For Every Market, a Submarket Grows

Shilo felt her eyes widen in a futile attempt to pierce the blackness. She took several steps forward, wondering if the Graverobber would turn on the light. It occurred to her then that maybe there *were* no lights, and that she’d walked into some horrible trap where Graverobber would slam the door behind her and enact some dreadful torture -

“Fuck!” Shilo hissed as her knee connected painfully with something solid. She heard a low laugh, and the room was suddenly bathed in dim light. She turned, rubbing her knee. Graverobber had his hand on a light switch and was smirking. “It’s not funny,” she said, knowing she was whining and not caring.

“Yes, it was,” he said. Shilo just glared at him. He made a valiant effort to look contrite before saying, “You alright, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Shilo mumbled. “And I’m not a kid. And my name’s Shilo.”

Graverobber took a few steps toward her. “Yeah, I know.”

Shilo frowned. Damn his Graverobber omniscience! “Well… what’s your name, then?”

He just gave a Gallic shrug, and a vague smile. “Showers on the left.”

Shilo looked, and saw a wooden door, hanging half off it’s hinges. She carefully swung it open to reveal a filthy, cramped bathroom. The bathtub was cracked and stained, and it’s curtain was a torn strip of cloth barely two feet wide. She glanced back at the Graverobber.

He seemed to know what she was thinking. “It’s not exactly the Largo Towers,” he said. “But the water’s fairly clean.”

Shilo looked around the bathroom again. Something was missing. “Towels?” she asked, turning back to Graverobber.

He shook his head. “I may be able to find you something to wear, though.”

Shilo sighed. “Good enough.” She walked in and closed the door behind her. She turned on the hot tap as far as it would go. It sputtered brown water at first, but after a moment it grew clear and she turned on the overhead spray. Just as she was pulling her mother’s dress over her head, she heard the Graverobber say, “I’ll be right back, kid. Don’t touch anything.”

Shilo rolled her eyes, muttering, “Yes, sir.” She removed her wig, placing it on the back of the toilet, which seemed to be the cleanest place in the room. Stepping into the shower, she gasped as the hot spray hit her sore muscles. She stood under the coursing water for several minutes, just letting the heat wash over her, letting it loosen some of the tension in her body.

After a awhile, she opened her eyes and began to look for soap. She found a small bar of it on the edge of the tub. Getting all the blood off took longer than she’d expected. A great deal of it was caked on. Once that was done, she pulled her wig into the shower, and attempted to remove the blood from the ends. She was mostly successful.

When she was done, she turned the water off and stepped out, only to see a dress lying on the sink. The Graverobber had been in and out without her even realizing it. Damn, sneaky, omniscient Graverobber.

The dress was plain black cotton, no different than the stuff she had at home.

Home.

Shilo couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out why she hadn’t just gone home. She had a house, a bedroom; somewhere she was safe. Was she really safe here with this grave robbing drug-dealer? Why on earth had her feet led her here?

But she’d trusted those instincts so far, and she felt it best to continue trusting them.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to that house, with it’s pictures and it ghosts.

Shaking her head, Shilo slipped the dress on. She winced at the unpleasant feel of cotton sticking to wet skin. She took her old dress and wiped at the mirror above the sink. She put the wig on her bare skull, using her reflection to adjust it.

When it looked as good as could be expected, she stepped out of the bathroom. Graverobber was nowhere to be seen. Sitting on a box, however, next to the dirty, ripped mattress on the floor in the corner, was a carton of Chinese food. Shilo’s stomach growled painfully as the smell reached her nose. She plopped down on the bed and dug in. It was cheap, greasy mar-far chicken and fried rice, but Shilo couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. It could’ve been liver and onions for all she cared.

It didn’t take her long to eat through most of the food. Setting the box of rice aside, she felt a wave of dizziness pass over her. It felt like she was about to pass out, like she used to when she missed her medicine. She gripped the edges of the old mattress and took deep, steadying breaths, trying not to succumb. It made sense that her symptoms wouldn’t go away immediately, but even knowing that, Shilo still hated the idea of passing out in a strange place, on a strange man’s bed.

But there was nothing for it. Blackness swan across her vision, and she swooned, falling back on the bare pillow.

*************

“Wake up.”

Shilo turned over in her sleep. Why did she have to wake up? Was it time for her medicine already?

“Kid, wake up.”

Shilo felt a hand on her shoulder, and it was so unfamiliar that she awoke instantly. Sitting next to her was the Graverobber. She knew immediately why the hand felt so unfamiliar. His skin was cold as ice. The only other person who’d ever touched her was her father, and his hands were warm, always. Her eyes focused on the pale face above her. He didn’t look happy. Shilo struggled to sit up. “What?” she asked.

“You can’t stay here,” Graverobber said. “I’ve got a business to run, kid. Besides, that’s *my* bed. And I don’t usually let virginal little girls into my bed.”

Shilo felt herself blush hotly. “Fine, I’ll go.” She tried to stand, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her. “What?” she snapped. “I thought you wanted me to leave?”

“Are you sure you’re not on Zydrate?” he asked, peering into her eyes. “It looks like you’re coming down.”

Shilo sighed. “Look, my father was poisoning me to keep me at home, okay?!” The words stung more than she’d expected, and tears welled up into her eyes. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up. She took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m still getting all the poison out of my system.”

“You’re a Zydrate addict,” Graverobber said.

“Am not!” Shilo said. “Look!” She pulled her wig off. “See? Zydrate addicts don’t lose their hair.”

“Sure they do,” Graverobber said, “when the Zydrate is mixed with Cocillin.”

“What’s that?” Shilo asked.

“It’s a depilatory,” he replied, “that’s given to swimmers to make them more streamlined. But it has a few unpleasant side-effects, so it’s usually mixed with Zydrate. That’s probably what he was giving you.” He spoke so confidently, so matter-of-factly that it somehow made Shilo more suspicious.

“How do you know this stuff?” she asked.

Graverobber just looked at her. His even gaze was disconcerting; it reminded her of the wolves she’d seen on the History Channel. After a moment, he sighed, and said, “You should… probably stay here. Just until the drug works it’s way out of your system.” He stood.

“How long is that?” Shilo asked. She had a sudden urge to run away; something about those abyssal eyes of his had unnerved her.

Graverobber shrugged. “A few days. But *you* sleep on the floor.”

Shilo crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip, pouting. She saw Graverobber’s eyes dart to her mouth again. This time, they stayed there. After a moment he bit his lip. Then, he shook his head, and glared at her. “Fine, keep the bed. Just don’t touch anything. The sun’s coming up soon. Time for all good little grave robber’s to get some sleep.”

Shilo laid back onto the mattress. She watched as Graverobber laid a blanket and pillow on the floor, then took off his coat, tossed it on the chair, and turned off the lights.

Shilo gasped slightly as the room was plunged into black. Graverobber’s voice came to her through the darkness, and something about his tone made her shiver. “Sleep tight, kid.”

*************