Page 45 of Bloody Bargain
“Sorry?” I said, distracted by my appetite. After a morning of pining, moaning, writhing, and cursing in that godforsaken lean-to, I’d felt the first pangs of food hunger since the yellow suite. I’d eaten through my food like I was starving, licking the cream cheese right off its wrapper and eating my last microwave meal cold with my fingers. The temptation to eat something real was nearly unbearable now that I knew it might be possible.
But this clerk…
“Tonight?”
He looked sincere. I felt nothing but a slight annoyance as he smiled at me, rolling his lip between his teeth in a smooth attempt at flirtation. I cleared my throat and set the cheese down.
“Actually, I was looking for knives,” I said, leaving his invitation unanswered. I grimaced good naturedly at him. “My camping knife got washed away. Do you have anything I could replace it with?”
His smile slipped a little, finally recognizing the snub. He adjusted his polo and pointed off to another aisle. “Uh, yeah. We don’t have much though. Just cutlery. Kitchen shears might work in a pinch, like?”
“Sure. Anything’s better than nothing.”
I followed Peter two aisles over, where all the inedible knick-knacks were displayed. Travel flasks and matching snack trays, cute mugs, shower caps, cutting boards and colanders. It felt a bit like a dollar store mishmash, but was to be expected when the ALDI was at the intersection of two roads sandwiched between small villages without much else nearby. The store was out of place with its large parking lot, fluorescent lights, and glass walls. LikePrada Marfain the Texan desert, it was liminal and out of context.
Peter pulled a pale green travel cutlery set from the wall with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. This is all we’ve got. Nickel might work in a pinch. Now, the shears though…”
I took the cutlery set as he leaned past me, a little closer than he needed to. My eyes landed on a set of ceramic knives right at his eye level with colorful handles and white blades. I reached over him and picked one up, couching its hilt against my palm with confidence.
“Stainless steel, good for the rain, cutting ropes, the like. Not great for much else you might be up to–”
Peter started to stand up and bumped directly into the sharp corner of the blade’s packaging.
“You don’t approve of ceramic?” I asked conversationally.
Peter stood up with a smile. His expression wasn’t quite right. Too long or angular. Something was… different.
“For you? No, I don’t think so. But would you like to take it for a spin? I could remove the plastic sleeve for you.”
One of Peter’s eyes changed. The pupil squeezed in on itself and split into two, just like D’abel’s four-pupiled stare. I kept my knife trained on him, my other shoulder back. A third pupil joined the other two. A fourth, a fifth. I squinted at his stare, keeping my focus trained on his hands in my peripheral vision as the orbs multiplied, filling the whites of his eyes like frog eggs in a water balloon.
“No,” I said, relaxing my hold on the knife. “Wouldn’t do in the wilderness.” I spun it around so the packaging was in my palm and the hilt extended for him to take. I smiled, relaxing my stance. “The pub sounds great though, if the offer still stands? I’d kill for a hot meal.”
Peter raised one brow and took the knife from me, spinning it in a little toss.
“I’m not in the habit of denying beautiful–”
I raised the fork from the cutlery set in my other hand and stabbed him in the meat behind his collarbone. He barked a shout of surprise and cat-like fangs erupted from his mouth. Five slits splayed open across his forehead, revealing vertical eyes with white irises set in black orbs.
I’d thought for a fleeting moment that maybe this thing was a b’adruokh since it hadn’t made me feel warm or loved. But this? This thing wasn’t anything like D’abel. Terror fueled me as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, turned a corner, and fixed my eyes on my duffle, left in a cubby by the door. I knocked over spinning towers and grid stands, causing as much chaos in my wake as possible.
“Help!” I roared.
“Sorry, love, but no.”
Peter grabbed my bicep and swung me around into a display of syrup that smashed on the floor. He wasn’t Peter at all anymore. His clothing burned off his frame, falling to the linoleum in a pile of ash as his skin turned obsidian. His hair fell out, replaced by markings on the sides of his skull and a spray of black curls in a racing stripe down the center of his head to his nape. His earlobes elongated into loops weighed down by yellow gold rings.
“Nickel smarts,” he grunted, pulling the fork out. “Now, let’s talk like–”
I wasn’t going to politely wait for an explanation. I grabbed him around the neck and thrust up with my knee. The wind whooshed right out of his lungs and he staggered, a hand on his crotch. He caught himself on a row of boxes full of dried pasta and bread, sending them flying off the end of the shelf. I grabbed a grilling fork off a display with hot cocoa and marshmallows, extending its handle so I could use it like a whip.
“We’re really not used to people runningaway,you know,” Peter laughed, licking his mouth with a bright red tongue as he ripped the fork from his shoulder. Goop the same consistency as bright orange egg yolks bubbled up from the wounds, in stark contrast to his void-like skin, and plopped in globules to the floor. “It’s very upsetting.”
I took a measured step back once, twice…
“Leave me the fuck alone.”
“No, we don’t think we will. Vitriol and terror are a delicious rarity for us. Who is it you see that inspires you so? You are not thinking of anything at all but whether our face is a worthy target for your tines. How likely you are to missssss...”
