Page 75 of Bound
The old building is more new age shop than real herbalist. I ignore the door and enter the side street. A small overhang blocks a secondary entrance with iron bars fastened over the glass window near the top.
I rap my knuckles over the wood.
A panel slides back. One dark eye appraises me warily. “Yeah?”
“I need the sandman to sell me a dream.”
The panel closes and the door opens. I ease into the dark entrance.
“Down the hall.”
I glance over my shoulder at the troll, taking in his gray skin, bald head, and clan marks spanning from nonexistent eyebrows to the nape of his fat head.
“Sure thing, boss,” I quip and walk down the narrow corridor. At the end of the dark space, two thick ass velvet curtains hang from a piece of steel pipe over another doorway.
Careful not the touch the dusty fabric, I turn sideways and enter.
“Back again,” comes the droll voice of the Sandman.
My eyes flick up to the gold haired imp behind a long counter older than either of us. I walk closer, taking in his elliptical pupils and the mouthful of sharp teeth he sports. “The last batch was weak,” I say, a touch of Fae arrogance lacing my tone.
No. I smoked it up to stifle the need for Amoret. But I’m not telling him that.
His thin lips purse and the pointed tips of his ears turn dusky. “It was not. You smoke too much.”
“Probably,” I mutter. “But I still need an up.”
“Payment first, Fae,” he tells me.
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and toss one large onto the smooth wood.
His eyes widen.
It's more than I buy at one time. But until Amoret is out of the colony house, I got to be damn careful not to get as worked up as I was earlier.
One long, clawed hand slides the stack of hundreds toward him. Then it vanishes.
I’ve never asked where it goes. Don’t care enough to know.
All the guards get a wage. But the colony supplies the cars, the phones. Our meals. I’ve never had a use for human money, so using it to keep my rage in check seems like a swell way to wile away the hours.
Sandman pulls a long wooden box from the shelf behind him. He opens the lid and the pungent scent of rich chocolate and spice fills the air.
Fuck. Just breathing in the scent calms my fucking nerves.
He pulls five of the large, dull midnight leaves from the case and breaks them into little chunks before dropping them into a black mortar and pestle. “How fine would you like it?” he asks amicably, like he’s asking about the fucking weather.
“Smokable.”
His lips curve. “Always the same.” He leans toward me. “Into the blood works faster. Uses less.”
“And I’m not shooting the shit into my vein, Sandman.”
“But filling your lungs with it is better?”
I glare at him until he shrugs and begins to grind the bigger leaves into a loose mill.
He weighs the amount on a brass scale, plucks another half a leaf and adds it too.
It all goes into a metal tin that he passes over. I slip it into the front pocket of my jeans and walk out.
“Come back and see me soon. I do so love doing business with you.” His words irk.
But I wave two fingers and stalk out.
Hate to break it to him, but as soon as Amoret is gone, I got to figure out a way to come off this shit.
But while she’s around, I will definitely lose a few more brain cells.
