Page 130 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“If I’ve heard true, chronopathy only works on Earth, so when you returned years later, it was to your proper time.”
“But I’m still 20, right?” I glanced down at myself. Was everything still in its proper place?
“Aye, Shorty. Those years skipped past you like they never existed.” He shrugged. “You’re just not a babe of the ’80s, I’m afraid.”
This I couldn’t swallow. The trends of the time in which I was reared had shaped so much of my personality. I mean, withoutLate to Class,The Baby Sitting Diaries, the Perfect Princess classics, Gem Pops, and Virtual Pets, would I still be me? Hell, if we’d crossed to earth in real time, I would’ve been far too young to appreciate the whole pop explosion of the late ’90s. I would’ve missed out on the voices that sang the soundtrack of my life.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll always be a baby of the ’80s. No matter where or when I was born.”
“Suit yourself, Shorty.”
I was wondering which of my family members was a chronopath when Pete gasped like he’d seen a ghost. I glanced up to find him ogling an object in the next booth. An object nestled in a bed of green velvet like a precious gemstone.
His hands clenched as he said, “A Kentucky flintlock pistol. I had one just like it. Lost it, ken. To the slaver who nabbed me.”
The gun was a perfect historical specimen, something you’d see in a museum. Though I wasn’t a fan of firearms, I could admit it was pretty—carved in ornate filigree from handle to barrel.
“I’m surprised I haven’t seen more guns at this thing,” I remarked on the market. “That’s what the black-market on Earth sells. That and drugs.”
Pete sniffed. “Guns are outlawed in this world.”
“I thought everything from the human world was.”
“No. But crossing a portal to earth without royal decree is, so excusing how you procured such earthly items to contraband sniffers would be tricky for the bulk of these Goblin traders. Guns are expressly forbidden, as are ammunition and gunpowder. They’re believed to incite violence—embolden cowards.”
“I’d think magic is a far more useful weapon, anyway.”
Pete shot me a sidelong look. “For those with great power. Not everyone’s a fire sylph, Shorty.”
I smacked his chest. “Shut up.” I eyed the bodies striding past us. Whether anyone had overheard, I remained a target of scrutiny. As per the usual. Even in such a crowded place, surrounded by the most grotesque fae features I’d ever seen, I was somehow still the anomaly in the bunch. “We’re keeping that secret.”
Pete dismissed my concern with a wave. “The masses are too engrossed in their errands to give a wit about us.”
That’s when a passing Middling with peacock feathered wings ran into a nearby post for his efforts of gawking at me. Clearly, his errands weren’t engrossing enough.
Irritated, I twirled back to Pete. “Let’s just go ask about the gun. I know you want to.”
When I started forward, Pete barred me, sheepish for once. “This is sure to infuriate you, but I ken that trader—goes by the name Osnots. Which, if I recall correctly, means something akin toAnti Shein Goblesh. He likely won’t deal with me if I’ve a beyn in tow.”
I sighed. “Then give me some slack on the damn tether, and I’ll go browsing while you haggle with Mr. ‘Big-Man Beyn Hater.’”
Amused by my reference without getting it, Pete added length to our smoggy connection. “Don’t stray too far. If there’s one thing Goblins fancy more than dog meat, it’s a good toss with a pretty lass.”
I harrumphed before sauntering off.Pretty? Psh!Maybe I’d do for a screw in the dark. With everyone staring like I was Pennywise fromIt, I didn’t think they’d ravish me for my looks.
I rubbed the chill of the clear night from my arms and strolled through the throngs, trying to ignore the relentless discourtesy directed my way. I first stopped when I spied a message board, bulletins nailed across every spare inch of space. Their flowing calligraphy did little to lessen the impact of the hate speech imparted.
I stared down the inked apparition of a snarling nightmare. It’s vicious muzzle bored back at me—red-eyed, bloody-fanged, and black-clawed. Beneath the sketch was a warning about Vampires—aggressive and homicidal, lusting for the tang of faelets’ blood. Mainly, though, it declared them a radical, conceited people who viewed themselves as the superior race—alleged they conspired to overthrow Dananns as the ruling class (the benevolent masters that we were), yearning to subjugate the entirety of faekind.
Sedge would have me believe these accusations totally unfair. And I believed him.
There were similar broadsheets slandering numerous other Unseelie classes—Witches, Leprechauns, Werewolves, Hobgoblins, Banshees, and Fomorians, to name just a few. Regarding Fomorians, I suspected the board was dead on. The rest, however—well, I couldn’t imagine half the fae realm consisting of demonic rapists, cannibals, thieves, and murderers. Honest observers would find good and bad in every race. Just as on Earth.
Disgusted, I stomped over to another stall. There, a family of kindly Goblins sold crystal spun into intricate forms. Their figurines glimmered inside like miniature nebulae and when asked about them, the mother Goblin told me they were frozen souls. By then, I was street smart enough to know she wasn’t speaking metaphorically, but I wasn’t about to ask how one would freeze a soul. I just hoped the souls in question weren’t already engaged at the time of capture.
Worried I’d somehow end up on one of their shelves, I skittered to the next stop. The ancient, arthritic Goblin manning that stall sold discarded (or stolen) electronics from Earth: cell phones, laptops, keypad-less laptop screens, CD players, walkie-talkies, and numerous MP3 players. But how would one profit from such merchandise in a world lacking electricity? I goggled at a threesome of pixie-like beyns rummaging excitedly through a bin of old, scratched CDs. Some weren’t even legitimately published but burnt at home on someone’s PC.
I was still pondering their enthusiasm when a blinding flash several stalls away caught my eye.
