Motor City Mage by Cindy Spencer Pape

Author:Cindy Spencer Pape
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-03-12T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

As alien markets went, this one was probably pretty normal, or at least Lana thought so. Her hair had dried quickly in the warm, arid heat and if she and Des were both smiling when they went to pick up Vin, at least he hadn’t made any crass comments. That was better than her cousins would have done.

Instead of sandals, she bought a pair of low, soft boots, whimpering only a little when she was told they were of the finest csbeet skin. Come to think of it, she was really glad she hadn’t asked what the meat was in the stew. Thinking of her big-eyed furry friend at the farmstead might have made her throw it back up, and she didn’t need to be weak from lack of protein when she and Des crossed another alien world, this time on their own.

Lana also bought leggings, since jeans didn’t seem to be an option, and a fleece-lined tunic. They each picked out hats, gloves and fur cloaks, but would share a heavy blanket and tanned leather pad for sleeping.

It was strange, knowing she was going to be sleeping with Des for the next few nights. Before they’d fallen through the portal, their encounters had been spontaneous, never planned, hell, barely acknowledged. Up until today, they’d been taking things one day at a time, first in the prison, then in the farmhouse and now the inn. But buying only one bedroll? That was planning. And planning to sleep together was very weird— but she wasn’t about to quibble.

Giving Des up when they got home would be hard enough. Their situation was still dicey, and they were stuck together for a while. Might as well enjoy the one perk that came along with the risk. She’d deal with the rest later, when it happened. Then she could hole up in her apartment and play heavy metal until her fingers bled or go kick the shit out of the punching bag in George’s basement.

They added a backpack, a canteen and some dried food to their pile of purchases, along with some parchment and a fountain pen, or close approximation.

Unable to resist, Lana slid over to a stall next to the pens and picked up a stringed instrument. It had four strings and an oval body like a mandolin, but the neck was long like a guitar’s. She tested it out to get a feel for the notes, then played a quick tune, an old Eagles number she’d learned from her first guitar teacher as a kid.

“Damn, your woman can play,” Vin said to Des. A small crowd had gathered around, so Lana played another tune.

“That she can.” Des smiled proudly, his legs wide and his arms crossed, giving off that “don’t touch my woman” vibe.

The shop owner beamed as several customers came and picked up the various instruments. He made a gesture at Lana, a strange smile twisting his lips as he spoke.

“Dude wants you to play some more,” Vin translated.

“We need to get going,” Des said at the same time.

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