Chapter 2: Working Girl

“The Aiyek Archipelago has always, and shall forever be, Elandran territory. Any move on the islands is a test of our unassailable might.”

-Royal decree from the Valerian Dynasty.

Stephan had been forced to discard the shark’s meat, as much as it pained him, since it would contain unsavory chemicals and heavy metals. It became fish food.

The head was another matter. Stripped down to clean bone, the impressive jaw now hung over the bar, its razor teeth reflecting magelight.

Stephan milled behind the counter. Cleaned glasses that didn’t need it, wiped a countertop already polished to a shine. It was Sweet Devil’s official opening night, but he had seen more mirth at a wake. Three toughs sat near the back, whispering in hushed tones, occasionally casting mistrusting glances his way. He always returned them with a smile.

His first patrons. They had all ordered bottled beers. He lamented the missed opportunity to show off the cocktail-mixing skills he had practiced over the last few months, but he couldn’t blame them too much. Death by poison was concerningly common in Tumba, so many stuck to closed containers only.

I need to build trust with the locals, he thought, then they’ll come to me. Have patience.

Yin lounged against the back wall, broom in hand. He had her taking orders and cleaning up, but with the light start to the evening there seemed to be no need. Locking eyes, they both mimed out tying a noose and hanging themselves. Yin giggled at that.

The inside of the bar was large and open. A dozen tables, four chairs each. A scryer in the corner of the room displayed a powerbrawl match—darling bloodsport of the civilized world—with flickering hardlight images, volume turned down. The magelights in the ceiling glowed with a dim, warm light. Two boxy machines—emanators, one over the bar and one by the door—kept the place cool. At night, they could be switched over to provide heat instead.

The walls were hung with antique memorabilia. Old flintlock rifles, Yin’s killspade, a set of Attean coins from before the formation of the Concord, even a piece of spherical Ancestor treasure he’d never figured out the use for, but hadn’t the heart to sell. Torch’s red flower stood in one of the windows. The previous one had already died, but Yin had planted a new one, a laceleaf, which was blooming well.

The backlit wall behind him held shelves stacked with bottles of alcohol both mundane and exotic, from every corner of the world.

The bell above the door tinkled. Stephan’s gaze shot up, hopeful.

A cat wandered into the bar. Black as a raven, sleek, scars marring its otherwise pristine coat. Its left eye had been clawed out. A stray. Looking about, it leapt onto one of the back tables, then from there to a window sill. It curled up, settled, tail flicking about its face.

Stephan sighed. “Tell that cat it’s got to order a drink if it wants to stay,” he called jokingly to Yin.

In that case, I’ll have a Wildstar, a foreign voice spoke inside Stephan’s head. Frowning, he realized that Yin looked similarly confused, rousing from her relaxed position.

“Did… Did that cat just…” Stephan stuttered.

Ah, you’re one of those people, the voice carried on. In that case, let us get the formalities out of the way. I am Aegur, envoy of Ordynion. I am a maiori, although you will likely refer to me as a ‘magic, talking cat’.

“Dad,” Yin said, concern in her voice. “Do we have a magic, talking cat in our bar?”

The stray sighed.

“Ordynion,” Stephan said. He left his post at the counter and wandered across the room. “God of pleasure. You still serve the old gods?”

Ordynion was part of the old pantheon, worshipped sporadically in northern Eurinos after the formation of the Concord. Then the God Hunt came. Now there were no gods left in the Concord. None but corpses. Stephan remembered following those events on the scryer with interest. Of course, he wasn’t religious, so it hadn’t mattered much to him either way.

Indeed, the cat spoke, eyeing him with slitted eyes colored an odd violet. You are Concordian, aren’t you? I can smell it on you, that traitorous odor. Oh well, when needs must. Fetch me a Wildstar, immediately. I have thirst.

Stephan and Yin shared a glance. Both shrugged. He headed back behind the bar to prepare the order.

Two parts hennesun, one part orange liqueur, one part lime extract and a dash of bitters.

“Traditional or international?” Stephan asked.

International, the cat purred inside his head.

Nodding, Stephan poured the mix into a cocktail glass and added sugar around the rim. He brought the cocktail to the stray cat, placing it in the windowsill. Yin had already taken to scratching it behind the ears.

“Don’t touch it,” Stephan said. “Could have fleas.”

I most certainly do not, Aegur the cat insisted, puffing up its chest. I am clean as innocence. Smell me if you doubt it!

“I’d rather not.”

Yin leaned in for a sniff. Her eyes widened. “He’s right!” she exclaimed. “Smells like flowers!”

Stephan relented with a shrug. “Would you like me to open a tab?” he asked, observing that the cat had nowhere to store coin on its person.

That would be best, Aegur said. It began lapping from its cocktail, and its eyes narrowed to contented slits.

Sensing that his work was done, Stephan retreated to his station.

That was something, he thought. At least I can’t classify the evening as boring anymore.

One of the toughs ordered another round of beers. Stephan obliged. He placed three Red Arbors on the counter, flicked off the caps with his bar blade, and took the two sigils presented, giving back eight bits as change. The tough took the bottles back to his table, already drinking from one.

The door swung open. Stephan perked up in anticipation of another patron. A woman came in, pink-haired and pale-skinned. She wore a lacy dress, straining at the top against impractically large breasts—each at least the size of her head. Her delicate face was bruised, lower lip swollen, but she wore a dazed smile.

She was clearly modified. The silver focus imbedded in her arm to collect eastern money marked her as a prostitute.

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The woman took a seat at the bar and slumped forward, streaky hair going in her face.

“Evening, miss,” Stephan said. He switched on his glasses with a whispered command word to get a look at her aura. Something was off about her.

As he suspected, her aura was subdued and sporadic. Not from alcohol, nor from injury. A drug of some kind, he guessed. Maybe Rainbow.

“Hello,” the woman said, speech slurred. She looked up at him, pupils expanded to nearly swallow up her irises. “I’d like a drink, please.”

As much as it pained him to admit, eager to please his patrons, Stephan couldn’t serve her.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should be drinking in your state,” he said.

“Oh.” The woman got up to leave, her movements languid.

She’s just going to head to another bar. If she starts consuming alcohol in this state, something bad might happen.

“How about this?” Stephan asked. “I’ll make you a drink I know you’ll like. On the house.”

The woman paused, nodded, and plopped back on the stool. Stephan struggled not to stare at the breasts rested atop the counter, great mounds wrestling for space.

Stephan knew just the thing to make someone in this state of distress. With some of the more magical ingredients he had on hand, he set about putting together a potion.

Two parts Sunburst Orange, one part biofluid, one part white clover extract. Mixed, it became a viscous, yellowy liquid. Serving it in a traditional tetrahedral potion bottle, he added a featherball on top.

“There,” he said, presenting the potion on top of a napkin. “That’ll cheer you up.”

“What is it?” the woman asked, peering down the bottleneck.

“Luck potion. The name says it all.”

The woman looked up at him, a ring around her eye from the lip of the bottle. “It’ll really make me lucky?”

Stephan nodded.

It wouldn’t, of course. The potion contained magic, but it wasn’t that magical. It would merely give her an added sense of confidence, take away anxiety. To many, the results were indistinguishable.

The woman gingerly sipped at the potion. Lips peeled back, and she displayed white teeth, one front tooth chipped at the corner.

“What’s your name?” Stephan asked as he watched the woman struggle to consume her drink.

“Amaline,” the woman said. “What’s yours, bartender?”

“Stephan. Do you mind if I ask how you got hurt?”

Amaline paused. The brief moment of silence it took to think up a lie. In the end, none came. She just shrugged.

“Did someone hurt you?”

“Not badly. I don’t even feel it.” Amaline giggled, but it was forced.

“I’m sorry if I’m being presumptive, but you work the street, don’t you? Did a customer do this?”

She shook her head. “My boss.” Her voice became a whisper, desperate. “I didn’t want to work for him anymore. He didn’t like that. Said I had to stay. I left anyway, so now I’m here.” She spread her arms wide. “Ta-daaa.”

She doesn’t feel her wounds. That sounds like laughing-bark. Turns pain into pleasure. Something a pimp would want to get their girls hooked on, one presumes.

“My boss might be looking for me right now, actually,” she continued. “He can get a little handsy when he’s upset. I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience.”

“Not at all. We’ll make sure no one bothers you while you’re here.” Stephan glanced at Yin, making sure she was listening. She gave a thumbs up.

Amaline smiled, shaky but genuine. She swept the rest of her potion and munched down the featherball. “Thank you. I don’t know, am I being silly? Should I go back? It’s not a bad job, I guess, it’s just…”

“I think you’ve already made your choice. Your boss seems like a real asshole.”

“You’re right. I don’t know where I’ll go, though.”

“You’ll find a place. Don’t worry.”

“My boss gives me good stuff, too. Wouldn’t know where to get it, if not from him.”

“Laughing-bark?”

Amaline nodded. “Yeah. It helps a lot. Without it, I…” She paused, rubbing a bruise on her cheek. “I’m in a lot of pain without it. Like I’m drowning in acid.”

“Maybe you should quit,” Stephan remarked. “New job, fresh start.”

“I tried a couple times, but I can’t do it.” Amaline tapped the empty potion bottle with a long, tapered fingernail. “What do you put in this stuff, Steph? I can already feel something.”

“Trade secret,” Stephan said with a wink. “I’ve got a spare room upstairs. I could let you borrow it for a few days. Keep an eye on you if you want to get clean.”

Amaline’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that?”

“Sure.”

They narrowed. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much money?”

He shrugged. “None at all.”

“Then what? I won’t fuck you. Like I said, I quit.”

“I don’t want anything. Well, actually, I just opened up this place, so it would be nice if you could put in a good word with your friends. That sound fair?”

Amaline cocked a sculpted eyebrow. “For someone in such a nice suit, you’re a terrible businessman.”

Stephan laughed. “You’re not wrong there. What’s the verdict?”

The door sprung open and slammed into the wall, bell ringing madly. A man barged in. He wore a dirty suit, wild eyes peering around the bar from under a wide-brimmed hat. They settled on Amaline.

Though Stephan’s fingers itched for the pistol under his suit, Stephan was keen to avoid a fight. It wouldn’t do to get blood in the floorboards on the first day, after all.

He rounded the bar, putting himself between the woman and what was, presumably, her boss.

“Head into the back,” Stephan said to Amaline, pointing towards the door next to the counter which led into the storage room.

She complied, scurrying away while hoisting up her faltering dress.

The man stopped in the center of the room, thumbs hooked through his belt. A six-shooter rested in a holster on one side of his hip, a sheathed knife on the other. “What’re you doing, bartender? I’m only here to take back what’s mine. Don’t interfere with that—it’s impolite.”

Yin set aside her broom. Eyebrows raised, she seemed to be asking ‘Should I deal with him?’. Stephan slowly shook his head.

“The lady’s made it clear to me that she doesn’t want to work for you anymore,” Stephan said. Despite the insistent flutter in his stomach, he stood his ground. “You’re not welcome in this establishment.”

The pimp cocked his head. “Who said I was asking for permission? If you don’t step aside, I’ll have to take her by force.”

The three toughs watched from their corner with some interest. They exchanged coin, betting on the outcome. The stray cat yawned, one violet eye glancing towards the confrontation with mild annoyance.

“Try it,” Stephan said. He tried to put on a confident grin, but it ended up a toothy grimace.

The man reached for his gun.

With a practiced motion, Stephan opened his suit jacket, free hand darting to the Rivello. He drew his piece while the pimp still fumbled with his holster, aimed, and fired.

The pimp screamed. His leg buckled, red spilling down his pants, and he fell back. The hat flipped off his head, rolling away and coming to a stop against a table.

“I’m gonna… fucking… kill you!” he grunted, face screwed up with pain. He was still reaching for his revolver, trembling fingers closing around the grip.

Yin took two long steps and kicked the gun out of his hand. The pimp drew his knife instead and pushed off with his good leg, lunging at the green-skinned girl. She sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted until there was a loud pop. Agony redoubled, the pimp dropped his weapon and crumpled to the floor.

Money changed hands. Two of the toughs grumbled their disappointment. The third counted his winnings with a grin. Aegur the cat settled his face on his paws, exhaled sharply, and closed his eyes.

“Take him outside, would you?” Stephan asked of his daughter. “He’ll get blood all over the floor.”

Yin obliged, hoisting the man by his suit collar and lifting him over her head. She fished the door open with one foot and flung him outside, then slammed it shut. The toughs, upon seeing this feat, went quiet and returned to their drinks, exchanging wide-eyed looks.

Looking towards the back room, Stephan found Amaline peeking through.

“He’s gone now,” he said. “Your boss won’t bother you anymore.”

Amaline nodded in thanks. “You’re a better fighter than a businessman.”

Stephan shrugged. “Only marginally.”

“I think I’ll take you up on your offer, Steph, if it’s all the same to you.”

“A fine choice.”

Stephan’s gaze returned to the bar and settled on the large bloodstain already soaking into the wood. A splintered bullet hole in one floorboard glared back at him.

“Damn it,” he muttered, holstering his pistol. “Couldn’t go one day without messing up the place.”