Daughter of Kronos by Tamar Sloan

Author:Tamar Sloan [Sloan, Tamar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jess Connors Publishing
Published: 2019-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

Bickmore Street is only a few blocks away, which I hope is a good sign. It also means Damien Black had been in the area.

Straight and not particularly wide, it’s flanked by a mix of multi-story buildings in everything from red to brown to cream. Slowly moving away from the slums of our suburb, the place is cleaner, has more life. Most of the places look like stores, maybe with apartments above. Sunlight glances off the rows of cars lining the street, making me squint.

Heading down the sidewalk, I note there’s definitely enough people here to make a traffic jam possible, but it also seems kinda…orderly. I can see why Damien Black chooses this route rather than the more direct roads—it’s prettier, and would be smoother sailing.

I find a gap between two cars and use it to scan as far as I can see on both sides of the street. I’m looking for a fruit and veg stand, one that would have to be close to the road.

Except as I get a better look of Bickmore Street, I realize why people are drawn here. It’s obviously a market street of some sort, because stalls line both sides. All with brightly striped awnings, names such as Picky Pickers, Go Bananas, and Lime Time follow on, one after the other.

I’m going to be here for days…

Possibly chasing the wrong speck of dust.

When a car zips past and beeps its horn, I jump back as wind blasts my face. In my shock, I must’ve stepped out further. Back on the sidewalk, I know I have a decision to make.

For some reason, Micah comes to mind. Why do I sense that he’d just head on down the sidewalk, an optimistic lilt to his stride? He’d assume that even if this isn’t going to lead me straight to H, he’s at least moving forward.

I suppose if I find out there’s no mysterious link between the traffic jam that had Damien Black missing his flight and this fellow demigod, then it’s one less straw now sitting in the haystack I have to sort through.

As I get to the first one, I wander through the colors, realizing I have no idea what I want to ask. “Hey, got a demigod working for you? I’m looking for a friend of mine: all I know is his name starts with H…”

Picking up an avocado, I try to think of how I’m going to approach this.

A large woman wearing a green apron smiles broadly at me. “Fresh from the farm. You won’t find better quality.”

“Great.” I put the avocado back, wondering how to start this conversation.

The smile drops like a hot potato and the woman narrows her eyes at me. “You gonna buy something?”

“Ah, no. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

“No buy, no chat. Time is money, lovey.”

The woman turns away, smiling broadly as she approaches an elderly man beside a stand of oranges.

Frowning, I keep walking. Time is money. It would have to be one of Dad’s most hated sayings.

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