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He smiled back at me. “I look forward to handling all the needs of my customers.”
“For a price?” I teased.
“I must make back my investment somehow,” he countered as we veered around a carriage.
I gripped the back of his seat tighter. “Just make sure we get back to the arena in one piece to make good on that investment.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
We reachedthe arena a half hour after darkness had fallen. The parking lot was illuminated by lamps that hung from short posts staked at intervals along the haphazard blocks of vehicles. Each vendor, too, tried their best to light up their area with lanterns and the temptation of small burn pots that warned the hands of prospective customers.
What truly stole the show, however, was the arena and tract. The circular stage was brilliantly lit by paper lanterns that dangled from the ceiling. The huge metal baskets on stilts I had seen earlier on the tract had been filled with wood and set ablaze. They now burned like beacons and cast their warm glow over all of the course.
The charge of excitement I had felt earlier had increased tenfold and a carnival atmosphere ruled the night. People packed the road that led to the arena and many had lined up along the fence line along the track, the protests from the officials be damned. Some were adorned in their finest evening wear and grudgingly joined the throngs of the less affluent to pay for their expensive seats. Visitors hollered and a few danced as they made their way to the arena.
“Wow,” I breathed as I took in the view.
Ben chuckled. “Wow indeed. There is an old saying about the officials of a thunder race being capable of holding one in the middle of a tornado, given enough planning.”
I snorted. “I believe that.” Something else caught my attention, and I nudged Ben with my elbow. “Is it just me, or are there a lot more lucky charm stalls than before?” I counted at least a dozen vendors selling wood and metal trinkets. Their headlines all advertised luckiness in some fashion.
Ben studied the stalls and nodded. “So it seems.”
“Think any of them work?”
“No better than Mouse’s piece of wood.”
Ben tapped me on the shoulder and I reluctantly steered my eyes away from the wondrous sight of the food vendors. He pointed at a shadowy figure a few yards ahead of us.
It was Peter Munio.
The soon-to-be author also had his eyes on us. Ben smiled at me. “Shall we go introduce ourselves?”
“If only to get him in on the plot,” I pointed out.
We ventured over to the man who waited patiently for us. Peter’s eyes flickered from one of us to the other. “Can I help you?”
“It is we who would like to help you,” Ben told him. “We have a message for you.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “A message? From whom?”
“From Aria.” Worry flashed across Peter’s face, but Ben held up one hand. “There’s nothing the matter with her. She only wished for us to tell you that she’ll be attending the races tomorrow.”
His expression relaxed, but not as much as I expected as he pursed his lips. “I see. Is that everything you needed to tell me?”
Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Were you expecting more?”
“No, but I’ve been wanting to speak with you since the events of yesterday,” he revealed as he settled his gaze on me. “Specifically with you, miss.”
My heart skipped a beat as I pointed at myself. “Why me?”
His eyes dropped to the canister on my arm. “I think this is a discussion better said in private.”
Ben’s expression was tense as he jerked his head over his shoulder. He led us between the booths and into the darkness that existed beyond the light from the lamps. The joyous shouts and laughter faded behind us and we didn’t stop our retreat from the joy until we were fifty yards away from the fun.
That put us closer to the rear of the arena than the booths, though far enough from the crowds around the fence line so nobody could overhear us. Hell, I could hardly make out Ben’s curious and worried face in the dark, and I would have seen even less without the stars.
Ben turned and I followed, and we faced off against our acquaintance. “What is it you wanted to speak with us about?”
