would that treasure cost you on Earth?”
I chewed my lip, laser focused on my prize. If those winged fae veered away from the paper and went for the ketchup, I’d freaking set them on fire.
“Like, two bucks.”
“Here it’s likely worth quadruple that.” Pete’s bear paw seized my hand and pressed several lemon seeds into my palm. “That sum should do. Now, remember, in haggling with Goblins, be specific. They’re wily little chiselers and will do their damndest to bamboozle you.”
“Got it.” I was getting that ketchup, andno onewould cheat me out of it.
The glint in Pete’s eyes expressed his continued skepticism in my abilities, yet he stepped aside. He wouldn’t stop me if I felt was this something I should do on my own. Which, I totally did.
If I somehow got through this whole ordeal with the Shadow Prince and decided to take the throne, where I’d be in constant political struggle with the influential Danann leaders who’d been running the kingdom during my father’s absence, then I’d better be able to negotiate with a single clever Goblin.
Pete nudged me toward the stall. “If you find you need aid, I’ll be here.”
Shaking off how his assurance heartened me, I then strode into the stall.
I’d never thought myself a spectacular actor, but I did a hell of a job nonchalantly perusing when I felt anything but nonchalant. I fingered a stack of mismatched lace doilies, ran my hand over the smooth plastic of a rotary phone with an extra-long cord, and tested several half-used tubes of drugstore lipstick on my wrist, none of them my shade.
No wonder I keep losing lip balms.They’re probably all for sale in one of these stalls.
Finally, I made my way to the groceries, examined some of the cake mixes for sale. Four of them had expired more than twenty years ago. The last was just a month past its expiration. There were mossy cartons of vegetables; some I recognized, but some clearly weren’t from Earth. Despite being vibrant and luscious, I distrusted their edibility after encountering the curse seed that night. Maybe the shopkeeper liked to poison foreigners for fun.
“Does lady find anything to like with?”
Gripping the counter before me, so I wouldn’t jump out of my skin at the Goblin’s gravelly voice, I glanced over my shoulder at him.
“Just looking for something to spice up supper,” I answered in my best British accent. “What would you recommend?”
The shopkeeper’s mouth spread into a wide grin, revealing numerous missing teeth. He waddled toward me in a hemp smock, scratching the back of one flopping ear. “I have many for spicing, Lady. Let you see.”
As he waddled to my side, I spotted the Middling feyrs plodding past Pete, orange arms laden with blank loose-leaf. They seemed happy with the deal they’d struck. Would I be as lucky?
Pete now leaned against a signpost. He caught my eye, gave me a roguish smirk and an encouraging nod.
The Goblin pointed a knobby, grayish-green finger at the array of sauce bottles beside me. “Any this good spice.”
I scanned the sauces, somehow avoiding the ketchup, though I sensed where it was. “Have you tried any of them?”
“Aye, aye, Lady. I yester-eve enjoy it here.” He tapped the half-sealed bottle of hot sauce. “With good burn. Pleased to burn?”
I pursed my lips, considering, though I already knew hot sauce wasn’t my thang. “Hm. No. I want something mild. Have anything tangy?”
“What tangy?” His brow furrowed.
“Something with a zip—a zing. Sweeter maybe?”
“Ah, might.” He tapped the tops of two different brands of barbeque sauce, one of which had grown discolored, and at last—the ketchup.
It had never been opened, the bottle cap stating it wouldn’t expire until October 2019. Holding my breath, I lifted first the unexpired bottle of barbeque sauce, examined its smudged label. Then, I finally grabbed the ketchup and did a side-by-side comparison. Although, there was no comparing anything with ketchup.
“What would you ask for each of these?” I peeked down at the seller in what I hoped looked like wishy-washy curiosity.
