Wes woke up to the annoying jingle of his phone's alarm. He silenced it with a swipe on the screen and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. It was night outside, and there was no light in the room, but a switch activated a dim, but effective glowing rock on the wall that was powered by magic in a way he didn't understand. His clothes had dried stiff but clean, and he dressed quickly, strapping Whereharth to his belt.

  He took some time for a break, using Cosmic Vending to manifest a cold water and a hot meal. Then it was time to head out and see what the night market was all about.

  The streets of Mercosa after dark were a different beast—lanterns hung at irregular intervals, casting pools of flickering light that made the shadows between them deeper. Few people walked openly; those who did moved with purpose, their cloaks pulled tight against the night chill. Wes stayed vigilant as he navigated the winding alleys toward the old granary district.

  It wasn’t too-too far away. After about twenty minutes of walking, the granary district loomed ahead, its massive stone silos casting jagged silhouettes against the star-flecked sky. The smell of old grain and mildew mingled with something sharper. A thin mist curled around Wes's boots as he got closer.

  Then a figure stepped from the shadows—a human man with a thin face and eyes that reflected the lantern light like a cat's. The stranger's fingers rested on the dagger at his belt—and obvious threat. "You're new to the Night Market, aren’t you?" His voice was a rasp, the words more statement than question.

  "So what of it?" asked Wes, affecting an arrogant and dismissive tone.

  The man's fingers stilled on his dagger hilt. His lips peeled back in a grin that showed yellowed teeth. "Newcomers pay a toll." He jerked his chin toward the shadows behind him where two more figures lurked—a burly human with a cudgel and a wiry woman with twin knives. "Three silver. Call it insurance against getting lost in the wrong alley."

  Wes thought furiously. He was technically rich, just light on coin at the moment, so paying the fee wouldn't really matter, and it might be better to avoid trouble. However, there might be other groups of criminals doing this sort of thing. Then again, it wasn't like these three were robbing him of everything, just a few coins...but he also didn't even know what three silver was worth.

  His mind went back and forth on what to do in the space of a second.

  He tried to imagine what the person he was pretending to be would do. That settled it. "Are you aware that I am a mage?" He held up his wrist.

  The thin man's grin faltered. His eyes flicked to the iron mage bracelet, then back to Wes's face. In the shadows, the woman behind him took an involuntary step back, her knives lowering slightly.

  "Mages still pay," the man said, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. "Silver or steel, your choice." He hooked a thumb in his belt.

  Part of Wes was still tempted to pay, just to avoid trouble. He'd also considered offering these thieves more money for one of them to accompany him as a guide or bodyguard. But ultimately, he figured if he did, others might see it as a sign of weakness or naivete, and he couldn't afford either. he didn't know who might be watching, too.

  Wes asked, "Is it really worth three silver to risk your lives? Run along and find someone who isn't willing to fight." He put his hand on Whereharth's hilt.

  The thin man's grin vanished. His eyes darted between Wes's mage bracelet and the strange sword at his belt. Meanwhile, the wiry woman took another step back, her knives lowering completely.

  "You're new," the thin man repeated, licking his lips. "You don't know how things work here." But his voice lacked conviction now, cracking on the last word.

  Wes didn't respond, just stared at him with cold detachment. He got a sudden idea and with his other hand, pulled the flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on at them for just a second before putting it back in his pocket. "That was a warning. Begone."

  The thin man recoiled as the beam of light sliced through the darkness, his pupils contracting to pinpricks. His companions stumbled back with muttered curses—the burly human nearly dropping his cudgel. For a heartbeat, all three stood frozen in the afterimage of that unnatural brightness.

  Then the wiry woman grabbed the leader's arm. "Not worth it," she hissed.

  The thin man's throat worked as he swallowed hard. Wes took his light out again, putting it on laser mode, and aimed the bright green dot on the ground between him and the "protectors." He said, "Last chance. Go now or my familiar here will…do familiar things." The thin man's throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darted between the unnatural green dot and Wes's impassive face. The wiry woman yanked hard on his sleeve, dragging him backward into the shadows. As Wes held the light steady, the burly one hesitated a second longer before following, his cudgel hanging limp at his side.

  Silence settled over the alley again. Wes exhaled slowly, fingers relaxing on Whereharth's hilt.

  He turned and walked the rest of the way to the Night Market. It wasn't far to go.

  Wes quickly noticed that customers for the night market walked quickly, and many wore cloaks. They did not tarry in any location for long. The stalls and shops themselves were often half-hidden, or taking up the inside of old silos themselves. There was a hushed, furtive air over the entire area.

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  Wes discovered that finding all of the vendors, much less knowing what kind they were before getting close, was proving to be a challenge...until he started to notice a code of sorts. There were charcoal marks around the stalls and makeshift shops, and some of them even had little pictograms for what was being sold. A crude knife symbol marked a weapons dealer tucked into a crumbling alcove, while a stylized book denoted a merchant of texts. Wes moved through the market with deliberate steps, his new senses from Astral Fang heightening his awareness of the subtle energy shifts around him. He also realized that he could actually see some magical energies now, at least if they were strong enough.

  The Night Market pulsed with suppressed energy as he browsed—vendors whispered offers to cloaked figures who melted in and out of shadows. Wes did a double take as he passed a stall selling what looked like preserved organs floating in glass jars. The merchant, a gaunt human man with hollow cheeks, caught his gaze and grinned, revealing blackened teeth.

  "Fresh harpy lungs," the man crooned, tapping one jar where grayish tissue swirled in murky fluid.

  "What do people use them for?" asked Wes.

  The merchant's blackened teeth showed in a grin. "Harpy lungs make fine poison identifiers. Slice thin, soak in vinegar—lasts months." His bony fingers tapped the jar again. "Or if you're diving deep where the air turns foul they can be used for many things."

  Wes nodded,mumbled thanks and moved on, scanning the stalls for any sign of the woman Tamlin had described. His search led him deeper into the market, where the stalls grew more clandestine. He actually saw his first inhuman person in this world while he searched.

  A lithe figure with elongated ears and blue eyes stood haggling over a vial of glittery liquid. The elf—for there was no mistaking the long pointed ear tips protruding from beneath her hood—handled the merchant's wares with practiced ease, her fingers slender and skilled as she inspected the contents. Her dark robe concealed more than it revealed.

  Curious, Wes snooped a bit, trying to figure out what the merchant was selling that had caught an elf's interest. She turned the vial of liquid this way and that, her dark blue eyes narrowing in concentration. She spoke in a voice like rain on water—soft but carrying. "This is diluted."

  The merchant, a pockmarked human with greasy hair tied back in a tail, shrugged. "Full-strength, it would cost you a noble's ransom, elf." His calloused thumb rubbed against the glass. "This is the Mercosa Night Market, not an auction house in the capital." The elf's delicate nostrils flared slightly, but she made no move to argue further. Instead, she set the vial down with deliberate care and turned away, her cloak swirling. As she passed Wes, her gaze flicked to his mage bracelet—then lower, to Whereharth's hilt. Her eyes moved to his strange clothing, last to his face. Then she said something in a different language, something that Wes was likely not meant to understand, but he did because of his language ability:

  "Filthy human thief. That blade is wasted on you." Her voice carried no malice—just detached disdain, as if stating an obvious fact.

  Wes responded in the same language, "I am not a thief and did not steal anything. I am sorry your trade didn't work out, but please don't be a bitch and take it out on me."

  The elf froze mid-step, her dark blue eyes widening in shock at Wes's flawless response. Her entire body stopped moving, stilled as she reassessed him with new wariness.

  "You speak Elvish?" Her voice carried an edge of disbelief.

  Wes was annoyed, and didn't try to hide it. "Obviously. What a stupid question."

  The elf's hyper feminine features tightened. Her dark blue eyes narrowed to slits. "You mock me, human?"

  He said, "Again, obviously. But who had harsh words for whom first, elf?" His hand was in his pocket, ready to pull his pistol in a heartbeat. Wes was an equal opportunity sort of man anyway, and he was in another world with magic. The fact the elf was cute and female did not make him see her as any less potentially dangerous--not in the slightest.

  Wes was not only ready to defend himself if she pulled a weapon, he believed he had a fighting chance. Apparently, the elf could sense it, because she visibly relaxed a bit as she took a step back. The elf's hands flexed once before settling at her sides. Her dark blue eyes remained narrowed, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

  "Humans do not speak Elvish," she said, her voice still cool but now edged with curiosity. "Not unless they were raised among us."

  Wes didn't answer. He just watched her, waiting to see if she would push further or walk away. Pretty or not, this elf was a bitch, but his goal had been to be assertive, not start a fight. She tilted her head, the motion too precise to be human. Her dark robe shifted with the movement, revealing a flash of silver embroidery at the collar—some sigil Wes didn't recognize.

  "You carry a blade meant for better hands," she said finally, her voice softer now. "But perhaps there is more to you than I first thought."

  Wes still didn't respond. His hand stayed near his pistol, hidden in his pocket. Finally, without saying anything more, the elf turned and walked away. Wes watched her go and grunted in annoyance. The confrontation had been a good object lesson, but also a wake up call.

  For all Wes knew, he'd just done something near-suicidal. The merchant the elf had been speaking to was watching with interest. Wes made a face, turned and began searching the night market again. He hated feeling so ignorant about this world all the time.

  Exploring the Night Market was difficult. Now that the novelty was wearing off, and after the confrontation with the elf, he wanted to stop wandering. Despite not being in a particularly large area, the venue was twisty and half the vendors were practically hidden.

  Wes moved deeper into the market's labyrinthine alleys, his boots scuffing against worn cobblestones slick with moisture. The glow of witchlights cast eerie reflections on puddles between the stalls, turning the ground into a fractured mirror. A cloaked figure brushed past him—a human woman with a scarred cheek and an empty scabbard at her hip. She glanced at his mage bracelet but said nothing, melting into the crowd.

  He briefly wondered what the story was there. Maybe the woman had just sold or traded a sword. Either way, it wasn't his business.

  Wes continued on, his senses alert for any sign of the foxfire-eyed woman Tamlin had mentioned. The deeper he went, the more the market's atmosphere thickened with tension—fewer casual browsers, more hushed exchanges in shadowed corners.

  Suddenly, a stall draped in black velvet caught his eye; behind it stood a statuesque human woman with light brown skin and dark hair in braids. Her eyes burned with an unnatural golden hue, flickering like candle flames in the dim light. She watched Wes approach with a predator's stillness, her full lips curving into a knowing smile as he neared her wares—an array of peculiar artifacts laid out on velvet-lined trays.

  He knew he’d found her–the fox fire eyed woman.