07 The Return_ Midnight - L. J. Smith

shop, maybe six or seven. One brown-haired girl was wearing sacking just like Bonnie and looked
exhausted. Surreptitiously, Bonnie inched toward her, and pressed five of her copper soli into the
girl’s chapped hand, thinking, there—now she can get a sugarplum just like me; that ought to cheer her
up. It did: the girl gave her the sort of smile that Mother Dustbin often gave to Marit when she had
done something adorable.
I wonder if I should talk to her?
“It looks pretty busy,” she whispered, ducking her head.
The girl whispered back, “It has been. All yesterday I kept hoping, but at least one noble
came in as the last one left.”
“You mean you have to wait until the shop’s empty to—?”
The brown-haired girl looked at her curiously. “Of course—unless you’re buying for
your mistress or master.”
“What’s your name?” Bonnie whispered.
“Kelta.”
“I’m Bonnie.”
At this Kelta burst into silent but convulsive giggles.
Bonnie felt offended; she’d just given Kelta a sugarplum—or the price of one, and now
the girl was laughing at her.
“I’m sorry,” Kelta said when her mirth had died down. “But don’t you think it’s funny
that in the last year there are so many girls changing their names to Alianas and Mardeths, and Bonnas
—some slaves are even being allowed to do it.”
“But why?” Bonnie whispered with such obvious genuine bewilderment that Kelta said,
“Why, to fit into the story, of course. To be named after the ones who killed old Bloddeuwedd while
she was rampaging through the city.”
“That was such a big deal?”
“You really don’t know? After she was killed all her money went to the fifth sector
where she lived and there was enough left over to have a holiday. That’s where I’m from. And I used
to be so frightened when I was sent out with a message or anything after dark because she could be
right above you and you’d never know, until—” Kelta had put all her money into one pocket and now
she mimed claws descending on an innocent hand.
“But you really are a Bonna,” Kelta said, with a flash of white teeth in rather dingy skin.
“Or so you said.”
“Yeah,” Bonnie said feeling vaguely sad. “I’m a Bonna, all right!” The next moment she
cheered up. “The shop’s empty!”
“It is! Oh, you’re a good-luck Bonna! I’ve been waiting two days.”
She approached the counter with a lack of fear that was very encouraging to Bonnie.
Then she asked for something called a blood jelly that looked to Bonnie like a small mold of
strawberry Jell-O, with something darker deep inside. Kelta smiled at Bonnie from under the curtain
of her long, unbrushed hair and was gone.
The man who ran the sweetshop kept looking hopefully at the door, clearly hoping a free
person—a noble—would come in. No one did, however, and at last he turned to Bonnie.
“And what is it you want?” he demanded.
“Just a sugarplum, please?” Bonnie tried hard to make sure her voice didn’t quaver.
The man was bored. “Show me your pass,” he said irritably.
It was at that point that Bonnie suddenly knew that everything was going to go horribly