Chapter 6: Capital Gains
Running an underground operation filled with magically-enhanced femboys is, surprisingly, not profitable by default.
At least not when they keep spending my gold on enchanted perfume and thigh-highs with real silver threading.
"Cecil," Roderick said, holding up our ledger like it was a cursed tome, "we’re broke."
I took the book, stared at the red ink bleeding from its pages, and gave the most reasonable response: "This is clearly a forgery."
"No," he said. "It’s your handwriting."
"Oh. Then I was clearly possessed."
We were huddled in the lounge, a candlelit war room of velvet cushions and increasingly expensive wine that I could not afford. Jules was lounging on a loveseat, dressed in nothing but a mesh top and lip gloss.
"You could sell some of your magical accessories," he suggested, sipping a drink I never authorized him to pour.
"I could also sell one of you to a traveling prince," I replied. "But we don’t do things that way."
Elian blinked. "We don’t?"
"No. We do it better."