Arc 9-26
I’m the first to enter, timing my entrance on the heel of a group of acolytes, that are loud enough to fit the festive atmosphere but not so loud they draw unwarranted attention. I break off as they head for a table, taking in the checkered tablecloths and the artistic portraits hanging on the walls, interspersed with art depicting joy and laughter. It’s a far cry from the utilitarian drinking room in my home village or Howie’s intentional ramshackle décor. The place reminds me of someone’s tearoom, complete with its plush chair, and the little sandwiches being served alongside the drinks.
The same applies to the bartender. Instead of the expected surly man with too much facial hair, a broad-shouldered matron steps up me, throwing a towel over her shoulder as she leans on the bar top. I freeze, waiting to see if she’ll recognize me; we deemed it a small concern, as most people know me from my colorful features, a non-issue in the distorting magic of the MZ. Her radiant smile suggests cluelessness; I might not have touched this part of the city, but I’m under no delusion that they don’t hate me the same as the rest of New Quest.
“What can I get you, sweetie?”
I drop seven silvers on the bar, separating one and pushing it toward her. “The best these can buy for a few rounds.”
The woman slips the lone silver into a pocket before scooping up the rest. “I got just the thing for you, sweetie.”
She returns with a tall glass that smells of honey, citrus, and bad decisions. I take a sip, smiling reflexively. With my constitution, it might as well be juice, but it’s tasty. I meet the matron’s eyes and tip the glass toward her, chuckling as her shoulders sag with relief. If I were in her shoes, I’d want to make sure the nice woman tipping silvers was happy too.
“Hey—”
“Go away,” I tell the approaching man, not even looking at him. “I came for the drinks, not the company.”
“You—”
“You heard her, Will.” The matron is quick to diffuse the encounter. She shoos him away like a stray wandering too close. “Girl’s out of your league, anyway.”
“You…” He withers under her glare. “Rich bitch,” he hisses softer than a whisper, stomping away.
“Charmer,” I remark dryly.
“He’s a pain, especially with a few drinks in him, but he pays his tabs and knows when to retreat.” She raises a thick brow. “Though I don’t blame him. Cute thing like you flashing that kind of money? There’s going to be quite a few interested.”
“Long as they understand the word no, there won’t be any problems.”
“Shame. Young thing like you should be jumping into love.”
I grin. “That’s just it. I am in love.”
She laughs. “Good! Though he’s an idiot leaving you here alone.”
I don’t bother correcting her; there aren’t a lot of women known for marrying another woman. In fact, I’m sure I’m the only one so open about it, especially in New Quest. She’d guess my identity in a heartbeat. “A little time apart makes the time together sweeter.”
“That’s true. My husband tried to get me to leave the night work to our younger workers, but we don’t do anything but bicker if we have too much time on our hands.” She chuckles as she moves down the bar to answer a shout. I return to my drink, letting the conversations move around me as I blend into the background.
Halfway through my second glass, the play begins.
The door opens. Eyes instinctively turn at the noise, the primal instinct to evaluate a possible threat taking hold. And once they see her, they can’t look away.
The woman who struts into the cheery establishment is brilliant. It has little to do with her looks, though she’s pretty enough; it’s a common beauty, the freckles across her nose and slightly crooked smile making her more approachable. The zone paints her in hues or yellows and greens, which suits her easy confidence. I can practically hear the thoughts of the men wondering what a woman like her is doing walking into a place like this alone and weighing her chances as she leans over the bar’s top.
“The Schoolgirl, please,” she orders confidently, sliding several coppers toward the matron.
“You from the Hall?” the friendly bartender asks as she grabs a glass.
“Oh, no. But I’ve been bought enough drinks to know my way around them.” The matron’s thick brows furrow, a tell that she’s trying and failing to place the woman so familiar with her drinks. The woman eases her concerns before they can fully manifest, starting with a bubbly giggle that couldn’t come from anything other than a charming young woman. “I don’t think we’ve met. A gentleman always offers to bring the drinks.”
With a logical reason to explain her lack of recognition, the matron’s suspicions fade away, her smile quickly returning. “Jessie. And you?”
“Gloria. A pleasure.”
Do you like names that start with G?
[Not particularly, but when it comes to remembering lies, it is better to have a point of commonality.]
You need the help?
[Not at all, but few are born great. I had to learn as well, my summoner.]
…really?
[Yes, though I learned very quickly.]
Ah, there’s her carefully managed pride. It’s one of the few emotions she displays I have any reason to believe is genuine; who wouldn’t be proud with her abilities?
My disguised elemental accepts her drink as she takes a seat, making idle conversation with Jessie the bartender. It doesn’t take long before the first contender tries his luck, though he brings a friend with him for support, the two of them practically preening as they offer to buy her refill.
She accepts graciously, happily making small talk. She baits them into talking about themselves and I don’t believe half of what comes out of their mouths, then men shooting each other glances as they subtly try to one-up one another. She masterfully plays them against each other with innocent remarks and backhanded compliments. Yet all the while, her eyes constantly drift to a certain table where our two idiots are buy entertaining their dates. And, with a little mental magic, one of the idiots turns to her. Their eyes meet. That’s all she uses her magic for but it’s more than enough.
Once he looks once, he can’t keep his gaze off her. She continues her mild flirtation with talking wallets, but when her target looks her way, her smiles are forced and her eyes are narrowed. It’s the face of a damsel cornered by predators, desperately dancing between insinuations and lecherous intentions as she awaits her hero.
What man could resist?
I shake my head as he excuses himself to grab refills. His friend is oblivious, but his date is more than aware of what’s happening, frowning in annoyance as he makes his way to the bar. Geneva, devious creature she is, uses her would-be suitors to further her cause. In the blink of an eye, the warm and coy woman batting her eyelashes at them becomes cold and dismissive, all but telling them to get lost. The men scramble to earn her favor, their desperation easily mistaken for aggression.
The matronly bartender is preparing to step in when our target does it for her.
“Oi! Can’t you see she isn’t interested? What kind of men are you, threatening a woman? The sign wasn’t an invitation for dogs like you to ruin everyone’s night.”
Unsurprisingly, the men take offense to our target’s heroism. They step up to him, glowering and posturing. Our target simply grabs the biggest one by the front of his shirt and lifts him into the air. Attempts to beat the arm does nothing to break the grip, reinforcing the display of prodigious strength. Suppose he’s gotten some of the melding Callan is handing out like party favors.
Our target releases his victim and the two men scurry off, shooting him dirty looks. Jessie scolds him but he placates her anger with an insincere apology and several silver. While she prepares the refills, he turns his attention to Geneva, his smile wide and confident. I bet he can’t imagine being rejected right now. A part of me almost orders Geneva to crush his ridiculous ego; we can always shadow them the hard way. But no. I’ve gained appreciation for delicate operations. Besides, the succubus rarely gets a chance to flex her skills. She looks like she’s having fun.
[I’d prefer more of a challenge but having a creature in your power is always a thrill.]
Pervert.
I like to think her amusement from our secret dialogue is what fuels her smile as our target flirts with her. When the drinks are ready, he invites her to the table, having the audacity to use the women, including the date he’s ditching, to reassure her. The disguised succubus naturally accepts, helping him carry his drinks.
It is a testament to her abilities that everyone at the table immediately takes to her. Including the discarded date; Geneva is making a point of including the woman in her flirtations, flustering the her something fierce. The target has absolutely no objection. He probably thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world.
How do you make a man trust you with a secret like mass murder in one night?
That’s a tough ask. Above all, it’s monumentally stupid. So, the real question is, how do you make a man do something monumentally stupid?
The answer is simple. Fill his mind with something he wants to badly his brain doesn’t work. In this case, that’s a long night with two pretty girls, though he obviously favors Geneva. The generous consumption of alcohol weakening his reasoning only makes it easier.
All she does is stand-up, preparing to leave. The girl’s lips twist in a mixture of confusion and disappointment. The target? Leaps to his feet so fast he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to stop her. He whispers sweet words and dirty promises, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t say it directly, but she implies she’s been with other men who say the same things. Powerful hunters that can lift a man and throw him around too; his little display is nothing special. What makes the target special? What can he give her beyond a few coins?
Well, an idiot like this has only one thing to offer. Soon enough, he’s dragging the second target into a corner and having a whispered debate. Both are drunk and cocky, though the second man is far colder; he reminds the target that if they take the women along and they can’t keep their mouths shut, they’ll have to die. A risk the target is more than willing to take, the bastard.
I rap my knuckles on the bar as the flies happily buzz right into the center of Geneva’s web. Saints, if she didn’t work for me, the ease with which she pulled this off while obeying my wishes to keep mental influence to a minimum would be nauseating. Now, it’s just unsettling.
“Another?” Jessie asks.
“Nah, I’ve had my fill.” I slide another silver across the wood, which she pockets quickly. “You’ve got a wonderful place here.”
“Come back and enjoy it again. Maybe bring that man of yours.”
“Maybe.” I leave her with a smile, easily mingling with the crowd on the streets before sliding into an alley.
Little Water steps away from the left wall and hands me my cloak. “Did she succeed?”
A snort escapes my lips without conscious input. “Of course she did. Hopefully, we can clean this up in one night.”