Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

MAR

B ehind the dilapidated skeleton of what was once a thriving Burger Ruler, an unassuming parking lot in the heart of Piccadilly underwent a metamorphosis.

The restaurant’s windows had long ago been boarded shut. The only remnant of its former life was a sign that stood crooked with a message that may have once said closed . Now it read losed.

As the eerie glow of the aggressively-large moon lit the cracked and forgotten asphalt, a menagerie of shady characters flooded from the shadows like ants to a dropped ice cream cone. They carried blankets, tables, and cauldrons. They pulled wagons brimming with macabre treasures.

Upon the rising of every supermoon, for only a few hours, Piccadilly’s most fascinating residents transformed the fast-food graveyard into a thriving midnight market. The timing for this one in particular could not be more fortuitous, as tomorrow was the most macabre, and most spectacular holiday—Halloween.

Anticipation twitched through my fingertips. I watched them assemble, waiting a non-pushy distance from the set-up spot of my favorite snack cart. I’d been looking forward to this night for months, even more so over this last frustrating week.

As the market came to life one scarf and jar of pickled shark at a time, I stood focused on the empty pavement where Kernel of Truth was supposed to be. The sharp bite of the cold air rippled a shiver across my skin. I buttoned the only button left undone on my coat. A bustle of cloaked customers poured into stalls.

Walking the market carrying a parchment cone filled with spicy popcorn was my tradition. I didn’t want to start without it. But if I waited too long, I’d miss out on the market experience entirely. The alarm on my phone was already set to tell me when I had to leave for work, and I could feel it pressing closer the longer I stood still.

“Sssmine!”

The loud declaration caught my attention, though not as fully as the snarling green creature who’d delivered it. He was two feet tall, buck naked, and clutching what looked like a rusty wrench to his chest.

The recipient of his snarl could have been his clone, if not for the tufts of gray hair protruding from his ears.

“No, sssmine,” Tufty snarled back, then dove at Not-Tufty.

The two goblin-esque creatures tussled on the blanket, rolling over a spread of other rusty tools. Curious, I abandoned my position and wandered closer for a better look.

Were they actually goblins? Did goblins exist or were these guys some other type of creature? I’d have to ask my magic-obsessed friend Imogen.

“Nnneed,” one of the maybe-goblins said. It was impossible to tell which one spoke as their bodies tangled in a jumble of flailing limbs. “Givvve.”

Scuffling, scratching, and grunting sounds filled the air.

I glanced around to see if the playground-style throwdown was concerning to anyone else. No one seemed particularly interested, everyone continuing on their way, mulling about other stalls.

The crunch of snapping bone cut through the air like a sickle.

Instinctively I flinched and turned my attention back to the blanket.

Tufty’s teeth were embedded in Not-Tufty’s shoulder.

Both maybe-goblins froze, falling into a spell of eerie silence. There were no cries of pain, no further declarations of ownership, no sound at all.

At any moment, the goblin had to burst into tears…right?

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man approach.

“Snorfy will be fine,” he said in a lyrical voice.

Not-Tufty’s name was Snorfy?

I blinked up at the man who’d spoken. We’d met before. He was the vendor of this particular stall. I remembered his name—Caspian. I did not remember his skin being purple, nor the wiggly mouth tentacles he sported under his mustache.

Each flick and twist of his mouth sent a fresh shock and shiver across my skin, like I’d accidentally swum into a bed of sea anemones.

“Goblins are only dangerous if you stumble into their lair.” Caspian’s tentacles danced in time with his words.

So they were goblins. I filed that tidbit away for later.

“No need to fret, Marnie,” he said, surprisingly remembering my name as well.

Only I wasn’t Marnie anymore. I was Mar. I resisted the urge to correct him.

I also resisted the urge to stare at his vigorously thrashing lip noodles.

“Do I look like I’m fretting?” I asked, because I seriously doubted it. I kept my discomfort, along with every other emotion, locked down in my pinky toe. There, no one could see it, which meant no one could use that emotion to manipulate me.

“Not exactly fretting,” Caspian said. “But you have the look of someone who is seeing for the first time.”

Ah, that. I guessed it was impossible to completely suppress every ounce of outward expression, try as I might. I forced my gaze away from his mouth and settled at the thick bush of purple hair growing across his brow. I made a noncommittal noise.

The last time I was at the market, I hadn’t experienced magic yet. When you don’t believe in magic, you don’t see magic. That’s the rule.

But then Imogen had bodysnatched me, I’d confronted her, and I’d split in two.

From that moment forward, there were two Marnies. Me, and Nie.

Everything changed.

I wasn’t alone anymore, or at least I wasn’t supposed to be. I’d finally found someone I could completely trust.

But a week ago, she left to go on an adventure, leaving me all alone. I’d bought her a set of warm gloves as a going away gift. I even told her how happy I was for her, although I hadn’t entirely felt it.

I loved my alone time, usually.

I thrived on seclusion, until recently.

And I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Nie’s absence, or how it left me feeling hollow and confused. I was supposed to be focusing on the joys of the midnight market.

Which was exactly what I was going to do. Right now.

Now that I’d been exposed to magic, I was able to see things I’d never believed possible. I could see the talking sheep that had haunted Imogen, the undead crow that talked to Wendy, and my next-door neighbor Louisa’s lizard scales.

Here and now, I could see a whole new layer of interest in the market.

I would never admit it out loud, but Imogen was right in her enthusiastic and insistent proclamations—magic was awesome.

Snorfy wedged both feet against Tufty’s round little belly and kicked with a “ya!”

The two tumbled apart, and the prized wrench flew up in the air between them. They both scrambled to their feet and ran at each other like meteors bent on destruction.

“There are five more wrenches in the bin,” Caspian told the pair. “All exceptionally rusty.”

The goblins slowed their rolls, twisted their heads in unison toward Caspian, then bolted toward the bin yelling, “Sssmine!”

The originally coveted wrench fell to the blanket, forgotten. Splinters of rust flaked from the metal and scattered across the fabric like copper glitter.

I took that as my cue to move on and headed back the way I had come.

A huge line snaked its way from the popcorn stand that I, and everyone else apparently, had hoped to patronize. I couldn’t say how long I waited in that line, but even if it took two hours, I knew the wait would be worthwhile.

It totally was. As I stepped away from the cart with my cylinder of buttery carbs, excitement crackled beneath my skin. I strolled between stalls, taking in the sights, and popped a piece of popcorn in my mouth.

Exotic spices spread across my tongue, bringing welcome heat. There was nothing in the world that tasted quite like this, and as far as I knew, no other popcorn that acted like a fortune cookie by offering a kernel of truth scrawled on the paper at the bottom.

I popped another piece of popcorn into my mouth and moved on to the next stall where boxes of old family portraits filled one of the tables. I pulled out a photo of a family where everyone, including the parents, was crying.

Nie would love all of this. I knew with certainty, because she was me, and I adored every bit of the market, from the strange wares and the stranger patrons to the questionable skewered meats roasting over the fire breath of what looked like a large toad.

I slipped the photo back into its place and checked out the jars marked whispers on the table beside it before moving on. Did they contain hopes, fears, or secrets? And where exactly did those whispers come from?

Content, I walked and walked, basking in the familiar yet newly-deepened magic of my surroundings.

If anyone ever asked me where I’d learned of the market, first I’d deny its existence. People were spectacularly adept at ruining good things.

Second, if further conversation was unavoidable, I’d tell them as flatly as humanly possible that I’d found the market on the dark web. I found this sort of response would discombobulate and therefore distract most people. In reality, the only dark web I’d ever encountered had been weaved by a spider in the corner of my grandmother’s fireplace.

The truth to my discovery of this ephemeral event was far more mundane.

A few years ago, I happened upon a flier tucked inside a toxic herbs gardening manual at my favorite used bookstore. A large image had filled the crumpled page, advertising a one-eyed taxidermied fox dressed in reading glasses and a lab coat. The flier suggested the fox was for sale at a secret marketplace filled with oddities. To say my interest was piqued would be an understatement.

That first night, I didn’t end up buying the fox, as it had already been sold over a year prior. Plus, even though people took in my head-to-toe vampire-esque appearance and assumed I was the type of person who collected dead things, I wasn’t.

But whether or not I intended to buy anything, I’d made a point to come to the midnight market every chance I could after that.

I reached the next stall and paused.

There, on a blanket on the ground, was the taxidermied fox who’d first lured me to this place years ago. I didn’t remember the starched collar and curled tails of his lab coat from the photo.

Had someone returned him, displeased in some way with his frozen bedside manner?

A shame, for sure.

While I would never ever even consider making a purchase like this, there was something about the fox that made me feel…I wasn’t sure what.

“He’s calling to you,” a deep voice said.

I glanced over to see if the owner of the voice was speaking to me.

I found a large man with golden hair and bright eyes staring back at me. His irises were so green and so bright they seemed to draw in all of the light from the moon. When I glanced away, the world felt a little darker than it had before. Everything he wore was white—his shirt, his pants, his shoes, his jacket. How completely impractical.

He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels.

“You should buy the doctor.” He nodded toward the fox.

There was a quality to this man, an unnatural charisma that nearly pulled a smile from my lips.

I didn’t care for it. I controlled my emotions, no one else.

“I’m not interested.” I moved on to the next stall, away from Mr. Eyes.

He followed.

“You need him. I can tell,” he said, clearly desperate for the sale.

I watched him trace his fingers across a display of silk scarves. The beads affixed to the ends of the silk jingled like wind chimes. His touch was so soft, I could almost feel it across my shoulders as I watched.

My voice sounding more affected than I cared for, I repeated, “I said no.”

Mr. Eyes shrugged, like it didn’t matter to him, like he hadn’t pursued me. He turned on his heel to go.

And just like when I’d first pulled my gaze from his, the world seemed to grow a little bit darker. A knot formed in the center of my chest.

I should have let him go. Instead, words poured from my lips. “What makes you think the fox is a doctor?”

Mr. Eyes flashed me a gorgeous smile, and my insides both clenched and heated in response.

“The obvious answer would be his lab coat,” he said.

“Obviously.” I forced myself to look away. I needed to leave. I wasn’t interested in purchasing taxidermied animals, or whatever else he was selling. The involuntary draw that kept me standing here had to be some sort of magical enchantment. There was no other reasonable explanation for me to still be here.

“But that’s not why I know he’s a doctor,” he said.

An obvious lead, a manipulative ploy to keep me engaged.

Don’t respond. Walk away.

I crossed my arms, a barrier between us. Yet I asked, “How do you know?”

“He has a benevolent soul.”

A benevolent soul? A taxidermied fox?

His strange proclamation forced my gaze to return to his face. It was impossible not to stare at this weirdo, with his striking eyes and sharp bone structure.

He was a hot weirdo. By the confidence pouring off of him, he was well aware of this fact.

“You can see it in his eye. Come look.” He cocked his head to the side, suggesting I follow.

Part of me wanted to bolt. Part of me wanted to follow. All of me wished I wasn’t amused and curious at what he’d say next.

He returned to the fox, knelt down, and pointed, as if completely certain I would follow him.

I followed.

“The eye is glass,” I told him.

“Look,” he said again, with that ridiculous smile.

Despite how nonsensical it was, I leaned down to get a better look at the fox. A touch of brown hid inside the fox’s otherwise black glass eye. A scuff left a white streak across the surface.

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “The glass eye truly is a window to the soul.”

“Pure benevolence.”

I shook my head. “This fox is most definitely depraved and filled with spite.”

Mr. Eyes chuckled. Warmth spread through my chest in response to the sound. It felt nice. I hated it.

“I see Dr. Red has caught your interest.” An exceptionally tall man with a top hat and hollow cheeks approached. “An excellent choice.”

Wait…was this man the stall’s vendor?

I turned to Mr. Eyes.

“You don’t work here,” I said, more statement than question.

He shook his head, causing a bit of his blond hair to sweep over his forehead. “Simply enjoying the market.”

Something shifted in his eyes. He claimed he was speaking with me for the sake of speaking with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Worse? That was probably worse.

Mr. Eyes pulled something out of nowhere and held it out. Had it been in his sleeve? I wasn’t sure.

“You dropped this,” he said.

I stared at the plain black wallet offered in his open palm.

It couldn’t be my wallet. My wallet was safely tucked away in the messenger bag at my side, beneath a set of snaps and inside a zipper. Yet….

I unsnapped the snaps. I unzipped the zipper.

My wallet was missing, and a pang of stress and confusion struck me like lightning. I snatched the wallet from his hand and opened it, only to find my license, my cards, and my cash. It was in fact my wallet, and from a quick look, everything that should be there still appeared to be there.

The appropriate response now was to thank him.

Suspicion kept me silent.

I’d only taken my wallet out once since arriving at the market, at the popcorn stand. I distinctly remembered putting it away after. And, if somehow I was mistaken about that, and Mr. Eyes happened to find it on the ground, why had it taken him so long to hand it over?

He flashed a cocky grin at me.

A beeping sound pierced my train of thought.

My alarm was going off in my pocket.

“This has been interesting, but it’s time for me to go,” I said.

Part of me was relieved. The other part wasn’t. The other part was riled and amped up for confrontation or…no, the or didn’t matter.

“See you at the next supermoon,” Mr. Eyes said.

I shrugged like I didn’t care.

Then I headed to my car, feeling his light-stealing eyes follow me as I went.

Had he somehow managed to weasel his way inside my bag to steal my wallet? And if so, why return it?

I didn’t understand his motivation. I didn’t understand why he’d spoken to me at all. He had me twisted in knots, which I positively loathed.

I settled into my car, into my perpetual scowl, and finished my popcorn.

At the bottom of the paper was my kernel of truth.

Don’t lose your head.

Not bad advice given the interaction I’d just had, or the fact that I’d spent the last week feeling lost and unlike myself.

Two months with Nie had transformed me into someone who actually believed in another person, someone who needed something from someone else. Now that she was gone, I was lonely.

I hadn’t been lonely since I was a child.

Like I had done then, though, I’d get over it.

The moon faded and the sun began to rise during my drive across the city.

Don’t lose your head .

Another thought occurred to me. Don’t lose your head wasn’t the type of advice that belonged as a personalized, magical kernel of truth. It belonged on a motivational poster. Stay cool and calm—pretty much the most generic advice ever.

What a rip-off.

As I parked in the Barnacles lot, the early morning sky turned a different type of dark. A storm was coming.

I headed up the walk.

A wreath of orange and red leaves hung from the door. I couldn’t see them from here, but my favorite part was the plastic spiders that lurked inside the cracks. Between the black painted pumpkins sitting on either side of the porch entry, a cardboard box waited, likely a litter of kittens abandoned to the shelter for care.

Kittens meant a busy morning. They’d need grooming, exams, and isolation. I’d have to check the calendar to see who else would be in today, and call our resident veterinarian-in-training Jayden if he wasn’t scheduled.

I flipped through my keys.

Distant thunder crackled across the sky, a threat of the type of storm that belonged in the middle of July instead of the end of October. Nature didn’t care about calendars.

As soon as possible, I’d need to get the dogs out. No one wanted to pee outside in a thunderstorm.

I opened the door, scooped up the box, and headed in. I set down the box and my belongings on the nearest exam table and flipped the lights.

If the box was in fact filled with kittens, as our overnight surprise deliveries usually were, this batch was particularly quiet and particularly still.

That was never a good sign.

A sinking feeling settling in my chest, I put on a pair of thick work gloves and flipped the box open.

Beneath the cardboard flaps, there weren't any kittens.

There was a single, unmoving object in the box, eyes open and staring up at me.

I knew those eyes as well as I knew my own, because they were my own.

A tsunami of shock surged through my veins, a glacial force numbing every molecule of my body from the inside out. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

The object was my head.