Nuncio had never stayed anywhere as comfortable as The Global. It was the most expensive hotel in Leoden which made it the most expensive hotel in all Garuccia. Maybe the most expensive hotel in the world. It was built from cream-colored stones in traditional architecture style on Leoden’s busiest commercial street and was considered one of the jewels of the city. There were three hundred rooms, twenty suites, two restaurants managed by world class chefs, a private bar, and a spa that would make you feel reborn.

But you needed more than money to make a reservation.

The Global was reserved solely for the nobility and even with all his money and influence, father had never been able to book a room there. It had driven him mad with envy. Or madder. Greed and ambition had been a madness in Pietro Capello that made him see the world through ownership. Everything had a price in Pietro Capello’s world and what he couldn’t own, he would destroy. His ideal world would have been a zoo where rainbows and sunsets were caged so he could charge people for seeing them. And even then, despite all his money and ambition Pietro Capello had never stayed in The Global.

But Nuncio and his mother had.

All it had taken was a single kind word from Cassio who had referred to them as his guests for the hotel manager to relent. If he was a guest of the Lionheart, The Global would welcome him and his mother with open doors.

Despite it all the comfort, he could not feel at ease in The Global.

He had lived in a dragon’s castle that had been built to satisfy the appetites of a monster whose greed had overshadowed even his father’s. The Global still felt decadent compared to Storm Roost. It was like sprinkling gold dust on your food. It did nothing for the taste, but it did mark you as someone who could afford to waste gold. First tenet of the Wild stated that excess was the Path to wisdom, but he didn’t see any wisdom here. Just decadence and corruption. Even the smallest rooms looked like palaces and hidden passageways ran behind the walls so the servants could move around without being seen by the guests. A building trick borrowed from the Red Palace. The sheets were changed daily, and every meal was a feast eaten with silver cutlery. The few times he had crossed paths with a servant, they had insinuated that sexual services were also available if he wished for them. An offer he had turned down but The Global understood privacy and that was more valuable to him than anything else.

“Go on, Danielle. Just one more step.”

Nuncio stood on one of The Global’s upper floors and watched as his mother learned to walk on her own again. The rollator helped by taking most of the weight off her feet but even then, pushing herself forward was a struggle. At least she always had a doctor with her.

Another favor Cassio had done for them.

Doctor Isidoro was among the finest physicians in Leoden and arguably the best who had earned his reputation by first serving as a field medic in the Twelve-Year-War and afterwards helping crippled veterans to live independent lives. Success had made him portly, but his round belly was hard as a rock, and he had the muscular legs of a hiker. He had a neatly combed dark hair but a thick beard that made Nuncio think of Santa Claus who hadn’t gone grey yet. He started every session in his tailor-made black suit but by the end of them, he had always removed his coat, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves.

“There we go. Just a bit further and you’ll have broken your previous record.” The doctor said.

Mom was able to break her previous record and Nuncio helped her sit down while the doctor wrote something in his notebook. Mom was breathing heavily, and sweat had drenched her clothes, but she was smiling.

“Excellent work, Danielle.” The doctor said while flipping through his notebook: “I can now officially tell you that you have doubled the amount of walking you could do when we started. And that was when you had to lean on both Nuncio and I for assistance.”

The doctor tapped the rollator with his pencil.

“The rollator has done wonders for you. It won’t be long now that you’ll be climbing the stairs unassisted.”

Mom was too out of breath to talk and just gave the doctor the thumbs up.

“Thank you, doctor.” Nuncio said.

“No need to thank me. Danielle is just getting back what she is putting in. I am only here to guide her.” The doctor said.

After dealing with Sal, modesty from a professional was a strange thing to see but the doctor was right. Mom had thrown herself into her physical therapy and the results showed. She was still dangerously skinny, but she no longer looked like a skeleton wrapped in brittle skin. Her hair was still grey, but it had grown thicker and the dark shadows around her eyes had begun to lighten now that she could sleep safely. Once they were done, the hotel staff came to take mom away for her bath and Nuncio walked the doctor out of the hotel.

“I must say your mother is one tough lady. When we first met, I was worried that she would never walk unassisted but none of us have to worry about that anymore.” The doctor said.

Nuncio smiled hearing that.

“Thank you again for everything, doctor.”

“Just doing my job and the Lionheart was very clear on what he was expecting from me. He is not a man you disappoint lightly.” The doctor said before shrugging: “Besides, she’s the widow of a veteran. A helping hand is the least she deserves.”

Nuncio bit his lip and the doctor had spent enough time with him to pick up on his tics. He stroked his long beard to hide his unease before speaking again.

“Look… the Lionheart told me not to pry and he is a very scary man but… what happened to your mother?”

“Doctor… forgive me but that is a private matter.” Nuncio said.

The doctor had enough tact to just smile and nod.

“I understand. I wouldn’t want to get on the Lionheart’s bad side by pushing the matter.”

When they got to the elevator, the doctor straightened his tie, unrolled his sleeves, and buttoned up his jacket.

“If you need anything, call my office. There is always someone there. Even at night. I finally had a phone installed in my home despite my wife’s protests. They will connect you right away. I will get here as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Nuncio said.

The doctor took the elevator and Nuncio returned to his room where a note had been left for him telling him that Salvatore Torrini had called him while he had been overseeing mom’s therapy. He had left a number and a request that Nuncio called him back when he could.

A note from Sal made his heart race ever so faster.

Every one of the twenty suites in The Global had a phone which was the height of luxury. Not even Cassio’s mansion had had more than one. Nuncio’s fingers were tingling when he rolled up the number and had the operator connect him. He lied on the bed on his stomach and kicked his feet while he counted the seconds it took for Sal to pick up the phone and when he did…

“Fuck you! Slit their throats for all I care! You’re not getting a single diam out of me! I don’t give a fuck!”

Nuncio sat frozen on his bed for a moment, too stunned to speak.

“… Sal?”

“Nuncio?” Sal hollered on the other end: “Darling! Sorry about that. I thought you were the kidnapper. How is The Global treating you?”

Sal had a nice voice. A sonorous baritone that would have suited singing if Sal had begun training at an early age. He sometimes wondered what life would have been like if him and Sal had met as kids. Maybe they would have gone to choir practice together.

“What kidnapper?” Nuncio asked.

“Don’t worry about it. I have it under control. Now. The Global? How is it like?”

“It’s been… good. I… uh… how have you been? I mean… how are you holding up?”

“Sal Torrini keeps paddling on. Now, Nuncio, listen. I have a lead on a party, and I could use someone to lean on. Are you interested?”

It took a moment for Nuncio to realize what Sal was telling him.

“A party? Uh… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I am Sal Torrini. I only get good ideas.”

“I mean… are you feeling fit enough to go?”

“Nuncio, darling, are you trying to convince me to uninvite you?”

“No! I mean… I would love to go. So… you and me… and Cassio?”

“Cassio is staying home to watch the kids. This is not his kind of crime scene.” Sal said.

Nuncio rolled the telephone cord around his fingers.

“So… it would be… just the two of us?”

“Your math is truly impeccable.” Sal said.

Nuncio gulped before answering.

“I would love to go with you.”

“Just what I wanted to hear, my dear. I will pick you up on Friday.”

After ending the call, Nuncio lied on the bed and waited for his heart to stop galloping. If he stood up too fast, he was sure it would explode out of his chest. He stayed there until the staff invited him for dinner. There were two restaurants in The Globe, but it was possible to have your meals in your room. The staff carried a table to mom’s suite and served them a meal of grilled fish, croquette potatoes, and vegetables. Doctor Isidor had designed mom’s diet to help her regain her strength and finally mom was able to eat again instead of just pushing her food around.

“Do you still get… cravings?” Nuncio asked.

Mom looked at him over the table and shook her head.

“Not anymore. I am not sure what Old Badger did but… blood no longer makes my mouth water. Sunbathing helps too. The scars have even begun to fade.” Mom said and had a sip of white wine: “What about you?”

“It’s odd but… I don’t think I ever had them.” Nuncio said.

“How I envy you.” Mom said.

They had ice cream and brandy for dessert after which Nuncio helped mom to her favorite armchair by the window.

“Are you going to fall asleep here again?” Nuncio asked.

Mom pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“If she decides to come home, someone should let her in.”

Nuncio looked outside. You could see the entire city from The Global’s suites and how the sun set on the city. There were so many shadows for a fresh vampire to hide in.

“I guess so…” Nuncio said and patted mom’s shoulder before leaving: “Call me if you need anything.”

When he got to his room, Nuncio poured himself another brandy and looked out of his window at the never-sleeping city. All the artificial lights made the city explode in colors and Leoden was always at its most beautiful at night.

What did it look like through the eyes of a vampire?

Elysa would be drawn into the city eventually. A city like Leoden was the ideal hunting ground for a vampire. Plenty of people awake at all hours. No one would pat an eye at someone who only came out at night. A vampire would blend right in.

And there would be a never-ending stream of prey.

What kind of a vampire had Elysa chosen to become? Did she play the part of Death to anyone who met her? Or did she sustain herself with a small sip? Did he even want to know? Did he even want Elysa to come back?

Did Elysa want to come back?

They had come to this world together and he had thought they shared a bond that could never be broken. She had been his other half. His best friend. The only reason they had managed to survive their father was because they’d had each other. Not even being whisked away to Storm Roost could have broken the connection they shared.

But now…

For the first time in his life…

He felt truly alone.

He was no longer connected to his other half and Elysa didn’t even feel the need to come back to let them know she was okay. Was she ashamed of showing what she had become? Or trying to protect them from the choices she had made?

It was stupid and he knew it but right now he wanted nothing more than to see Old Flea.

Every day he found himself missing that miserable ancient goblin and his cheap wisdom born from loss and failure. For all his faults, Old Flea had been a better father to him than Pietro Capello ever had. He even missed Mordesai. His self-proclaimed friend and godfather. He too had been a better father than Pietro Capello. Maybe they could have taught him something about immortality.

Them…

… or someone else…

The sun had set, and it was late but… maybe Sal was still up. Nuncio picked up the phone and dialed the number that had been burned into his mind. An operator who sounded like she had been sleeping on the job connected him to get him off her hair. Nuncio gripped the receiver and counted the rings. One… two… three… maybe this was a bad idea and Sal was already…

“Sal, Sal, Sally-boy speaking.”

Nuncio sighed in relief when Sal picked up the phone… although he sounded more than a little drunk.

“Sal… its Nuncio.”

“Nuncio… my boy… what can I do for you in this fine hour? If you strangled someone in the staff… I’ll let you borrow my shovel… just this once.”

Nuncio snorted and shook his head.

“No need for that but thanks for the offer.”

“I aim to please.” Sal said and Nuncio could hear him have another sip of brandy: “Something on your mind?”

“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about… her.”

“Ah.” Sal said: “Do us both a favor and have another drink.”

“I… don’t usually go past two glasses.”

“Humor me.” Sal said.

“Okay.” Nuncio said but instead of brandy, he poured ginger ale in his glass.

“Good man.”

Nuncio sipped the ginger ale that had a hint of brandy to it and looked out of the window.

“She hasn’t come back. Not even to make sure we’re okay and I was just wondering… when you… became immortal… how did your family react.” Nuncio said.

The line fell silent and for a moment Nuncio thought they had lost the connection.

“Sal?”

“I have not seen my old man since then. I left the circus when they realized what had happened. They reacted… poorly.” Sal said and drank heavily: “Not that I minded. I had wanted to leave for a long time. Becoming a skin-changer prince just gave me the means.”

“You wanted to leave?”

“My old man came back from the war as a monster too… or maybe he was a monster before it. I do not know. I was born after the war was over.”

This caught Nuncio by surprise. Him and Elysa had been born during the final days of the Twelve-Year-War. If Sal had born after the war ended… that meant Nuncio was the older one of them.

“What… did he do?” Nuncio asked.

“He drank and that made the monster come out. He would always apologize with tears in his eyes in the morning and then hit the bottle again in the evening. So it goes.” Sal said.

“I’m sorry.” Nuncio said.

“Don’t be. You had it worse.”

“Tragedy should not be poker.” Nuncio said.

“Maybe not.” Sal agreed: “The point is… my old man was a hero during the war. They even gave him a Silver Sword for his service. Probably the only Romani in Garuccian history who had the honor… but when the war was over… he shattered. Some people can’t handle peace.”

Sal’s voice had gone from a smooth baritone to a trickling drunken slobber and Nuncio worried if he drank this much every night.

“Do you think… she’ll come back?”

“I don’t know. I never did. Maybe Elysa has more of a reason to return than I did.” Sal said: “Dare did promise to keep an eye out for her. I am sure she will be fine.”

“And if she comes back? What will she return as?”

“Worried she will be like daddy dearest? Wanna know the ultimate secret of vampirism? It can’t change who you are. All that power does is reveal who you really are. Elysa never struck me as that rotten.”

Nuncio bit his lip before nodding.

“Thank you, Sal. You… uh… remember when you said I could come to you… if something bothered me?”

“I’m a drunk not an amnesiac.”

“Well… I just wanted you to know that it goes both ways.”

Sal was silent… before hiccupping.

“Thanks, Nuncio.”

“My pleasure, Sal. Well… you should probably go to sleep and… drink some… a lot of water.”

“Water? Don’t you know that fish fuck in it?” Sal said: “I’m gonna… pass out on the floor now. Goodnight, Nuncio.”

“Goodnight, Sal. Try to make it to bed.”

After putting down the receiver Nuncio found himself more worried. Not just for Elysa but Sal as well. He finished his ginger ale, but sleep would not come. While living in his father’s house he had adopted the hours of a vampire and even now he found it difficult to shake off the habit of staying up all night and sleeping through the day. When the phone rang again, he hoped that Sal was calling him back but when he picked up, he heard the voice of a staff member.

“Lord Capello, I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but you have a guest.”

“A guest?”

Who would want to meet him at this hour... except a vampire? He gripped the receiver harder and bit his lip.

“… who is it?”

“An older gentleman. He said that you met in the deep end.”

Deep? Nuncio sank his teeth deeper into his lip, unsure what to do next.

“… where is he now?”

“He said he’d be waiting for you in the Lounge.” The staff member said, sounding unsure how the late-night guest had made it there.

Nuncio fell quiet and thought things through while chewing on his lip.

“Lord Capello?” The staff member said.

“Tell him I’ll be there.”

Nuncio buttoned his shirt again and put on his suit jacket although he didn’t bother with a tie at this hour. If the Lounge hadn’t requited a suit jacket from everyone who entered, he doubted he would have bothered with it either. When Nuncio entered the elevator, he turned his key in a special lock that gave him access to the closed off floors. Even paradise had a pecking order, and certain floors were only accessible to high lords, their heirs, and their personal guests. On account of being the next count Rossi, there were no doors Cassio’s name did not open and Nuncio stepped out of the elevator in the seventy-seventh floor reserved solely for the Lounge. The bar never closed and was always well-stocked no matter the hour. The Lounge was bathed in golden light, and the walls were made of glass so you could look down on Leoden when you enjoyed your drink. There were private booths but everyone who drank there, preferred to do so at the counter so all could see they had access to the Lounge. The bartender worked behind the counter, and he was backdropped by expensive spirits. There was only one customer who to most would have looked like a traveling salesman in a pinstripe suit and a bowler hat. Nuncio had spent enough time around magic to recognize glamour and when you knew what to look, the illusion broke down.

Old Flea had not changed the last time they had seen each other.

His skin was wrinkly and sprinkled with liver spots. The hair on his paws and tail had turned white but his mustache and what little of his hair was left were steel grey. Like all goblins Old Flea was under five feet tall and looked like a little kid waving his legs on the barstool. The only mark of time passing was that his pinstripe suit was even more faded and patched up. Old Flea was smoking a cigarette while sipping a whisky and raised his glass when Nuncio entered. He nodded solemnly and walked over to Old Flea.

“A whisky for my young friend.” Old Flea said.

“Of course, sir. Would he like ice?” The bartender asked.

“You try to water this stuff down and you will feel the back of my paw.” Old Flea said.

“Old Flea.” Nuncio snapped and looked apologetically at the bartender: “No ice, thank you.”

The bare minimum of manners seemed to soothe the bartender.

“I will pour what the older gentleman is having.” The bartender said.

“That would be lovely.” Nuncio agreed.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Old Flea smoked and drank in silence while the bartender poured Nuncio a whisky. Before he could put away the bottle, Old Flea emptied his glass and put it forward. The bartender gave him a refill without a word.

“Thank you.” Nuncio said.

“It is quite alright, sir.” The bartender said: “Let me know if you need anything.”

Old Flea watched the bartender go and then clinked his glass against Nuncio’s.

“You shouldn’t be so nice to the help. These idiots always equate bad manners for fine breeding.” Old Flea said.

“Good manners have never cost me anything.” Nuncio said and stared at his drink: “Why is it that you fae are always trying to get me drunk?”

“Immortality leaves you with a lot of time to explore your bad habits.” Old Flea said and looked at him from head to toe: “You got tall and handsome.”

“Thank you.” Nuncio said.

“Famous too. Do you know what they call you in the Wyrding? The Black Rider or Nuncio the Handsome. The hero who trampled a vampire under his chariot and could charm a god with a smile.”

“I… uh… huh… never thought I’d be famous. They’re really talking about me?”

“Enough for your godfather to hear about it.” Old Flea said.

“Really? How is Mordesai?”

“Same old, same old. Still has his head in the stars.” Old Flea said.

“And how are you?” Nuncio asked.

“No need to be polite with me. I’m not the help.” Old Flea said.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I am actually worried about you?” Nuncio asked.

Old Flea was quiet for a moment and then snorted.

“Goddamn it, Nuncio. I’ve missed you. I shouldn’t have let you leave Storm Roost.”

It was a strange thing to realize that he had missed Old Flea and Mordesai too… but whatever tenderness he felt was also mixed with bitterness.

“Then why did you?”

“Pietro summoned you. You were only under our care as long as he wished it.” Old Flea said and stared at his whisky: “The rules that power us also bind us. Often in ways I don’t care for.”

Nuncio nodded and tried his whisky. It hit harder than brandy, but he didn’t mind the taste.

“You didn’t answer my question. How are you?” Nuncio asked.

“I’m managing.”

“You here on business?” Nuncio asked.

“The only reason I go anywhere. Kids lose hope? There I am to pick up the pieces and carry them to Storm Roost.”

Nuncio bit his lip when he imagined the life Old Flea led. Prometheus and Judas had gotten off easy. Old Flea’s punishment was far crueler.

“I’m glad you took the time to see me.” Nuncio said.

“So am I, kid. So am I.” Old Flea said and had another sip of his whisky: “Nuncio… about this mess with your father… well… I was wondering… how is your mother doing?”

“She’ll walk again, and I will make sure the time my father stole from her will be repaid.”

“Such a dutiful son.” Old Flea said.

“I try but she’s not the only one who is trying to relearn to walk. Sal…”

“His Savage Highness? Yeah. I heard he lost a leg.”

“That he did. I was hoping you could do something about that.” Nuncio said.

“He killed one of my kelpies.” Old Flea said.

“If you cared so much about Neptune, why did you bet him in a poker game?” Nuncio asked.

“You cut me… heh… deep, kid.” Old Flea said.

“He’s also the guardian deity of your tribe.” Nuncio said.

“That he is.” Old Flea said and stared at his glass: “Lost limbs are beyond me. Best I could do would be to ask Furcas to forge him a replacement.”

“Then would you do that? Please?” Nuncio said.

“How could I say no to you?” Old Flea wondered and finished his drink: “Prince Mordesai has a message for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. He is very pleased with your performance and will grants you a favor as a gift. All you need to do is ask.” Old Flea said.

“Any favor?”

“Anything within his means. Give it some thought.” Old Flea said and put out his cigarette: “I need to get going. Sadly, the only reward for a job well done is more work.”

“Old Flea?”

“Yeah?”

“What if one day you didn’t have to work so hard? What if one day there were less kids who have lost all hope? Or no kids with no hope.”

Old Flea fell quiet… but Nuncio could also see a flicker of hope on his face.

“I suppose I could rest. Maybe even be free. Why?”

“I’ve inherited a lot of money. I think it’s time I put it to good use.” Nuncio said.

Old Flea chewed on his mustache and then nodded.

“Your father reminded me of Girusai. Both were banal and dull creatures. Evil always is a very dull thing. Those who try to be good have always been so much more interesting.” Old Flea said.

“I see. Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought it was something you should hear.” Old Flea said and patted his shoulder: “The worst of us are weak. It takes strength to be the best but be careful. For someone like you the greatest threat is not the worst of us but those who have been led astray.”

Nuncio met Old Flea’s gaze and then patted the ancient goblin’s paw.

“I will keep that in mind. Take care of yourself, Old Flea. And don’t drink too much.”

“Killjoy.” Old Flea said and put on his bowler hat before hopping off the barstool: “Blessing of the Deep upon your journey, Nuncio Capello.”

“And blessing of the Balefire upon your journey as well, Shrewd Flea.” Nuncio said.

After Old Flea was gone, Nuncio finished his drink and returned to his room where he spent an uneasy night tossing and turning on his bed, fearing that any moment he would hear a talon tapping on his window. When morning came, he had gotten less than two hours of sleep and tried to make up for it with three cups of coffee which only gave him the runs. He was barely able to make himself presentable when the doctor arrived for mom’s physical therapy.

But doctor Isidor did not come alone.

He entered the hotel pushing Sal in a wheelchair.

Despite having drank himself into a stupor last night, Sal was the most presentable of them all. The thick, curly black hair was neatly combed, and his short beard was recently groomed. He had lost weight which made the blue suit with a square pattern and pink shirt not fit him as well as tailormade clothes should have. His sole brown shoe had been just polished. The left pant leg hung empty below the knee as an eternal reminder of the battle he’d had with Pietro Capello but that wasn’t the only mark left in him. Sal’s nose had broken in the struggle and a scar ran over the bridge.

On his lap, Sal carried a gift box.

“Sal?” Nuncio said.

“In the flesh and looking… as the good doctor so diplomatically put it; ‘cocaine thin.’” Sal said.

“You can’t fault me for worrying. I wrote the prescription myself. Before I realize what an easily addictive personality you have.” The doctor said.

Nuncio bit his lip and wondered if his breath smelled funny.

“I… uh… what are you doing here?”

“To pick you up for the party.” Sal said.

“It’s Wednesday.” Nuncio said.

“It most certainly is.” Sal agreed.

“You said the party was on Friday.”

“That’s called subterfuge. The coppers have bugged the phonelines again.” Sal said and held out the gift box: “To apologize for my treachery, I come bearing presents.”

“Are you now?” Mom said with a smile and walked over to Sal with the help of cane: “What a considerate young man you are.”

When Sal handed over the box… it moved.

“Oh. A lively package.” Mom said.

When mom took off the gift box’s lid, the muzzle of a puppy stuck out to lick mom’s face.

“Oh my.” Mom said.

A puppy with as many breeds in it as it had hairs on its back jumped out of the box and looked at them nervously with its tail between its legs. Its fur was a warzone of black, white, and brown, with each spot of color fighting for dominance. It was a small puppy and Nuncio doubted it would grow much bigger.

“Hello there.” Mom said and offered the puppy her hand: “No need to be scared.”

The puppy backed away from mom but not too far. It turned to look at Sal… and it was like watching a faithful gaze upon their god. Sal simply nodded and the puppy let mom pat its head. After a while its tail stopped hanging between its legs and started wagging furiously.

“While the good doctor was making sure I remain cocaine thin, him and I thought that playing with a pupper is more fun way to get some steps in.” Sal said.

“Dogs also have a cheering effect which improves health.” The doctor said.

“Of course, they do. Dogs are awesome.” Sal said.

When Nuncio tried to scratch the back of the dog’s neck, it bit the sleeve of his suit jacket and started pulling on it playfully. Nuncio couldn’t stay mad at him and entered tug of war with the dog using his sleeve. They played with the dog until the doctor said it was time for some physical therapy. Sal did chair yoga with mom that day and it hurt to see Sal move with such difficulty. When he’d had two legs, Sal had pranced around like a dancer or an actor on a stage as big as the world. Now just standing was a struggle for him.

But the fire had not gone out of his blue eyes.

When they were done, mom was sweating but Sal wasn’t even out of breath. Nuncio saw the doctor off while mom asked the staff to take her new dog out for a walk. After mom had washed herself and the dog had returned, they ate dinner together. The dog had parked itself on mom’s lap and was looking hungrily at her plate.

“Where did you find such a good boy?” Mom asked.

“I fund a dog shelter… or I convinced Cassio to fund one.” Sal said.

“Really?” Mom said.

“Really, really. It’s a long, convoluted story involving dog fights run by those Guild of Fire nutjobs and human sacrifice.” Sal said.

“Oh my.” Mom said.

“Oh my, indeed.” Sal said.

Nuncio found it difficult to find a right place to jump in on the conversation and tried to concentrate on his food. When they were done, Nuncio put away his chewed-up jacket and switched into a black suit and yellow tie. He had hoped to match his outfit with Sal’s, but he had never dress so… garishly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“You boys have fun now.” Mom said: “But not too much fun.”

“I can only promise to try.” Sal said and pointed at the puppy: “You look after the lady.”

The puppy barked like in agreement.

“I’ll try to think of a name for him while you’re gone.” Mom said.

Nuncio pushed Sal out of the suite in his wheelchair and towards the elevator.

“How have you liked it in The Global?” Sal asked.

“It’s very… luxurious.” Nuncio said.

“A polite way to say they act like they piss rose water. I make everyone uncomfortable just by visiting. I used to hate it but now? I kind of enjoy it.” Sal said and stroked his beard: “I was hoping to set you and Danielle up in one of the hidden mansions but that would have put me in crosshairs with Cassio’s uncle. The less we have to deal with him the better.”

“I never met him. Father always dealt with him alone.” Nuncio said.

“That might be the only time when Pietro was the victim of the situation.”

Sal abandoned his wheelchair in the lobby and picked up a pair of crutches from the counter. When the staff and other guests saw Sal, they looked at him like a mangy dog that had died on the nice carpet. Nuncio bit his lip and was ready to reprimand everyone present but Sal just shook his head.

“Don’t make this worse for me.” Sal said from the corner of his mouth.

Sal used the crutches with surprising grace and could keep up with Nuncio’s walking speed. They left the hotel that had started to feel suffocating.

“Should we take my car?” Nuncio asked.

“Too conspicuous. This is a secret party. We wouldn’t want anyone to follow us. I have a carriage ready.” Sal said.

They took a well-maintained but nondescript carriage without a banner of House Rossi. The driver nodded at Sal who nodded back when they climbed into the back. When the carriage door was pulled shut, Nuncio was reminded of his ride with Old Flea.

“What is this party?” Nuncio asked.

Sal smirked.

“A club meeting with a very strict criteria for membership but I vouched for you. All you have to do is charm Arturo de Corvo and you’re in.”

Nuncio’s eyes widened at the mention of Arturo de Corvo.

“The artist and playwright?”

“And the reason not all copies of the Wizard’s Tower weren’t burned despite the court’s order.” Sal said.

“Wizard’s Tower? That book written for perverts?”

“Yes. I’ve read it multiple times.” Sal said.

Nuncio tried to relax despite how close he was sitting to Sal. Close enough to smell his cologne. Or was that brandy?

“I’ve never belonged to a club.” Nuncio said.

“You might like it. Besides… me thinks you will meet some likeminded people. You could use some company. You always look so lonely.” Sal said.

“And you don’t?” Nuncio said while biting his lip: “It wasn’t too long ago that… Old Badger…”

“The goblins have a time for mourning. I have mourned. Never stay still for too long, Nuncio. The past will catch up with you otherwise and the past is a horror show.” Sal said.

“You sure?” Nuncio said and looked out: “If you want… we could just talk. You can talk to me too.”

“I remember. I’m a Torrini. We never forget.” Sal said.

The carriage took them to a row of high-class houses that looked like mansions chopped up into smaller homes. They got out of the carriage and waved the driver off. Sal had to use the railing and lean against Nuncio to get up the tone stairs and Nuncio was shocked how heavy Sal was despite his lean build.

“Good luck.” Sal said before ringing the doorbell.

The man who came to open the door was large. He wasn’t fat or muscular just built a size bigger than everyone else. The thick, dark hair was carefully combed and highlighted his surprisingly delicate features for such a physical man. He had the heavy-lidded eyes of a dreamer and a sensual mouth. He wore a red smoking jacket, and his cigarette holder was made from silver.

Nuncio bit his lip to hold back a gasp.

“Lord Corvo… I am a huge admirer of your work. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Arturo de Corvo raised an eyebrow at him and then took a puff from his cigarette.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, laddie. I’m the gardener. I wouldn’t trust this Corvo fellow with tying my shoes.” Lord Corvo said.

“Well… he is a lord which makes him fundamentally useless.” Sal said.

Lord Corvo just laughed and kissed Sal on the cheek.

“Sally, my sweet, slutty social climber. What have those brutes done to you?”

“Nothing I can’t walk off.” Sal said and pushed Nuncio forward: “Artie, meet Nuncio.”

Arturo de Corvo shook Nuncio’s hand and then kissed him on the cheek. Lord Corvo smelled of cigarettes, ink, and perfume.

“My pleasure. Come on in, boys. Close the door. You’re letting the good cheer out.”

Walking through Arturo de Corvo’s door was like crossing the Wyrd Stones and entering a new world. As one of the most prolific artists in Garuccia, Arturo de Corvo had transformed his home into a monument celebrating his own glory. The walls were lined with paintings and photographs. Many of them by him. The hallways were manned with sculptures depicting the male form in loving detail.

Then there were the guests…

The partygoers were even more shocking to him than most of the fae. He saw men holding hands and women dancing together. Some of the women were even dressed in men’s clothing. Several of them were kissing without a hint of fear.

“Sal!”

Suddenly they were surrounded by a group of women in dresses meant to catch your attention and flashy makeup. It took him a moment to realize they were men dressed as women. Even the pitch of their voice was perfect. Sal spread his arms and let himself fall in their embrace.

“Ladies!” Sal said.

The ladies… or men dressed as ladies cooed over Sal like mother hens and looked at his missing leg with sadness and horror.

“You poor thing. You lost your leg.”

“Not lost. We may have parted ways, but I still know exactly where it is.” Sal said and kissed closest of the ladies on the cheek: “Since I am down a leg, I need to find someone to split theirs with me.”

The ladies giggled and carried Sal away on their shoulders like a wounded prince retuning from war. Nuncio was left with lord Corvo who took a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Try not to get too jealous. Sal just knows how to charm a room and lord knows he could use the fun.”

“I am not jealous.” Nuncio said jealously.

Lord Corvo just laughed and patted his shoulder.

“No need to be coy. You’re among friends here. Now let me show you around until the queens let their prince go.”

Lord Corvo let him deeper into his home were everybody was lost in the comfort of having a piece of the world all to themselves. Lord Corvo poured them brandy and Nuncio turned down a cigarette.

“I must admit, I had my doubts about you. I have suffered the displeasure of dealing with your father.” Lord Corvo said.

“My condolences.” Nuncio said.

“I am not sure if I should offer them to you for his… untimely passing.” Lord Corvo said.

“His passing couldn’t have been timelier. My only regret is that he didn’t die in the war.”

Lord Corvo shrugged and raised his glass.

“Then curse of the Wild upon his final journey.”

Nuncio looked at him surprised and lord Corvo winked back at him.

“Artists have always worshipped the Wild. Just like Serpico the Poet.” Lord Corvo said.

“I worship the Balefire.” Nuncio said.

“No one’s perfect but we Path walkers must stick together. It is illegal after all. Like all things fun.”

Before Nuncio could answer, he spotted two women approaching them. The shorter one had curly black hair, a tanned skin, and was wearing a tuxedo and a thin painted mustache. Her skin tone made Nuncio wonder if she was from Primavera Street or if she just spent a lot of time in the sun. Her companion on the other hand was taller and thinner with light brown hair and pearl grey eyes that matched her sparkling dress. Dress that left her very well-formed shoulders bare.

“Artie!” The woman in a tuxedo said.

“Jenny. Abigail.” Lord Corvo said with obvious delight and kissed both of their hands: “Ladies, meet Nuncio Capello.”

“The brand-new millionaire?” The woman in a tuxedo said and shook his hand: “Well met.”

“You’re… uh… aren’t you Jenny Glamour? The fashionista?” Nuncio said.

“Look out. He’s on to me.” Jenny Glamour said and pulled her escort forward: “This is Abigail. My collaborator and better half.”

“It’s a pleasure, Nuncio.” Abigail said and glanced in Sal’s direction who was still paraded around by the queens: “Shouldn’t Sal still be resting?”

“You can’t keep a good party animal down and I doubt bed rest will make his leg grow back.” Jenny said and winked at Nuncio: “I am sure he will help our Sal back in the saddle.”

Nuncio was too shocked to answer and just blushed.

“You’re cute.” Jenny Glamour said and looked at him more closely: “I bet you would look great on magazine cover. I should have you model in some of my new wares.”

Lord Corvo put a hand on his shoulder.

“Try not to ruin the boy with fashion. If anyone cared about fashion, we wouldn’t reinvent it every few months.”

“Scathing. Luckily the cash flow soothes the sting.” Jenny Glamour said.

“Why don’t you show him some of your photos, Artie? Maybe that would get him more interested in modeling.” Abigail said.

“Now that is a fine idea.” Lord Corvo said and bowed to Jenny Glamour and Abigail: “Ladies, I bid you momentary farewell.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Nuncio said.

“Likewise.” Jenny Glamour said.

Lord Corvo led him through the party and Nuncio was intoxicated by everything he saw. People embracing each other without fear or prejudice. A great weight had been lifted off everyone’s shoulders and they could just be themselves. Nuncio had never thought anyone could smile so freely. Like all worries had been left behind at lord Corvo’s door.

“You seem to fit in well. Not that I am surprised.” Lord Corvo said: “This is one of the few Molly Houses in Leoden and mine is the best. Naturally.”

Nuncio couldn’t help but smile.

“I can see why you and Sal get along.”

“Someone had to look out for the boy when he entered high society. Luckily, he is an easy fellow to like. I am sure you agree.”

Nuncio felt his cheeks warm up again.

“Yeah. He is.”

Lord Corvo took him to the backrooms where he had built his studio. The rooms where he entertained his guests were the face he put on and the studio was the back of his mind where most of his work was done. Every flat surface had coffee cups and dirty plates stacked on them. The floors and walls were littered with sketches that had been cast aside and scribbles that might one day turn into finished stories. There were paintings waiting for unveiling or ones that hadn’t ever been released for being too… bold.

One series of photos in particular caught Nuncio’s attention.

The black and white photos were setup to look like glimpses of a dream and depicted a young man in different clothes and various stages of undress. It took him a second to realize it was younger Sal before he had grown a beard.

“Now why am I not surprised that those ones would catch your attention?” Lord Corvo said.

Nuncio tried to hide his embarrassment behind a smile.

“Maybe I like photography.”

“I like it too.” Lord Corvo said and picked up one of the photos: “I always preferred Sal cleanshaven. The beard makes him look like a mad monk.”

“I think the beard suits him. It makes him look… dangerous.”

Lord Corvo flashed him a bemused smile.

“You like bad boys?”

“I…” Nuncio began before biting his lip: “Sal makes me feel like… nothing is ever as bad as it seems but… there is something dark in him as well.”

“And that calls to you?” Lord Corvo said.

“… yes.”

“I see.” Lord Corvo said and picked up a fashion catalogue from his bookshelf: “You should be careful about fooling around in the dark. Maybe this will give you something else to think about.”

Nuncio started going through the catalogue showing off Jenny Glamour’s designs worn by people who looked good in anything. Every photo was like a painting captured on film.

“Beautiful.” Nuncio said.

“Some of my finest work.” Lord Corvo said.

“You took them?”

“Jenny was starting out, so I decided to help.” Lord Corvo said and looked at the photos over Nuncio’s shoulder: “Jenny had hoped Sal would model for her too. It was his eyes.”

“Yeah… you never forget them.” Nuncio said.

“Even if you want to. It’s like… looking in the eyes of a god.” Lord Corvo said: “In the end Sal turned her down. He was already pledged to House Rossi and modelling would have made them look undignified.”

“As if count Rossi hasn’t killed whatever dignity they ever had.”

Nuncio almost dropped the catalogue from fright when he heard the voice. When he turned to look, he saw a man dressed in black standing by the door to the studio. He was tall, lean, and hard as a steel rail with powerful features. His jaw was strong, his cheek bones high and the sharp widow’s peak made his wide forehead standout even more. His long black hair was tied back with a ribbon and like Cassio he had grown well-groomed side-whiskers.

“Can’t help but skulk, can you, Perry?” lord Corvo said.

“Afraid not, Artie.”

Lord Corvo put his hand on the lean man’s shoulder and smiled fondly.

“Nuncio, meet earl Prospero de Ferro.”

A chill ran down Sal’s back when he realized he was in the presence of one of the high lords of Garuccia.

“… oh… it’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Nuncio said.

When lord Ferro shook his hand, he felt the callouses in his hands that you didn’t usually find on a lord. His grip was even stronger than Cassio’s.

“No need to be so nervous or bother with titles here. This is the Bohemian Club. Otherwise, Artie would have to kneel every time I enter a room. House Ferro is House Corvo’s liege lords after all. It gets old fast.”

“Especially on my knees. I am forty-one. That’s no age to bend your knees.” Lord Corvo said.

“You’ve aged gracefully, Artie. Now, mind if I borrow our new friend?”

Lord Corvo… Arturo shrugged.

“Not like I can refuse a request from my liege lord.”

“Thank you, Artie.”

When they were alone, Ferro lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Nuncio.

“Care to join me?”

“No thank you. I don’t smoke.” Nuncio said.

“Smart. I stick to one cigarette per day. It’s hard enough to breathe on mountains as it is.” Ferro said and looked at his cigarette bemused: “It would actually be easier to quit than smoke just one daily, but I like the challenge.”

“You’re a mountain climber?” Nuncio said.

In response Ferro grabbed the door frame with his fingertips and then let his legs fail under him, leaving him supporting his entire bodyweight with just the tips of his fingers.

“Impressive.” Nuncio said.

Ferro dropped back on his feet and shook his head.

“Not really. The best climbers can support their entire body weight with just one finger.” Ferro said and blew out a trail of smoke: “Ever climbed the Teeth?”

“The mountain range separating Garuccia and Osetaria? No.” Nuncio admitted.

“You should. You’re a fool if you never do it or do it twice. I did it when I was twelve. The walk almost killed me but when that endless path gave way to the sky, and I could see all the way to Osetaria? It was love at first sight.”

Ferro smiled fondly like he could see the scenery even now that had ignited his passion for the mountains.

“Since then, the highest mountain I’ve climbed has been almost seven miles high.” Ferro said.

It took a moment for Nuncio to realize where you could find a mountain that tall.

“You climbed… the Black Summit?”

“Part of the way and I have the frost bites to prove it.” Ferro said before sighing: “I suppose… this is the point I offer you my condolences for your late father.”

Nuncio bit his lip.

“That… won’t be necessary.” Nuncio said.

“I gathered. I have heard the rumors of the late Pietro Capello. My own father is too sick to fulfill his duties as an earl, so he passed the torch to me, but he warned to never meet your father alone.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Nuncio said: “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

“He is when the pain is not too much to bear.” Ferro said and put out his cigarette: “But enough doom and gloom. This is a party. Would you join me for a dance?”

Nuncio’s eyes widened when he looked at Ferro’s outstretched hand.

“A dance?”

“Yes. If you don’t know how, I can teach you.”

“We would dance… together? In front of everybody?” Nuncio said.

“No better place for it or do you already have a dance partner? I worry that the queens won’t be letting go of Sal for a while.”

“Sal… we’re not… I mean he hasn’t…” Nuncio mumbled.

“He hasn’t made a move yet?” Ferro said and took Nuncio’s hand, pulling him closer: “Then he will pay for his tardiness. Care for a dance, lord Capello?”

Nuncio stared into Ferro’s hazel eyes and gulped before nodding.

“… I’d like that… lord Ferro.”

“Then follow me and please. Call me Prospero. This is the Bohemian Club. The one place without gods or kings.”

Nuncio let Prospero lead him back to the parlor where music was playing and many of the guests had already begun to dance. Among the dancers he spotted Jenny and Abigail and despite her tuxedo, Jenny let Abigail lead.

A stare cut through the room like a knife.

Sal was lying on a couch surrounded by the queens who were feeding him grapes and wine while he told them a story that had been cut short when he noticed them. Guilt and shame almost made Nuncio push Prospero away and tell Sal it wasn’t how it looked but Prospero just smiled and pulled him closer.

When they began to dance, none of it mattered anymore.

The room was lit with candles, and it felt like they were dancing among the stars. When he looked at Prospero, Prospero looked back at him, and Nuncio wondered what it would have been like to kiss him. Would his lips taste of tobacco? Would the people around them gasp? Or would it have been something they had seen all too many times?

Would Sal be jealous? Would he curse himself for not acting faster?

When the song ended, Prospero took him to the balcony that oversaw Arturo’s backyard garden. You could see the city lights that made Leoden look like place from a dream. Prospero poured them champagne and they clinked their glasses together.

“You surprised me. I thought you were going to eat me.” Prospero said and sipped his champagne: “You must have been starved.”

Nuncio looked at his sparkling glass.

“I guess I have been.”

“Then let’s raise a glass to fine dining.” Prospero said.

They made a toast, and the brandy and champagne were making him feel lightheaded. And bold. It felt like he could do anything. He put his hand on Prospero’s cheek and pulled him closer. He could almost taste the champagne and tobacco on his…

“Am I interrupting?”

Sal was standing on the precipices to the balcony, leaning on his crutches. Prospero closed his eyes and smiled before shaking his head.

“Let’s just say that you have a talent for inopportune entrances.” Prospero said and turned to look at Sal: “I heard the rumors, but I didn’t want to believe them. No point in lying to myself. Seeing is believing.”

“Seeing is when believing ends and I am still standing.” Sal said.

“Barely by the looks of it.” Prospero said and then turned to look at Nuncio: “Do you want me to leave, or should the prince return to his queens?”

Nuncio looked at Sal and Prospero who were both looking back at him.

“Prospero… thank you for tonight.” Nuncio said.

Prospero sighed but then smiled.

“Perhaps in another life, Nuncio.”

When Prospero walked past Sal, he put his hand on Sal’s shoulder and looked at him with surprising tenderness.

“Take care, Boom-Boom.” Prospero said.

“You too, Perry.” Sal said.

Once Prospero was gone, Sal hobbled over to Nuncio with his crutches and leaned heavily on the railing.

“Boom-Boom?” Nuncio said.

“An old stage name from my circus days.” Sal said.

“I guess you two know each other pretty well.”

“We met as youngsters but only got to really know each other in university. He was one of the few sons of gentlemen who wasn’t a racist fuckwit.” Sal said and pulled a bottle of brandy from his pocket: “Enjoying the party?”

“I think so. Even though you left me to chase skirts.” Nuncio said.

“Everyone wants a piece of the illustrious Sal Torrini. Such is my curse. It gets exhausting and sometimes I feel like I have nothing left for myself.”

Nuncio bit his lip when he thought back at what Old Flea had told him years ago. How dealing with mortals only hollowed an immortal out. Maybe… it was better if Elysa stayed away and just enjoyed her new immortal life in the Wyrding. The thought of someone so full of life becoming an empty husk like Old Flea was too painful to bear.

“Have you ever wondered… if it’s wise for you to live as a mortal. Maybe all you do will… end with you giving so much of yourself away that there is nothing left.” Nuncio said.

Sal looked at him surprised.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s just something that Old Flea told me a long time ago.” Nuncio said.

“Look at that. Old Flea might have a heart in there somewhere after all.” Sal said and stared at his brandy: “I will live as myself even if it kills me.”

Without stopping to think, Nuncio put his hand over Sal’s.

“Sal… please don’t die.” Nuncio said.

Sal looked at his hand and smiled. They drank brandy together while looking at the nightly city.

“What was that story you were telling before…”

“Before you ran into the arms of another man?” Sal said with a snide smirk: “Am I suddenly interesting to you again?”

“You’re always interesting.”

“I was just relaying an old story from an old adventure. Cassio and I ended on the bad side of Garuccia. It was hillbilly country. We were stripped and made to dig our own graves. Luckily for Cassio, I was there and managed to bullshit our way out. Cassio wrote them a cheque and when the bank opened in the morning… well… let’s just say I wouldn’t be here if it had bounced.”

“Jesus.” Nuncio muttered.

“All in a day’s work for a gentleman adventurer. We spent the next week hunting those hillbillies down.” Sal said.

Nuncio nodded and looked back at the party.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I thought you could use a pick me up.” Sal said.

“Wait? I could use a pick me up?” Nuncio said.

“Yeah. You should know you’re not alone.” Sal said.

“Alone.” Nuncio said: “When did you figure me out?”

“Pretty much immediately.” Sal said.

“I was that obvious?”

“Some people are.” Sal said and patted his shoulder: “And I have nose for this.”

Nuncio’s heart fluttered when Sal’s hand touched his shoulder.

“What about you?” Nuncio said.

“You can call me curious.” Sal said and poured them more brandy: “And you are always intriguing.”

Rest of the night was a haze, but he could remember more drinking and feasting with Jenny and Abigail. He watched spellbound when Jenny took a big gulp of champagne and then passed it to Abigail with a kiss.

“Jenny, darling, why don’t you give me a taste of that too?” Sal said.

In response Nuncio pinched Sal under the table while Jenny smacked him playfully on the head with Abigail’s fan.

“No woman should ever trust you with their lips or heart.” Jenny said.

Abigail cut herself some cheese and then pointed the knife at Sal.

“And we would hate to make this sweet thing jealous.” Abigail said.

“Especially after you saved him from your horny liege lord.” Jenny said.

“Liege lord?” Nuncio asked.

“My family is from the Heartlands. Which means my family was technically sworn to House Ferro.” Sal said.

“Lucky bastard.” Jenny said: “The Spring Islands fall under House Emmanuel’s jurisdiction.”

“We all have our cross to bear.” Sal said and downed a glass of brandy before looking at Nuncio: “What House was Cobbler’s Hold sworn to?”

“House Neri.” Nuncio said.

Jenny scowled and Abigail’s brow furrowed.

“You poor thing.” Abigail said.

“No wonder Pietro was such a prick.” Sal said.

Nuncio stared at the glass of brandy in front of him and then downed it like Sal had done.

“My father… was a bastard. A bastard! And we would have all been better off if the Osetarians had killed him!”

“I’ll drink to that.” I propose a toast to Nuncio’s old man.” Sal said and raised his glass: “Well, well, well… here we are, Pietro. A couple of cards. Both a bit worse for the wear. One of us more than the other but… it’s okay. I forgive you and just to prove that there are no hard feelings… I am going to sleep with your son.”

Everyone at the party had turned to stare at them but Nuncio was too drunk to care. He grabbed the champagne bottle Jenny had stolen for herself and took a deep gulp. Then he grabbed Sal by the hair and poured the champagne into his mouth with a kiss. His beard felt smooth against his skin and his lips tasted of brandy and candy. Somewhere far away, he could hear the partygoers cheer and applaud.

“Wow, Nuncio. A little self-control maybe?” Jenny said.

Sal licked the spilled champagne off his lips.

“Excess, my dear Jenny, is the Path to wisdom.” Sal said.

It was past three am when they called it a night. Nuncio was so drunk that he needed to lean against a table to stay upright.

“… hotel… we need to go back to the hotel…” Nuncio slurred.

“And let your mother see you like this? Me thinks not.” Sal said.

Jenny was holding Abigail in one arm and a bottle of champagne in another while they were heading out.

“I can give you a ride to Primavera Street. Don’t you still have a flat there?” Jenny said.

“Jenny, my dear, that would be swell.” Sal said.

“But only if you stop calling my wife dear or darling.” Abigail said.

“Fine.” Sal said mock outrage.

Jenny and Abigail helped Nuncio into the carriage while Sal hoppled after them with his crutches.

“Let us know if you need to vomit. We’ll open a window for you.” Abigail said.

“… thanks… sorry…” Nuncio said while he tried not to fall asleep: “… Primavera Street…”

“Yeah. I have a room there.” Sal said.

“… I thought… you had to be from the Spring Islands to live there…” Nuncio said.

“Very true.” Sal said.

“… aren’t you… a Roma?” Nuncio asked.

“From my father’s side. My mother is a Spring Island creole.” Sal said.

“Same thing with my mother.” Jenny said.

The carriage stopped in front of an apartment complex, and he was helped out again. Jenny and Abigail carried him up the stairs and into a simple flat before being dropped on a small bed.

“No hanky panky while he is this drunk.” Jenny said before leaving.

“I am offended you have such a low opinion of me.” Sal said.

“That goes for you too, Nuncio. No hanky panky.” Abigail said and kissed Sal on the cheek: “Goodnight, Sally.”

“Goodnight, Abigail. Blessing of the Wild upon your journey.” Sal said when showing them out.

The world was whirling around Nuncio while he lied on the bed. If he didn’t use all his concentration, he saw everything in twos and threes.

“Lovely couple but I am not going to lie. Abigail scares the bejesus out of me. Who treats fisting as first base?” Sal said while locking his door.

Nuncio could only offer gibberish as response and Sal looked at him sympathetically.

“If you need to vomit, be a dear and do it in here.” Sal said and placed a bucket by the bed before disappearing into a small kitchen.

With great effort Nuncio was able to sit upright and regretted not thanking Jenny and Abigail properly. Maybe he could still go after her and say… thank you… and ask what that thing about fisting was. Trying to stand up revealed an immediate flaw in his plan. Someone seemed to have stolen his legs and left behind nothing but straw.

“Wha… what are you doing in there?” Nuncio called out.

“Just some tea. You will thank me in the morning.”

“How… are you not… sloshed? You… drank… way more than me.” Nuncio slurred.

“Practice, darling, and let us not forget. I am a god.” Sal answered from the kitchen.

Nuncio nodded like Sal could see him and almost fell over. When he looked around Sal’s flat, he realized it was filled with flowers and boxes of sweets like they were… gifts from lovers.

“I… didn’t know… you liked flowers.” Nuncio mumbled.

“Gifts from satisfied customers… and customers whose families think I made an earnest effort.”

“Clients?”

Sal’s head peeked out of the kitchen.

“Nuncio, have you forgotten that I am a lawyer? That means defending clients and trust me… people from Primavera Street need a lot of defending.”

“I thought… you work for Cassio.”

“I do but I have some time for myself. Coppers are the worst crooks in the city and if they want an easy arrest, they just need to look at your skin to judge you guilty. That’s where I come in.”

“… are your clients… always innocent?”

Sal’s silence was deafening.

“I am a master in situational ethics and just because a man is guilty… doesn’t mean he don’t deserve a fair trial. Something Luciano Riggi hates with all his might.”

“The… wait? The chief of police?”

“The very same. Curse of the Wild on his seed.”

Nuncio felt nauseous and not because of the drinking. That man had had dinner with his father and… talk of coppers made him think of the one he had shot. A memory he did not wish to dwell on.

“… and they pay you in flowers and sweets?”

“In cold hard cash. Even the… economically challenged have their pride. The flowers and chocolate are just a bonus.” Sal said and hobbled out of the kitchen with his crutch while carrying a cup of tea.

“You… must be a… good lawyer.” Nuncio said and failed not to burp.

Sal shot an insulted glance at him while handing him the cup.

“Nuncio, I am a great lawyer.”

“Oh… ah… what makes a great lawyer?”

“A good lawyer knows the law. A great one knows the judge.”

Sal handed Nuncio a cup of strong, sweet tea and turned his back to fetch his tea. That was when Nuncio spotted a letter sticking out of his nightstand drawer. Too drunk to think about privacy, Nuncio pulled out the letter and skimmed through it. One name stuck out to him. Julian.

“… whose Julian?”

It was scary how fast Sal could still move with just one leg. He shot out of the kitchen and when he saw the letter Nuncio was holding… he suspected that was the look Mathilde and his father had seen. Using his crutch, Sal closed the distance between them in one huge leap and yanked the letter from his hand.

“A secret to be kept.” Sal said.

All of a sudden Nuncio felt like he was a balancing in a sword bridge, and he could see His Savage Highness lurking behind Sal’s human face. The moment passed so fast when Sal smiled again that Nuncio wondered if he had imagined it.

“Want some chocolate?” Sal asked.

“… sure.”

Sal opened them a box of chocolate and sat next to him on the bed.

“Now… I hate to be that guy but… you should be careful around Prospero.” Sal said.

“… why… you two seemed friendly enough.” Nuncio said.

“House rivalries are no reason to end a friendship but… politics are by nature an amoral game.” Sal said.

“… you said… you went to the same university.”

“I did.” Sal said and sipped his tea before smiling fondly: “Prospero was an impressive swimmer. One of the best in the university.”

“But… not the best?” Nuncio asked and attempted not to spill his tea while trying the chocolates.

“Not the best.” Sal agreed: “But he has something more important. Integrity. The university held this swimming competition, and it was a close call, but Prospero lost to the best swimmer in the university. Best boy even broke the schools record and was so overjoyed that he jumped to his teammates lane to give him a hug.”

“Oh… no.” Nuncio said.

“I see you’re ahead of me. He was disqualified on the spot and Prospero was declared the winner but Perry being Perry refused the gold. He said he hadn’t won and if the university forced the gold on him, they could melt it into a buttplug and stick up their collective asses.”

Nuncio almost choked on his tea while Sal drank his calmly.

“Needless to say he was banned for life from swimming.” Sal said.

“I think I can follow the logic.” Nuncio said and looked at Sal: “Did you swim?”

“I tried and sucked at it. I started too late and besides… you can climb and march up a mountain hungover but swim hungover? All that leads to is a criminal investigation on who threw up in the pool.”

Nuncio chuckled and drank the rest of his tea. Once it began to warm his stomach, drowsiness took over him.

“I think… I can sleep now.” Nuncio said and put down his cup.

“Not while wearing shoes, you’re not.” Sal said and pulled his shoes off.

Sal kicked his own shoe off too and Nuncio bit his lip when Sal took off his shirt, trousers, and waistcoat until only his underpants remained. Despite losing a lot of weight, he was still springy and muscular… and Nuncio could see three parallel scars running over his chest. Another mark father had left on him.

“Do those hurt?” Nuncio asked and touched the scars on his chest.

“I’ve been hurt worse.” Sal said and looked at him from head to toe: “You’re not going to sleep with your clothes on, are you?”

Nuncio’s cheeks were burning when he stripped down to his underwear and bit his lip so hard he could taste blood. He couldn’t even look Sal in the eyes when he lied down on the bed next to him and Sal pulled the cover over them. Sal’s skin felt smooth against his and he could feel his warmth. Despite the tea and the drinking, he had no idea how he was supposed to sleep like this.

“You know… Jenny said no hanky panky, but I don’t remember her saying anything about kissing goodnight.” Sal said.

“Me neither.” Nuncio said and leaned over to kiss Sal on the lips.

He could taste the brandy, tea, and chocolate on his breath and with them on his lips, he fell asleep. He did not dream that night. They slept long into the afternoon and much to Nuncio’s surprise, he woke up without a hangover. When he opened his eyes, he found Sal already awake and looking at him.

“What… was in that tea?” Nuncio said.

“Something that spared us much pain and regret.” Sal said and slapped his butt: “Come. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“Its four pm.” Nuncio said.

“Breakfast for dinner then.” Sal said.

They went downstairs to the lobby where a middle-aged Spring Island woman was reading the newspaper. She had shoulder length, curly hair, sharp brown eyes, and harsh beauty of someone who had wrestled with the world without being broken. Despite having the kind of heartiness that came from giving birth, she was still fit. When she saw Sal, she rolled her eyes.

“Well, well, well. The drunk returns. Me thinks a lawyer should know better than to make an utter pig of himself.” The woman said and looked at Nuncio: “Did you have to drag this poor thing down to your level?”

“Get off my case, mom.” Sal said and sat down: “Is there any coffee left?”

Nuncio blinked.

“… what?”

The woman shook her head but then poured them coffee from a cannister.

“At least you only lost your wits instead of another limb.” The woman said and smiled at Nuncio: “I hope my worthless son hasn’t caused you too much trouble.”

“Er… you’re Sal’s mother?” Nuncio said.

“Unfortunately, yes. I must take responsibility for this fiend.” The woman said: “Isabella Torrini at your service.”

“And a pain in my ass.” Sal muttered into his coffee.