A Simple Favor

Reid

Beau, Coco, and Nicholina found us shortly after. I drew them into the shadow of an abandoned stall, away from the whispers of the villagers. “Well?” Coco looked between the two of us expectantly. “Anything?”

Nicholina snickered while Célie stuffed the injection into her pocket. “We, ah—my apologies, but Reid and I got . . . well, distracted.”

Coco frowned. “Distracted?”

“We haven’t found them yet,” I said shortly, hoisting her satchel back over my shoulder. “We need to keep looking.”

“The waters go down, down, down,” Nicholina sang, her face hidden within the hood of her cloak. “And there you’ll drown, drown, drown.”

Coco lifted a hand to rub her temple. “This is such a shit show. No one at the dock knew anything, either. One of them threw a hook at us when we asked about black pearls. He must’ve heard rumors about L’Eau Mélancolique.” She sighed. “Fishermen. They’re superstitious on the best of days, but they fear melusines most of all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls the Chasseurs. They’ll be swarming these streets by morning.”

Beau held up a stack of rumpled wanted posters in his hands. “At least he didn’t recognize us.”

“And we won’t be here by morning.” I flicked a finger, and the last of my anger leapt onto the papers. Beau yelped when they caught flame, dropping them into the cart. Our faces burned to ash within seconds. “The stalls will be closing soon. Let’s turn this market upside down.”

An hour later, we regrouped at the end of the street. Bad-tempered. Empty-handed.

Nicholina swayed in the wind. A tendril of white hair swept free of her hood. “Drown, drown, drown.”

Scowling, Coco peered through the crowd again. But one could hardly call it a crowd now. Most of the villagers had retired for the night. Only a handful still danced in the street. They stumbled from wine, clutching each other and giggling. By the water, only the staunchest of fishermen remained. And the drunkest. “We should go. There’s nothing here. Tomorrow we can circle back—”

Beau slashed a curt hand. “I told you. We looked everywhere. There were no pearls in any of those villages.”

I too scoured the carts nearest us. Whitewashed coral. Driftwood chimes. Baskets of woven seaweed, cups of crystallized sea salt, jars of preserved anchovies. Jars and jars of anchovies. Beau knocked one to the ground in frustration, and the glass shattered. Célie leapt backward with a startled cry. When the oil soaked her boots, he snorted, and she retaliated by kicking an anchovy at his face.

Children. I was surrounded by children.