The Hearts We Sold(60)

We should check on Cora tonight.





Sneaking off campus was becoming frighteningly easy.

She told her dorm monitor she was off to the library. As a junior and a known quiet student, she was given more freedom than perhaps she should have been.

Dee hurried to where James was waiting in his Mom Car. The wind tore at her hair and she slid into the car with undisguised relief. “It’s getting bad out here,” said James, by way of greeting. “You sure you want to come along?”

Dee gave him a look. “You think I should stay at home while you go tracking down Cora?”

He was trying hard not to smile. “You look as though I’ve slipped from gallant to patronizing.”

“Maybe you have.”

“Or,” he said, abruptly serious, “it’s possible that I’m worried about what we’re walking into, and I’d rather not see you get hurt.”

Surprise made her pause. She couldn’t remember the last time someone worried over her. Perhaps it was when she was young, much younger, but no true memory came to mind. It was… she wasn’t sure how it made her feel, to be honest.

She regained herself. “So if you’re worried, that means you’re not being patronizing?” But she said the words with a smile, to let him know she wasn’t offended.

“Oh, it’s very likely I’m being patronizing,” he agreed. “But I’d rather have you be offended than dead.”

A sudden chill swept through her and it had little to do with her damp clothing. James had been doing this longer than she had—he knew the dangers more clearly. And if he was worried, then perhaps there was a reason for it.

But when she considered getting out of his car, going back into her dorm, and remaining quiet and waiting, her stomach turned over.

Whatever this was, she didn’t want James walking into it alone.

James took them into a part of the city clustered with old apartment buildings and college dorms. Probably for PSU. James found a parking spot entirely by accident and hurriedly parked before anyone else could take it.

The two of them ran from the car into a nearby apartment building. It wasn’t a nice one; there were broken grates and the distinct scent of mold permeated the air.

A girl answered the door when they knocked. It swung open and Dee caught a glimpse of the interior. It was clean and neat, and it smelled of green apple air freshener. A bright blue rug covered most of the hardwood floor.

The girl at the door couldn’t have been more than thirteen. When she saw James, her eyes widened slightly. But then she looked at Dee, in her school uniform, and relaxed slightly. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

“Hi,” said Dee, taking the lead. “I’m a friend of Cora’s. Is she around?”

The girl didn’t open the door any farther. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dee, and this is James.”

The girl’s gaze alighted on James. “Oh. You’re that dick artist,” she said.

James blinked.

“It’s what my sister calls you,” said the girl. “She’s not here, you know. She said she was going to a farmers market or something. I told her it was raining, but she said there was something she had to pick up there.”

And then she shut the door.

“Dick artist,” said Dee. Her voice actually trembled with suppressed laughter. James looked so thoroughly wrong—footed, as if his charm had never been deflected with such ease.

Dee burst out laughing; she had to press a hand to the wall to keep herself upright. Even James smiled.

“Well,” he said, recovering himself. “I have been called worse things.” But his humor melted away. “I know where Cora’s gone.”

Dee looked at him. “Where?”

James didn’t smile. His gaze had slid out of focus. “It makes sense. I mean…” He seemed to come back to himself. “There are places, in every major city, where demons are known to frequent. The place you go to sell a limb. In New York City, there is a bar. In Rome, there was a church. In Vegas, there is a casino.”

“And in Portland…?” Dee prompted.

James let out a heavy breath. “There is a farmers market.”




Mephisto Market didn’t advertise its presence.

The market was tucked away on the edge of the Willamette, removed from the bustle of the city. To get there, James had taken his car down a gravel road; more than one raccoon had scurried out of the path of the car, eyes reflecting green in the headlights. The car jerked and wrenched though water-filled potholes, and the curve of James’s mouth drew tight, anxious. His Mom Car wasn’t equipped for off-roading and Dee wondered if they would even make it to the market, or if they would find themselves trying to call a tow truck.

The market was just barely visible. Tents and tarps had been set up on a flat space of gravel and dirt just before the river. Clumps of trees blocked out the lights of the city, and Dee had the sudden sense that they were in the middle of nowhere, that if something went wrong, there would be no help for them.

James unearthed an umbrella from the trunk and Dee drew her coat tightly around herself. They tried to fit themselves under the single umbrella, and ventured toward the cluster of tents.

Candles guttered in the wind and the tarps flapped loudly. Rain spattered along the muddy path; figures were wearing plastic ponchos and hoods.