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Chapter One: Milo
The Night Market is exactly what it says it is. It’s a market that’s only open at night. It looks like one of those flea markets or farmers’ markets that are set up in the civic center parking lot or a school gym during winter break. In the case of the Pine Ridge Night Market, there are about two dozen small stalls set up in the empty lot behind the Pine Loft Coffee Shop. We sell everything from homemade candy and potpourri to weapons for the discerning demon hunter and pre-made potions for nervous spellcasters.
Obviously, you have to know where to look. (And when to look. We’re not open every night.)
And humans... humans aren’t excluded, especially not humans who’ve lived in Pine Ridge for a long time, but most won’t see the Night Market the way I do.
I don’t have specially enhanced vision or anything. No superpowers. I’m just your average, twenty-something minotaur. I put on my jeans one hoof at a time, just like everyone else.
“Milo. Can you fix my watch fob?”
“What’s the trouble, Mr. Minegold? Ooh, hey, J.J.” I take the watch from the tall, thin, distinguished man wrapped in a black frock coat and bright tartan muffler. His adopted grandson, J.J., is strapped to his hip in one of those stretchy baby-sling contraptions. I look around for something to give the kid, something that won’t kill him. I reach under the stall into my big red tackle box and take out several inches of silver chain. “Here you go, little man. Oh!” I draw back at the last second. “It’s silver. Can he touch it?”
“Silver doesn’t harm Jesse Jakob.” Mr. Minegold savors the name, letting his accent become more pronounced as he caresses the curly little head. “Jesse Jakob, you naughty mite! You have tossed off your wooly hat. Your mama and papa won’t like that. I must retrace my steps, Milo. I confess I was lingering too long at the fudge stand!”
“I can understand that, Mr. Minegold! I’ll look at the watch fob, and you find J.J.’s hat.” I wave them off. J.J. waggles his chubby fist, which is now curled around the silver chain.
Dang. Kids are cute. Even human kids. I know J.J. isn’t fully human, but he looks human. His dad, Jesse, is a vamp (so is Mr. Minegold), and his mom is... something demon-y? I don't know the details, but she is gorgeous.
My brother, Bill, would tease me if he were still living in town. He’d call me out on my interest in interspecies couples. As soon as Bill turned twenty, he moved back to the family homestead in Greece. He has a beautiful wife and two kids now. He’d also tell me that I’m running out of time to find a girl. I’m almost thirty. Minotaur women like their bulls young, that’s what he’d say.
But I don’t want to marry a person based on their outer shell, that’s what I’d tell him.
And that’s how the fight would start. That’s how the same dumb argument always starts. And every time, my parents snort and exchange glances and go take their coffee into the kitchen.
I force my focus back to Minegold’s watch. I press the fob on the thick, brassy case, careful to keep it pointing at the floor.
Plink.
A thin wooden stake clatters to the cement. It was only a quarter of an inch wide, tipped in silver, and reinforced with an iron core. It should have shot out with the force of a small, lightweight missile. “Ahh. The spring action is gone,” I mutter, retrieving the stake from where it had landed between my hooves. It was supposed to spring out with a pretty hefty punch so that its razor-sharp tip and inner core (fully encased in wood) would penetrate deep enough to take out a vampire or a werewolf at close range.
Of course, I’m not advocating the killing of all vampires and werewolves. The established supernatural community of Pine Ridge is mostly peaceful and dedicated to keeping evil-doers out of our fair little city.
Mr. Minegold, who has been here since the end of World War II, organized a neighborhood patrol long, long ago to drive out or exterminate undesirables. My grandfather came over around the same time as Minegold. But since minotaurs in rural New York have a little trouble blending in, my family has always hung out in the shadows, worked nights, and made friends with other night-dwelling creatures, like Mr. Minegold. He can get around okay in the daytime as long as it’s cloudy, but he prefers the night and stays inside during the day whenever he can.
Minotaurs protect. We guarded King Minos’ wife and children against his insane rage by taking them into the labyrinth and pledging we would die before they were harmed. Greek history can say what it wants, but minotaurs have always been friends to the weakest among us. In the modern age, that usually means we make the firepower to hunt the real monsters.
I slip my headphones (the wireless kind so they don’t get tangled around my horns) over my head and cue up Metallica on my phone. “Hey! Mr. Minegold?” I shout down the row of market stalls.
“Yes, Milo?” He turns at once. Vampires have amazing hearing.
“You need a new spring! Twenty bucks and twenty minutes?”
Mr. Minegold beams and waves back, earning smiles and curious looks from the people pushing past him. “You are a godsend! See you in twenty minutes!” He jiggles J.J. on his hip, unearthing a blue knitted cap with a fluffy white pom pom and ear flaps. “Ah! J.J.! There’s your hat! Did you have it stuffed in my pocket this whole time? You clever little dumpling!”
My God. Kids are adorable...
I turn up the volume.
Chapter Two: Libby
Have you ever had coffee so good you want to take it back to bed with you? Maybe whisper in its ear and coo a few sweet nothings?
Why, yes. I am single, thank you.
But, that perfectly describes the cinnamon streusel coffee from The Pine Loft Coffee Shop. It was delicious and decadent, sweet and full of warm spices. And cheap. Criminally cheap.
Everything in my new town is ultra affordable. My godmother says that I should consider it a red flag.
