LITMIR.BIZ

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crowd began to disperse and Lady Nightwing trailed after Lathos. I remained where I was, standing alone and trying not to appear as nervous as I felt. A few of the retreating hobgoblins narrowed their glowing eyes at me as they approached, whispering amongst themselves.

      “Hey Gorbuz!” a heavily barbed one called out in a loud, gravelly voice. I followed its eyes toward one of the meat-selling goblins.

      “Jab Thornbriar,” the goblin answered with a courteous bow. “What can I sell you this night?”

      “Gah – I’ve had my fill of flesh for the moment. Just thought I’d let you know – one of your livestock has escaped.”

      The hobgoblin inclined its thorny head toward me and the group broke into evil laughter. The goblin vendor snickered and wiped his hands on a blood-stained cloth before continuing about his work. I waited for the hobgoblins to pass, and then inched backward toward the merchant tables, easing my way out of the more exposed thoroughfare.

      “Human,” a cracked voice grated out behind me.

      I spun to find myself at one of the spell tables. It was scattered with frayed scrolls tied with multi-hued pieces of string, and dusty, mismatched jars of different colored powders … as well as more unpleasant-looking ingredients. The merchant standing behind the table was an ancient goblin woman. Only a vague hint of red remained in her straggly grey hair. Her skin was leathery and worn, and one eye was a blind, milky white.

      She spread her wide lips in a grin, revealing a mouth that was missing most of its teeth. “I am Ezrega,” she croaked. “Come closer, human. I have a proposition for you.”

      My heart was still racing from the hobgoblins and the look I gave her was dubious at best. “What sort of proposition?”

      “You seek a goblin with the mark of infinity on his hand.”

      I blinked at her, unable to disguise my shock. “How … You know him?”

      She broke into a wheezing laugh. “Ezrega knows and sees much, child.” She sobered abruptly and fixed me with her piercing, one-eyed gaze. “Firzag is no longer in this world. I have seen his passing, although the manner of it eludes me.”

      She cracked her gnarled fist down onto the table in frustration, rattling the clusters of jars, and I started.

      “Something clouds my vision,” she grumbled in irritation.

      “He’s dead?” I asked, my heart sinking.

      She cocked her head and pinned me again with her one bright eye. “Aye, I’ve said so, haven’t I?” she demanded. “But he’s left something behind, he has,” she continued in a low tone. “Something you may find useful.” The look she gave me was calculating.

      “What is it?” I asked, afraid to hope.

      “A book. Of no use to me, but he left it in my care. He won’t be returning for it now.” She cackled madly. “But the voices in the fire say that if I give it to you - if you survive this night - Firzag may be avenged.”

      “What kind of book?” I whispered, refusing to speculate about whether I’d survive the night.

      Ezrega grunted. “Don’t read. And don’t trust no-one to read it for me. So either it stays with me, closed forever, or I give it to you.” She tapped one twisted knuckle against her wrinkled chin. “But not for nothing. You must give Ezrega something in return.”

      My face fell. “I don’t really have anything with me.”

      Her gaze narrowed on me, the milky whiteness of her blind eye swirling like the surface of a disturbed pond as it focused in on my pocket. “Coin,” she croaked.

      My hand flew protectively to my pocket. “I can’t give you that. It belongs to someone else. And Lady Nightwing and I have a wager on the flip of this coin.”

      Her face grew blank, as if she was listening to something no one else could hear. Then her lips cracked into a crooked smile. “Wise human. You may survive this night after all. But if you want the book, and will not give me the coin, you must allow me to tap your vein.”

      “What?” I blanched when I realized what she was asking. She wanted my blood.

      “Come now, child. I will only take a little,” she encouraged in a grandmotherly tone. “You can’t have something for nothing.”

      “But what will you do with it?” I sputtered.

      “Why, sell it to the highest bidder, of course,” she answered with relish. “Human blood is a key ingredient in many powerful spells. But the Seelie Court makes it difficult to get away with spilling it. Freely given, however, it is legal.”

      She grinned, showing off her few remaining teeth, and I blinked at her.

      “Make your decision quickly, child. Nightwing returns soon.”

      The old goblin woman pulled a thin, well-honed dagger from her belt and waited. My stomach gurgled with acid, and I closed my eyes as I held out a trembling hand. She grabbed it and pulled it toward her, her bony grip surprisingly strong. I felt the cold bite of metal across my wrist, swift and deep, and I flinched.

      “Make a fist,” she ordered, turning my arm sideways and holding it immobile.

      I did as she instructed, feeling the sting of air on the wound and the flow of blood across my wrist. I didn’t really want to see, but morbid curiosity forced me to look. I stared in fascination at the rapid, unstaunched stream of bright red spilling into the glass jar she had placed beneath my arm. It was filling up fast.

      I began to feel lightheaded and nauseous, not surprising since I always had the same reaction when they took blood at the doctor’s office. It didn’t take much to make me feel that way. I had never even bothered trying to donate to the Red Cross.

      An ache began to plague my arm - a helpless, shrinking feeling that spread through my veins as my body struggled against the loss of its life fluid. I inhaled through the discomfort, telling myself it was almost done.

      Then the old crone moved the full jar out of the way and pushed a fresh one beneath my wrist.

      “Ezrega, no!” I gasped, my voice growing unsteady. “I can’t give any more - I’ll pass out!”

      She clucked her tongue, and with her free hand she reached into one of her display jars. She pulled out a palm full of ruby powder and blew it into my face with one strong breath.

      I choked and sputtered as it went up my nose and down my throat, searing delicate inner passages along the way. Ezrega continued to hold my arm still with a ruthless grip. My eyes watered and my nose and throat felt burned and raw. But I felt stronger.

      “Fire orchid powder - toughens and purifies the blood,” she told me with a wink. “This will be the last jar.”

      Soon enough the second jar was full and she sprinkled a different, darker powder over my wrist. It stung like acid, but the blood stopped flowing immediately. She dipped one bony finger into the first jar of blood before sealing it and storing it out of sight. I grimaced as she stuck her finger in her mouth and tasted it.

      She hissed and made a face. “What’s this child?”

      Hob’s growling voice sounded behind me and I stiffened. “I thought I told you to stay put, human.”

      Before I could form a reply, Ezrega grabbed both my wrists and yanked me forward. She nimbly stuffed something square and flat into the waistband of my jeans, and then sprinkled more of her dark powder over my splinter-shredded palms. It burned like fire and I let out a yelp of complaint, just as she blew more of the fire orchid

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