40. Vesper #3
“I don’t disagree, girl,” he says. “It’s a travesty. I swear. Look at me! I’d totally be the life of the party with some alcohol in me. Alas, I am but a sad, sober Ophanim.” He turns and looks out forlornly over the undulating party. “Like, it’s totally not even fair.”
Figuring it’s best not to disturb the angel’s pity party, I tip the cup back and a strong explosive flavor bursts over my tongue.
It burns going down, setting my throat on fire briefly before mellowing out to a dull, annoying burn.
Almost immediately, the liquor goes right to my head and I have to blink when it suddenly becomes hard to focus.
The smoke around the room feels like it swirls a little thicker.
The music gets a little louder, thrumming in my bones.
Locke tips his own cup back and stares at me once he drains it, his eyes tracing my face hungrily.
Svetlana is inside her already empty cup, laying on her back, her wings flared open in hilarious laziness as she moans.
“More!” she shouts to the bartender. “We require more!”
And the bartender obliges.
My hips start to sway to the lively music.
It seems to take on a warped quality that I can’t follow and though my brain can’t make sense of it, I still find myself moving.
The crowd speeds up. People laugh around me, in my face, giggling as Locke, Svetlana, and I start to slump against the bar.
Too many eyes are watching us, clocking our movements, baring their teeth. Perceiving us. Sizing us up.
It’s on the fifth cup that I realize our mistake.
The bright city around us is warm and inviting compared to the Shatterlands, but this is still the Harrow.
There aren’t the bugs of Verdant Nexus here, or a yeti to beat us up.
It’s a city, and because of that, it felt cavalier, like a party.
Safe. New Babel feels safer than Dross because it isn’t crumbling, but the people here are still people.
And people always look for ways to exploit other people.
Unfortunately, I no longer have the mental fortitude to worry about that.
I throw my arms in the air and dance, trying to mimic the movements of the women around me, their sparkly dresses flaring out as they swirl.
Dox would love this place. She’d dance the night away, borrow a dress, live it up.
She can’t be here right now so I try to do it justice for her. I can hear her now.
“Live a little, Hyena!” she’d say. “Dance with me!”
“I’m dancing, Doxxie,” I reply, despite her not being here. Locke doesn’t move much. Mostly he just sways, but he does seem just a hint more coherent than me. Until he tosses back three more cups, one after the other.
Somewhere, Svetlana moans and hiccups.
Stevie is floating in the crowd, parting it like he carried a particularly bad case of Crowd Rot. He isn’t drinking, but he still looks like he’s having a good time.
I giggle, my eyes closing as I dance. I can’t seem to control my movements, my body swaying side to side, dancing .
. . oh, no. Not dancing. Falling. I slump against someone in the crowd and I’m shoved off of them into another.
They shove me again and I land in the arms of a new man I’ve never seen before.
“Well, hello, baby,” he coos, wrapping me up in his arms. “Care to come somewhere with me?”
“No,” I try to say, but my lips don’t seem to be working anymore. I struggle, but it’s weak compared to his strong hold. The man’s skin is a dark green, two sharp teeth protruding up over his top lip as he looks down at me.
“I got you, baby,” he coos. “We’re gonna have some real fun.”
I’m lifted off my feet and in his arms before I can react. My head rolls and I’m staring up at the ceiling, a very plain, black ceiling. Do something, I shout at myself, but I can’t seem to find my strength.
Cipher, I whisper in my mind.
The man carrying me stops. “Get out of the way, Crumb.”
“Put the woman down,” someone growls, his voice so deep it’s like he swallowed gravel.
“She’s mine. I found her first,” the man carrying me spits. “Go find your own doll.”
There’s the metallic slide of a blade I can hear even over the music. “I’m not going to repeat myself.”
The man holding me snarls. “You’re gonna get yours, Crumb.”
My head lolls and I’m suddenly plummeting toward the ground.
I can’t stop my fall, can’t even move my arms to catch myself.
Luckily, I don’t have to. Strong arms wrap around me and pluck me from the air, cradling me against himself.
My head lolls and I look up at such a familiar face, it aches.
I’ve seen him on posters before. On the nightly safehouse news. Everywhere. Nowhere. All at once.
Svetlana is sprawled out on his shoulder, her legs holding on for dear life as she hiccups in his ear and gives in to the drunken stupor I’m quickly falling into.
I reach up to poke the man carrying me in the cheek and he looks down at me with a grumpy expression. Sadly, I can’t do anything more than giggle.
“Hey . . .” I croak, my head collapsing backward again as the darkness starts to claim me. “. . . Legend.”