A cute sun elf girl sat beside Spar, hair done in cornrow braids, a soft green halter tunic over strappy leather leggings and a sheer gold undershirt with three-quarter bishop sleeves. Spar turned to her, casually pushing his mohawk back. “Hey there.”

She nodded, bored, and gestured for the bartender.

“So uh, come here often?”

The sun elf glanced at Spar. “You?”

“First time. Feel lucky, though. Don’t often see this many fine ladies on a night out.” Spar waggled his eyebrows at her and looked her up and down.

She smiled and raised an eyebrow back. “You come here for the show?”

“The show?” Spar’s brows furrowed.

The sun elf grinned wider, green lipstick flawless. “Just stick around. You’ll find out.”

Spar leaned over to Twain. “There’s a show?”

Twain shrugged. “Apparently. Didn’t you lead us here? You should know, if anyone does.”

“That was a feeling. I don’t know anything about this joint.”

Twain looked at him, then sighed. “You know… I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed.”

“What can I say, man. We unicorns, we just get feelings sometimes.” Spar shrugged helplessly.

“Keep your ‘feelings’ to yourself.” Twain rolled his eyes.

Fell collided with his shoulder. He glanced over, and caught a goblin girl reaching for his pillowcase.

Twain batted her hand down. “Hey! Mind yourself!”

The goblin girl glared at him and spat. She bounded off the barstool and fled into the crowd, disappearing into the forest of legs.

Wait. That face…

Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Twain turned and surveyed the crowd. Humans, humans, a few beastfolk, a demon or two, a sun… his eyes narrowed. And a moon elf? Aren’t we a reclusive race humans have never seen before, or whatever that announcer said?

The moon elf met his eyes and stopped mid laugh, mouth still open. They stared at one another, both slack-jawed. Despite all odds, her face looked identical to Twain’s.

For a second, he stared, not sure what he was seeing. Then the dots connected. That dress is in my wardrobe. She looks exactly like me. That flicker by her face as she moves… she’s augmented her face with an illusion. That can only mean

“Cel?” Twain mouthed.

“Twain?” the mysterious moon elf mouthed back.

He whipped around, taking in the crowd again. And there’s Eleda… is that, what was the beastfolk girl’s name? Clarita? Beside her, that pale girl… I don’t know her name, but she looks a hell of a lot like the undead princess.

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He met Cel’s eyes again. “What the hell?”

She shook her head, started to mouth something, shrugged and shook her head again. Eleda patted her shoulder, and she gave Twain one last shrug before she turned back to her conversation.

He closed his eyes. This is a nightmare. Leaning in, he patted Spar. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Huh? Why?” Spar asked distractedly. The sun elf laughed and waved him away, and he frowned and turned to Twain. “C’mon, I was just getting somewhere.”

Twain nodded across the room. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, “Do you see who else is here?”

“I see a bunch of beautiful women,” Spar said, propping his elbows on the bar.

“Look with your eyes, not your dick,” Twain grumbled.

“Seriously, Twain, I don’t…” Spar trailed off. “Huh.”

“Huh, nothing.”

“What? Is… is something happening?” Fell asked. He turned and scanned the room as well.

Twain put his back to the room. “If we all stare, it’s damn obvious!”

“Hey, you can’t yell at the kid for being curious,” Spar said.

Fell stiffened, then turned around as well. “Oh crap.”

“What’re you getting scared of? See an ex?” Twain asked.

“Er… yeah,” Fell muttered.

Twain waved his worries away. “You’ve got that pillowcase of yours, don’t worry. Unless… You, uh… You didn’t… wear that pillowcase the whole time with your ex?”

Spar laughed out loud.

Fell shook his head adamantly.

“Then what are you worried for?” Twain knocked his mug against the bar. The bartender pointedly ignored him.

The curtains behind the stage twitched, and a heavyset, curvy older woman stepped onto the stage. The room fell quiet. She smiled and stretched her arms out to the crowd. “Hello! Hello, everyone. Hope you’re having a good evening. Our performers are running just a wee bit late, but please, hang on, and we’ll get the show on in just a moment!”

Cheers arose from the crowd. A few of the more excitable members whooped. The older lady smiled, glancing around the room. Her eyes settled on Spar and Twain, and her eyes widened, though the smile stayed in place. She waved one last time and backed off the stage.

“What was that about?” Twain muttered.

“Huh?” Spar asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Sorry, Twain,” Cel whispered in his ear.

He whipped around, but Cel still stood across the room, near Eleda. One hand pressed against her ear.

Twain lifted his hand and touched his earring. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to stay in my room!”

“Eleda wanted to go out on the town with all the girls! Even if I said no, she would’ve gone out with everyone else. I figured I’d go along and steer everyone away from the Arena! It worked great, except you’re not at the damned Arena, are you?”

“And you’re supposed to be in the castle… dammit.” Twain sighed and rubbed his face. “Just keep them away from me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Cel promised.

Bare seconds later, a heavy, clawed hand rested on his shoulder. Twain whirled, reaching for his knife.

The curvy lady from the stage smiled at him, teeth almost gritted. “Good afternoon, fine sirs. I don’t suppose you’d be looking to make a few coin tonight?”

Twain started to shake his head.

The earring buzzed. “Twain, heads up,” Cel hissed in his ear.

He twitched his ears behind him.

“Mouse, c’mon! Moon elves are super rare outside of Soanna, and there’s a handsome candidate right over there. Don’t tell me you’re going to ignore him?” Eleda demanded.

“I couldn’t. We’re here for His Majesty.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud. His Majesty will never know.”

Twain forced a smile at the curvy lady. “Say we are. What then?”

“I have an offer for a few shapely fellows like yourself. If you would, please, step around back with me?”

Spar grinned happily. Hesitant, Fell glanced at Twain. Twain grabbed him and ducked under the bar. “Please.”

The lady smiled and gestured them through a door behind the bar. He hustled Fell in

“Hey, you—dammit, he got away. Next time, you’ve gotta make your move fast, Mouse!”

Twain shivered. Too close.

The lady led them through a door behind. Twain, Spar, and Fell followed her under a curtain and down a hallway, into a dark room. The lady drew out a matchbook and lit a candle, and a locker room lit up, revealing strange clothes dangling from half-open cabinets, high-heeled shoes, and other mysterious things Twain couldn’t immediately identify.

“So.” The lady plopped herself on a bench, reached into her bra, and drew out a cigar. Chomping it, she nodded at them. “How do you feel about helping out with ladies’ night?”