If there was a Sufi Saint protecting single women travelers Amira Khan was sure she’d royally pissed her off at some point in a previous life.
The last time she’d tried to travel, she’d been unceremoniously escorted out of the security clearance area of Toronto airport, having been denied boarding her flight to Philadelphia. Nothing like that could happen now— this was a train, and there was no border crossing between her university in Kingston and her house in Toronto. No border meant no overzealous guards accusing her of terrorism because of her last name and fondness for Arabic calligraphy. But seeing as her train appeared to be stuck in some place called Port Hope, and a creepy man wearing silver pants was leering at her, Amira clearly couldn't trust any deity to help her reach her destination unscathed.
She peeked at the creep. Shiny grey pants, black shirt open to reveal a silvery undershirt, plus gold chains and a vile facial expression. Fuck. Amira hated traveling alone. She’d left grad school early because of overly creepy members of the male species— only to get stuck on an almost-empty train car with one.
Finally, the doors slid open for new passengers. Good. More people meant more protection should things get hairy with the slick sleaze. Only one boarded— a large man with a lurid, orangey-red beard. Holy hell, that was bright. He accessorized his facial hair with a red-plaid flannel shirt and black suspenders, resulting in a look that could only be described as Garden-Gnome chic.