by Rebecca Grey
"Please do. I'll be in my office, you can bring the legends to me there."
With every word their voices grow nearer, and the thrilling frantic feeling inside my veins pulses harder. That's it. That's where I am. I'm not just in any room, I've made it to the owner’s office. Fucking shit. Please, don’t be his office, I beg the Saints.
The doorknob jostles as a key is pushed inside of it and twists. With my limited eyesight I look around, desperate to find someplace to hide. There's a second door to my left, a small one, probably a closet. I don't let myself think about it too hard, because the click of the lock echoes inside my head like warning bells.
As the door swings open, my back presses into jackets that smell musty and old, dust kicking up in the air and the closet door closes me in. It isn't one of those solid doors that keeps me completely hidden. No, this is one of those slotted doors that lets all the light in when Mica flips a switch, illuminating the room as he makes his way across the room.
I shrink back away from the glow that pours in on me without anywhere to actually go. I doubt Mica can see me through the door, but if I shift just the right way I can see him. It's hard to get a good look with the strips of wood breaking my view up every inch, but I can get the general view of him. Enough so that I'm afraid he's a Vampire.
Maybe I'm a cynic, but life only dealt me the shitty cards. If he doesn't smell Human, or even Elf, he may just smell the cigarette smoke that stains the fabric around me. It's the only thing that breaks up the smell of dust from the closet and the clean scent of the room.
Mica isn't particularly tall for a man, but he's of slender build, particularly petite. Sometimes that makes it harder for me in a fight if my opponent is small like that. They're slippery bastards, I swear. He has a black button-down shirt tucked into pressed khakis. Nice clothing for this side of the wall... This business must bring in plenty of cash. He'd said as much outside the door.
He walks smoothly across the room, setting a small glass with ice and I'm guessing bourbon on a small table at the end of a brown couch. He leaves the drink behind and makes his way to the desk that sits diagonally in the corner. I'd narrowly missed that when I'd entered the room. Mistakenly, I'd thought that was a nightstand.
Tight black curls are pressed into his head, the red glow of his eyes is particularly vibrant against his blemish-free skin. He smiles to himself, making two long fangs appear over his full bottom lip. Taking something up off the desk, he lowers himself into the seat.
A sigh waited on the inside of my lips. Somehow, I kept it in. How long is he planning on sitting in his office for? How long will I wait inside this stuffy closet? The dust tickles my nose. I scrunch up my face and hold in the sneeze.
I'm in for the long haul. Stuck in some Vampire’s closet, waiting like their next meal. Saints, this is probably the worst part of my job, along with the sneaking around. I'd been stuck in closets before and when no one knows that you are there they'll say and do anything. Sometimes the wildest things.
The most memorable always includes sex. Perhaps I'm messed up like that, watching people fuck. Normally it doesn't bother me. Sometimes I even enjoy it. It's just the familiarity of the Elf I'd seen in the window that threw me off, took me out of the moment, I mean. Not that I had the time to watch them get it on through the window.
I let time pass as I sit inside my thoughts, just waiting for the moment that Mica will leave this room again. My muscles yearn to move and stretch as the minutes tick by. As situations like these often do, I’m suddenly reminded of a pressing matter I haven’t taken care of in hours. Juilliard hadn’t shown me, but said where I could find a hole in the ship to ‘shit if I needed to’ before he’d let sleep take him over. I’d avoided using it, and now my body finds it necessary to remind me of it.
Mica sits behind the desk reading letters he pulls from long envelopes. My eyes start to flutter closed, the very least I can do right now is rest them. Maybe then I can forget about the discomfort of my full bladder.
A knock sounds against the door. I snap my eyes open. Mica lifts his head, setting the papers in his hand down on the desk. A smile teases at the edges of his lips as he answers, "Come in."
The door cracks open and another man, with the same dark curly hair, pokes his head in. He pushes glasses up his nose before they slip from his face. As soon as he speaks, I recognize the voice. "I've gathered up the money from all the patrons except one. I think I'll need your help, he's being rather rough with one of the girls too."
"Fuck." Mica pushes out of his chair. He opens a drawer in his desk, one that rattles as the contents roll about. He pulls a short knife from the drawer and slips it into a small sheath that dangles from his belt. "I'm sick of this shit."
Mica would no doubt use that blade on me should the occasion arise. I hold my breath as he gets up and moves toward the door. His steps slow as the man holds it open for him. He inhales and his brows pull together.
My skin goes cold, a nervous sweat building in my palms. I don't move. I don't breathe. I don't even dare to truly think. Sometimes my thoughts alone are so loud I swear they draw the attention of Hybrids.
The Vampire runs a hand over his chest, settling it against his abdomen. He looks around the room then squints at the man in his doorway. "Do you smell cigarette smoke?"
Oh, Saints. Oh, no!
The man with the glasses sniffs the air, then gives a slight shake of his head. This small action relaxes Mica. It relaxes me too, as the Vampire takes another step toward the door, his hand reaching for the light switch.
"If I find out one of these Elves is smoking around any of our whores, I'll kill ‘em," He growls. “Also, this reminds me, we need to ready a few rooms to host the meeting of the Resistance. I’d hate to start our challenge for the crown off on the wrong foot.” The light flicks off and the door closes firmly behind him.
My ears practically pull away from my head at the small line of information I’d just gotten. Spying often comes with the job and I’m not complaining because I can usually sell the information when necessary. And this is new information. Is Mica somehow connected to Genovese, Parlakey, and Spects? Are they all a part of this ‘Resistance’? Or perhaps more than one person is trying to take down the king? Either way, I tuck his words back in my mind for safe keeping.
With another door between him and I, I let go of a long exhale and push aside the closet door. Static clings the coat sleeves to my back as I take a step out and their arms follow me like hands that mean to snatch me back into hiding. I'm not sure how long Mica intends to be gone, but I'm not likely to hang about and find out.
I close the closet door and make my way to the only exit that leads to the rest of the building. Pressing my ear against the wood, I listen for anyone on the other side. The general music and disturbingly cheerful Elfish jolliness greet me. None of it near enough for concern. My hand skims the knob, my palm still damp. I grab it and twist, thrusting myself out in the hallway in one quick step.
No one waits outside, but the hall abruptly turns, hiding me from anyone's view. Voices carry, a general conversation and nothing more. I pull the door closed behind me and sulk forward to avoid getting caught lingering by Mica's door.
I round the corner to find a couple kissing against their room, not yet ready to enter. They don't come up for air even as I pass. A few rooms down two girls whisper to one another, their gazes lift to me, but they don't stop their conversations. I lower my chin, praying to the Saints that my features are shadowed enough. Both the girls are Elves themselves, and their sharp pointed ears stick out from elaborate updos. Skin tight dresses hug their curves and press their breasts up to their chins.
Beyond the women selling their bodies, the upper level opens up, just as Hedda's had. A wide staircase curves down to the first floor, its railings built with hand carved supports made to look like large shapely beetles. An odd statement to have in a place like this. Beetles are often the symbol for the Saint of Self-Control, and there’s hardly
any of that going on here.
I head for the stairs. At the top of the staircase I can see to the arrangement below. Booths are pressed into every wall with curtains strung up from the ceiling, some are open and some are closed. Half-naked women of a variety of races giggle and dance in front of their customers. I scan the floor, looking for someone who may be easiest to take with me.
Mica's voice interrupts my thoughts. "If you can't pay, then you can't stay." And his words are followed by the scuff of boots being dragged across the floor.
For my own safety, I don't look back as I start down the stairs. My steps beat as fast as my racing heart. When I come to the bottom step, I try to control the annoying uptick in emotions. Fear. Like many of the jobs I'd taken before, I have myself a moment of 'what if'. It's a painfully annoying Human thing to do. In a world where Hybrids have no fear, I know I need to squelch mine down. And I do.
I turn on the tips of my toes, making my way along the back row of booths. One of them remains empty and I lower myself into the seat. I'll let the girl come to me, I think. The fabric of the booth is like plastic and my leather pants don't slide across it near as easily as I would like. Plastic does make things, particularly liquids, easier to clean up. Which will be nice for Mica should I piss my pants here and now. The pressure building inside of me makes me think it’s not entirely impossible.
Sitting in the middle of the table is a small card holder with a worn piece of paper shoved inside of it. I pinch the paper's edges and bring it closer to my face. It's a list of some sort, with too many words for me to even try to decipher. So I set it back down, hoping that whatever girl comes to me happens to be a pretty one.
It doesn't take long, not near as long as I stood in that damn closet, before a woman without a customer ushers herself up to my table. Her eyes scan over me and I can't help but offer her the same treatment. Hedda may have asked for a 'pretty girl' but that's subjective. And this one seems pretty enough.
It's helpful for me that she's an Orc, meaning the only thing she can use against me is her own brute strength, and I'm pretty strong myself. Like most of her kind, her black hair grows in patches over her gray skin, unnaturally curled. She's a young Orc though, with little to no sunspots on her skin. Orcish skin is just so sensitive to the light, which is why most of them tend to wake only for the late evening. She has particularly large, round, blue eyes that take up half her face. Her bottom lip is full but her top lip is a thin line that slices across her face, only growing thinner as she smiles down at me.
"It's been a while since I was lucky enough to get a female customer. I'm surprised one of the others didn't try to get to you sooner." She drops herself into the booth. The edge of her black lace dress rises up her thighs and she scoots a little closer. "Girls are always so much more fun."
I slip my fingers into my belt, grinning. She leans closer still, purring as she lifts her hand to stroke along my face under the hood. Her fingers stop before she touches my ears, her nostrils flaring.
"Human?" she whispers, all of her muscles locking up as she becomes aware of my dagger pressing to her gut.
"Don't say a word." I tilt into her, letting our cheeks touch so I can speak into her. To anyone else, we're two lovers whispering sweet nothings. No one's aware that I'm about to walk her right out of this business. Right out the front door, to be exact. "You'll come with me and you won't make a show of it. I promise if you behave you won't get hurt. We're only going for a little stroll so I can introduce you to some new business opportunities."
"Hedda's?" Her voice is a dry rasp.
I nod my head before I lean away. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
There is something eerie about her eyes. It's unsettling how big they truly are. She's even more odd to look at when she tries to look out the corner of her eye and I can pretty well only see the whites. It makes her look possessed.
I follow to where she looks. A man stands many yards away, sipping a drink and watching all of the tables. Some sort of guard, I guess. I frown at her. "Take my hand and lead me outside. Make sure that you smile and give a little wave. Let 'em know you're okay. If you try to run, just know I'm great at throwing knives and I'm not afraid to do it."
"I won't get hurt?" she whispers.
"Cross my heart and hope to die." More like cross my heart and hope you die. But I’ll say whatever at this point just so I can make it to a bathroom before I burst.
The Orc plasters a fake smile to her face and starts to scoot out of the booth. I follow her, tucking the dagger into my sleeve but keeping its hilt inside my palm. When she stands, she straightens her dress and offers me her hand. The things I have to do. I'll be glad when I either die or become rich enough to avoid situations like this forever. I cup her hand, unable to will myself to intertwine our fingers as the way her fingers sprayed out would have suggested.
She takes one step and then another, leading us to the door. The man at the back of the room keeps his eye on us. She plays her part well and gives him a shy giggle and waves him off like she was told. He doesn't say anything or move from his spot, but I know that he keeps his attention fixed on us until we are out the door.
When it closes, I let her hand go and motion for her to walk before me. I exhale, knowing the worst is over. She kicks loose gravel with every step, her mouth pushed out in a full pout.
"So I guess I'm supposed to march into Hedda's? This is some stupid part of their little turf war? I ain't never wanted to be a part of this when I took the job, yet here I motherfucking am. Serves me right too for listening to my cousin's advice," she grumbles with every step.
"You're going to make my ears start bleeding if you don't stop complaining. I don't care about the damn turf war or whatever thing is going on here. I only care about getting you into Hedda's building so that I can then get back on my ship that's going to get me the hell out of The Bend. Move faster." Then I bite my lip, because I've said too much. I doubt there is any way that she could use this information against me. For a split moment it had felt like we were just two girls shooting the wind, complaining about the woes of our lives. She isn't an Orc and I'm not a Human. We're just women stuck in our sucky lives with no one else to talk to.
The group of Elves have moved across the street. I'm glad for the space between us. More so when they start their whistling and hollering at us. "How about the two of you come over and have some fun with us?" One of them is ballsy enough to shout. The one who had puked up his guts earlier is now lying on the ground next to the group. He groans a little as he tries to lift his head to look at us.
"Fuck off!" I growl and give them an obscene gesture.
They chuckle, turning back to their conversations. Then the Orc starts to talk again. "What's she even going to do with me, huh?" Her pace is painfully slow.
"Hell would I know?"
"You came to get me and you don't even know what she's gonna do. Did you not promise me that I'd be safe if I cooperated? Could you even promise me that at all?" Her voice pitches higher with every question. "I can't believe I came with you. I'm so stupid. I'm gonna die tonight, I just know it."
"You're not going to die." But I do place my hand on her back and nudge her a little bit faster. Sooner we get there the sooner this painful conversation can end. Sooner I can find an actual bathroom.
The moment we slip under the flickering street lamp and into Hedda's building, we are met with a resounding cheer. Marcello throws his hands up over his head and then snaps his fingers at Hedda, who looks more smug than surprised that I'd just done what I did. Juilliard bumps his fist against Marcello as they skip down the stairs to meet us at the door.
"I knew you could do it." Marcello pushes aside the Orc girl and grabs me by the shoulders. My hood falls off the top of my head as he shakes me. "I'm so happy I could kiss you right now."
"Don't." I shove a hand out, pushing him roughly against his chest. I ignore the idea of it and the way it makes my body buzz with anticipation.
&n
bsp; Marcello doesn't move. "It's just a metaphor, love. I don't intend on going through with it unless you ask nicely." Then he turns, pointing Hedda toward the girl next to us. The Orc wraps her arms around her stomach, looking around as if something might jump from any corner and bite her. And it very well could. "She did it, now you have no other choice than to uphold your word and join our team. Glad to have you. Best shot in all of Pacifica."
Pacifica is the name for the entirety of the land we live on. Both The Oasis and The Bend are a part of Pacifica, though they're so different I've never bothered to use the name to unite the two places.
Part of me has to wonder if Hedda knows anything about the Resistance or the fact that Mica has something to do with an uprising against the king. Maybe I’ll sell her the information at some point. Maybe I’ll keep it to myself for now.
"That took you long enough. If I knew you were going to take so long I would have bought myself a room to pass the time." Juilliard starts to slip my cloak off, reaching for his still tied to my back.
"You're not getting this cloak back," I whisper to him.
He stops, frowning for a moment before he simply rolls his eyes and wads my old cloak up into a ball. "Very well. Keep it. But I'm getting rid of this ratty old thing. I'll buy another."
"Good boy," I reply as Hedda crosses her arms and looks the Orc up and down.
"Picked a pretty one. Pretty enough." Hedda wrinkles her nose. "Girl, go up the stairs and to your right and go wait in my office for further instructions. I'll send someone up to get you when the time is right." The Orc sighs, staying pretty composed even though her eyes shine as if she might cry as she leaves us to head for the stairs. Hedda extends a hand. "Marcello, you rich bastard, you have yourself a deal."
Marcello's hand, his robotic hand, claps against Hedda's and they shake on it. He keeps his hand in hers as he spins her around. "Go pack your bags, babe!" Marcello certainly has a thing for calling women by pet names.
I lean closer to Juilliard to pick my hood back up and cover my ears. "Where is the bathroom?"
