THE BAZAAR (The Devany Miller Series)

by Jen Ponce

  THE BAZAAR

  Jen Ponce

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Ponce

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U. S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Visit Jen's website at www.JenniferPonce.com

  Facebook at www.Facebook.com/JenPonceAuthor

  Twitter at www.Twitter.com/JenPonceAuthor

  Contents

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  About the Author

  Mom

  You taught me to love books and for that I am eternally grateful

  Lorri

  Thanks for your support and encouragement

  (And my first laptop)

  Thank you to Lorri and Jessica for reading multiple versions of this book and to Adele for your enthusiasm for Devany's story. Thank you, M. A. Ray for giving this your eyeball juice and another chance at being error-free.

  Thank you, Kathy, for writing with me in high school and sharing the love of telling a good story with me.

  ONE

  The line for the fortuneteller stretched halfway down the block and gave my husband and me a chance to people-watch. Well, I was watching people. Tom was on his phone texting someone. I nudged him in the side. “Do you see the guy over there? I think he just pinched his girlfriend.”

  He grunted, glancing up but not really seeing anything. I fought back the urge to pinch Tom since it would be hypocritical. Instead I watched the man carefully. He was smiling, his eyes dead and flat as he crowded the woman. She was pressed tight against a metal barrier separating the crowd from the children's ride rattling behind her, staring resolutely at his shoulder. It reminded me of someone facing down an angry dog.

  “Do you think I should go over there?” I winced when the man fisted his fingers. I didn't even realize I'd taken a step in their direction until Tom grabbed my elbow.

  “And do what?” Tom squinted at the guy. “The one with the neck tattoos? Hell no, you aren't going over there.”

  The asshole glanced around and decided to put his hand in his pocket instead. I jerked my elbow from Tom's grasp. “It's not the tattoos I'm worried about, it's his fist.”

  “Call the police then.”

  I shut my eyes and counted to ten. Had he not listened to anything I had to say about my job? You didn't just call the police when there was domestic violence. It wasn't that simple. “Who are you texting?” I leaned over and he tipped his phone away from me.

  “Nate.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “On our date?”

  “We're married. We don't date, we hang out together.” He grinned and chucked me under the chin. “Just coordinating game day.” I slipped my arm around his waist and laid my head on his shoulder. “I can't believe you're leaving me to go watch football.”

  He put his phone into his pocket. “It's a big day. Nebraska versus Iowa. We have the corn hats and the foam fingers, the ribs for the tailgate party.” He squeezed me and I sighed, telling myself that there were many sports widows and widowers on game days. If only I shared his love for football. Still, even though I understood, I had to give him a hard time, right?

  “This is the first weekend in forever that the kids are going to be gone. Both. At the same time,” I said, as if he didn't know this. “We'd have the whole house to ourselves.” I made it sound like we'd be naked and sexing on every surface, when in reality I really wanted to get the yard spruced up and the deck resurfaced. Dirty pool. I wasn't above it.

  “Tempting. If I hadn't already bought the tickets.” He kissed the top of my head. “I loved the whole, 'You're gunna get some' sound in your voice. Nice touch.”

  I snorted. We moved forward a few feet and my eyes went back to the couple.

  “If you're that worried, call the police.”

  “And they come and then what? Talk to both of them, let them go, and he beats the shit out of her later tonight.” As we watched, she jerked away from the man and walked off. He made a rude gesture at her back, then laughed.

  I licked my lips then said, “I'll be right back.”

  “Devany, stay out of it.”

  “I just want to give her the hotline number. Make sure she knows that there's a place that will help.” I kissed him on the cheek and threaded through the crowd after the woman. The crowd at the carnival was thick, a lot of kids with colorful blobs of cotton candy and stuffed animals hugged to their chests. She was headed toward the portable bathrooms, so I broke into a jog to catch up with her.

  She jumped when I came up beside her and I apologized. “I think you dropped something,” I said, handing her one of my business cards.

  She took it, frowning. “This isn't mine.” Her frown smoothed out when she saw the name and phone number. Her eyes searched the crowd then focused on me. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I just wanted you to know that there's help if you need it.”

  She rocked back on her heels and gave me a once over, her lip curled. “Fuck off.”

  “I'm sorry. I saw him almost hit you and I was worried for you.” I saw that we were starting to draw a crowd, something I didn't think either of us wanted.

  “Yeah, well you don't know shit about me and you don't know shit about him. You think this would stop him?” She held up the card then flung it at me. “Dream on.”

  She walked off, leaving me and a few others staring after her. I scooped up the card and slipped it into my back pocket. I ignored the tsking of a nearby spectator, knowing that I shouldn't have gone up to the woman in the first place. Intellectually I knew that. Sometimes my emotions got in the way of common sense, spurred on by that quote that said all evil needs is for good people to do nothing. It was in these moments that I wished I could do something more than support and empower. Like zap the abusive asshole to the moon and let the lack of oxygen take care of him.

  As I walked back to Tom, a bright yellow tent caught my eye. Painted on the side in candy floss colors were the words, “Magic Sugar.” I made a mental note to come back here after Tom left. No way I would pass up a chance for some magic sugar. Maybe it would make all my dreams come true.

  We were the next in line when I returned, smiling at my flight of fa
ncy.

  “Everything okay?”

  I shrugged. “She told me off. Said I didn't know what I was talking about.”

  Tom kissed my forehead. “Her loss.”

  “It's not right. She shouldn't have to deal with that kind of crap.” I rubbed at the spot where he kissed me, annoyed at his cavalier dismissal.

  “Of course not. But you can lead a horse to water and all that.”

  I held my tongue. This was a long standing—if not argument, then debate between us—and I didn't want to get into it here.

  A man with fabulous nails and a purple robe told our fortune. After every turn of a tarot card, he took a drink from a silver flask he kept by his side. I was surprised he was even upright if he'd been sipping through each telling. He let us know, in a slightly slurred voice, that, “You will have to decide whether to keep allowing something to happen or take action against it.”

  Appropriately vague. Before we left, he tapped an orange fingernail on the Wheel of Fortune card and pinned me with a bleary gaze. “A big change is coming. Big. Change.” He hiccuped and listed to the right.

  “Are you, uh, are you okay? Need some help?” I reached for him, then drew my hand back when it looked like he might spew.

  “Fine. I'm fine. Seen too much. Weird shit.” He caught himself before he hit the floor and managed to maneuver into a semi-seated position again. I didn't dare look over at Tom because I could hear the laughter he was tamping down. At least he waited until we were well away from the tent before he guffawed. I was laughing too, but Tom was red-faced with his amusement.

  Wiping the tears away, he shook his head and put his arms around me again. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

  “Yes. Are you sure you have to go?”

  He kissed me, a long, deep kiss that made me melt into him. “I promised Nate.” I pouted and he tapped me on the nose. “We've been planning this forever or I would stay.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Have fun. Be careful.”

  Once he was gone, I made a bee-line for the yellow tent. The tent was butted up against the side of my favorite bookstore, Hidden Treasures. I could spend hours searching through the overburdened shelves, which drove my husband and children nuts.

  Large glass tubes were lined up on tables, each filled with a different colored sugar. Even better, a tall hunk of cheesecake stood at the entrance, his eyes smiling. “Welcome.”

  I smiled back. “Magic sugar?”

  “But of course.” His eyes were light blue and had a suggestive sparkle to them that warmed me.

  “What kind of magic?”

  He shrugged. “What kind of power do you need?”

  “The power to zap assholes to the moon.”

  He laughed, the sound making me smile in return. “One of the more original requests I've had all day.” Shifting, he picked up a tray that held a plastic-wrapped stick. “I can't guarantee you'll find what you seek, but some people have said my magic sugar has shown them the pathway to their wildest dreams.”

  “That's a pretty cheesy line.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded to the tubes. “Color?”

  “Purple. The dark purple.” Before I was even done speaking, he'd crossed to the tube and opened the tap, the sugar pouring into the tray with a hiss of sound. He handed me the tray and then picked up another stick.

  “Hold what you want in your mind. Then take your stick,” he lifted his, eyes on me, as he slipped it into his mouth and wet it with his tongue, “lick it. Dip.” Into his mouth again, coated with red sugar.

  The whole thing sent tingles through my body. I blinked and looked away, not wanting to acknowledge those feelings. I was married, damn it. Those types of hormones should shut off once a person said “I do.” I set down my tray to unwrap my own stick, my fingers clumsy under his eyes. I gave it a cursory lick, dipped it and—

  —A woman stood before me, her hair made from the clouds, her eyes full of lightning, filled with more power than I could fathom, and I wanted it. I fought that desire because I knew if she saw me she would fry me to ash. Despite my terror I yanked at the power leaking from her, hauling at it like a sailor in a storm, gaining inches and wanting yards. With each tug she would frown and look around her but I was still too small for her to take notice of me. I knew I should stop, but I kept pulling frantically, greedily, even though I knew that each yank could be my last—

  I blinked the sugar man back into focus. The stick lay against my lips, sucked clean. I dropped my gaze to the tray as if it would tell me what the hell had happened.

  “Are you okay?” The lightness in his tone annoyed me.

  “No. What was that?”

  He took the tray from me, tugging the stick from my fingers. “Magic sugar.”

  “And what? LSD?” My head felt clear and when I looked around, the world was business as usual. No purple dinosaurs or giant dancing mushrooms.

  “Some people have a stronger reaction to the sugar than others.”

  The woman burned in my head. She was scarier than any monster Hollywood had dreamed up. Scarier because she was real.

  How the hell could she be real?

  “There are more vendors. More authentic. Only those who are sensitive to the sugar can step through.” He twitched aside the canvas and where I expected brick wall I saw a long, lantern lit alleyway. More tents, more displays stretched back as far as I could see. A crowd of shoppers milled around taking in the wares.

  “What the hell is going on?” Had he drugged me? Surely not. What kind of drug lasted only a minute or two?

  He grinned. “Magic can be found in the oddest places.”

  I opened my mouth to protest that magic wasn't real then shut it again. Did I want to pass up such a strange experience because my rational brain couldn't accept it? Hadn't I always wanted something in this world to be more than it was on the surface?

  Dangerous. He was dangerous. This was dangerous. He probably slipped me something and I was walking right into a trap. My rational mind told me to turn and walk away. The unreality of the experience, however, convinced me it would be okay, and I stepped through the offered doorway before I could talk myself out of it. I glanced at him but he'd already twitched the flap into place. Good. I walked further into the alley, wondering why I'd never seen this place before. I guess I'd always been so focused on the bookstore I'd totally spaced the stalls and stores in back.

  The sound here was muted and the oppressive heat of the day lessened in the cool shadows of the alley. To my right a group of people crowded around a woman kneeling on an elaborate carpet covered in strange writing, symbols, and pictographs. On her hand sat a giant, rainbow colored beetle, its shiny carapace decorated in gold symbols, a chain attached to his back. She'd wrapped the chain around her wrist.

  A young man in Nike shoes knelt at the edge of the carpet. He asked a question and the woman whispered something to the bug before setting it in the middle of the rug. The crowd held its breath as the beetle crawled out of its circle. The woman spoke but I couldn't hear what she said.

  A sharp exhale caught my attention. The man beside me was shaking his head, the skin pulled taut over his jaw. “She's reading wrong. That's the symbol for death.” He jabbed a finger at the woman. “Tell him the truth.”

  I stepped away as the crowd buzzed, not wanting to get stuck in the middle of an argument. Further on I saw a shop with rows of potted herbs on bookshelves out front. The door hung open and music poured out. The tang of patchouli caught my attention and I followed my nose inside. Display cases of jewelry lined the walls. The weight of the air thickened, vibrating against my skin as if it were a living thing. I rubbed at my arms as I gazed at the jewelry. Earrings, necklaces, glinting stones that sparked and winked in the dim lantern light. A ring caught my eye at the bottom of the second case. Even shoved back into the corner it demanded notice. The dull black metal didn't catch the light; it appeared to be sucking in the shadows.

  “May I
help you?”

  The woman behind the case had thick gray hair that hung in wild waves around her head. Her lined face and gentle eyes made me want to spill my troubles to her. “Oh, I'm just looking.”

  She tipped her head to the side, staring down at the case as if she could see the ring I'd been looking at. “Do you like it?”

  No. It repulsed me, which was stupid because it was just a ring. At the same time I wanted to own it, to slip it on my finger and use it. Also stupid, because what the hell would you use a ring for?

  A sudden vertigo overtook me. I stumbled back, tripping over my feet. I plowed into the case behind me, the glass groaning when my ass hit it. “Holy shit,” I muttered. Maybe there had been drugs in that sugar.

  She hurried around to my side. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” A throbbing started itself up in my head, thumping at the base of my skull. “Do you know the guy that sells sugar back there?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I nodded, trying to pull myself together so she wouldn't think me insane. “So you trust him?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “He said he sells magic sugar.” The terrible woman popped into my mind and I pushed her away. “I think he slipped something into mine. Some sort of drug.”

  “Zech would never do that, my dear. He is one of the gentlest men I've ever known.”

  She sounded sincere so I dropped it, though I was still unconvinced of his niceness. I pushed myself upright. “Maybe I'll just—” In the case I'd banged up against, I saw a necklace so beautiful I wanted to cry. “What is that?”

  She squatted and slid open the front of the case, pulling out the necklace made with delicate pink stones. I hated pink but had to buy this necklace. “It's a lover's balm. For broken hearts.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed. I didn't have a broken heart, though I worked with a lot of people who did. “How much is it?”

  “For you my dear, forty-five.” She straightened. “Lift your hair and I'll put it on for you.”