Nikolo
“Nikki! Just the boy I was waitin’ on. Got the mother load in this week.
You wouldn’t believe it. Old, rich shifter lady from the fancy part’a town.
Her kids brought in bags and bags of the stuff.
You’ll die.” Kroy pauses in his rapid fire greeting, cocking his head with his hand on his hip. “Again.”
Yep. I was waiting for it. Exactly on time, Kroy bursts into a loud honking laugh, all too amused with his own self.
He’s never once let an opportunity to make a joke about me being a vampire or vampires being dead pass.
It’s never malicious. It’s just the way that he is.
Loud, kinda brash and always over the top.
It would be hypocritical to be too judgemental over it.
Running my hands over the rack of sequined, shoulder-padded jewel-toned coats, I make my way to the centre of the store, a genuine smile on my face.
Packed to the brim with second-hand clothes, Flimsy Sheath is one of my most favourite places in the world.
Kroy’s ability to gather and collect his incredible collection of vintage fashion is a strange gift for a fae to have, but then, Kroy is a strange fae.
After all, not many would befriend a ratbag, freshly turned vamp. Even fewer would change their shop hours specifically to accommodate my kind.
“Sounds amazing. Where is it?” I peer around the crammed shop for a rack of freshly unpacked stock.
“Back here, like I said. I was waiting for you.” Kroy waves a big brown hand at me and nods to the back of the shop.
“I’d say you shouldn’t have, but that would be a lie.” I smile even wider at my old friend and make my way to the back room. The sign on the door says ‘staff only’, but I’m an exception to a lot of rules.
The cardboard boxes sit in the centre of the chaotic staff room like a golden beacon. From the gold sequined fabric hanging out of the top of the half-opened box, I know I am in for a blessing from the Gods themselves.
And I’m right. When Kroy makes his way to the back room an indeterminate time later, I’m drowning and half drunk on vintage clothes. I’m almost sad that the clothes were donated—whoever had them previously was obviously a legend and I wish I could have known them.
These leather pants, though? I am in no way devastated that they ended up in my possession.
“Would you look at these!” I gasp, holding up the leather trousers to show Kroy.
They are so low rise I’ll have to make sure I don’t flash my pubes.
The leather is so soft, with a diamond scale pattern I’ve never really seen before.
In the light they reflect colours like an oil patch, but otherwise they are so matte they are almost like a black hole.
I’m gonna look so fucking good in them. “I wonder what they’re made of… ”
Kroy chuckles as I put the pants reluctantly to the side and survey the mountain of fabric around me.
“You look like you’re having fun. Find anything for your little dances?
” Kroy rests his ass on the ancient, beat up desk and smiles at me indulgently.
That’s what he calls Kai and my performances as the Hot Vampire Bartenders—our ‘little dances’, like we’re five-year-olds at our first dance recital, not two smokin’ hot vamps toeing the line of public indecency.
“Sure did. Check this out. We’re doing toga night.” I hold up swathes of cream material I am going to have to alter into slutty little togas and a king's ransom in gold chain and medallion belts.
“Sounds good. Maybe I’ll come see it.” He nods sagely, crossing his arms over his barrel chest and I fight down the urge to wrinkle my nose.
I love Kroy, but he’s like a father figure and him knowing I fuck around on the bar at Bloody Temptations is one thing.
Doing it in front of him… well, if I could still blush when I’m this hungry, I would be fire engine red.
“Yeah. That would be great.” I divert my attention back to the box I just emptied, pulling out the last silk scarf and tying it around my neck so I don’t have to look Kroy in the eye. His burst of laughter cuts through my tension.
“Glad you make your money dancing around shaking your cute little behind and not acting, because that was terrible, kid.” He laughs and shakes his head, picking up a black-and-white striped sequin caftan and nodding to the last box. “You missed one.”
“Just getting to it,” I grunt, yanking it towards me.
A vintage fur coat in the most insane dark cyan colour with black spots is definitely coming home with me.
And a pair of chunky black platform heels that look like they could be original from the first wave of punk-rock fashion going mainstream.
Beneath a glittering red floor-length gown and another formal gown, that, considering it looks like it’s a couple centuries old, should probably be in a museum, not on sale at Flimsy Sheath, my hand hits something hard.
“What’s this? I thought you went through the boxes.” Carefully I pull it out, ignoring Kroy’s shrug.
“Meh, got bored. Thought I’d leave it to you. You can help me price it all later and get those shoes for free. I’ll go warm you up some blood.”
I roll my eyes at the casual bribery. Kroy has been trying to get me to work here since the first day I visited, but I refuse to let my passion for clothes turn into work this early in my life.
“Hold up.” I call over my shoulder, cracking open the jewellery box. “I think you have some actual shit in here. You should probably go through it, not me.”
As a vamp, all my magical juice goes into keeping me alive.
Or, at least, that’s the current theory.
Not that it matters, because it all means the same thing in the end—I have no practical magical ability.
Any being that turns loses it. Shifters can’t shift, mages can’t mage, faes lose their gifts.
Which all means if there is something gnarly in this box I’ll have no idea.
Kroy trundles back over, shuffling through the pile of clothes to take the box I’m holding above my head.
“Shit, sorry chook. Didn’t think I left anything in there.” He tuts and sits down heavily in the dusty old armchair behind me. I try to ignore him, and the uncomfortable, squirming feeling in my guts. I definitely need that blood, sooner rather than later.
Kroy roots around in the jewellery box, while I pointedly inspect the delicate fabric of the antique dress. The craftsmanship truly is spectacular. The hand stitches are impeccable.
“Oh, what’s this then?” Metal slides against metal and I turn to see Kroy’s big hand pull out a glimmering silver chain with a huge medallion inlaid with an impressively large blue and green gemstone.
I may not be able to hear the stone or the metal sing anymore, but I sure as shit recognise the stone and the metalwork. It’s from the Coruxix Mountains—my former clan.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Kroy breathes, holding it up so the necklace sways back and forth, “I should probably take this to Egbert up the road.”
I’d been hypnotised by the blast from my past but his words shake me out of my reverie.
“Wait? You know Egbert?” Egbert, current owner of The Magnifitestique Mage, member of my former clan? For all intents and purposes, my Egbert? Kroy knows him?
I don’t like it when my worlds collide. I’ve worked hard, really, really hard to keep my lives separate.
The before and the after, with a very defined line between them.
Very few beings have gotten to cross the bridge.
Egbert’s one of them—in fact he’s become part of the whole structural integrity of said bridge.
That he’s apparently close to the integral support pillars on this side of my life feels… uncomfortable.
I need to get off this bridge metaphor and back to Kroy.
He’s giving me a funny look; I’ve been staring at the medallion too long.
He probably thinks it’s sketchy. But now that I’m looking at it, I mean really looking at it, I can recognise some of the markings.
It’s a glamour medallion, with a dash of luck and a healthy dose of ‘top dog in the room energy’.
Depending on its age, I would put money on Damira—an aunt five times removed or something—made it. She was good at those sorts of charms, really knew how to really sing to the earth to draw the magic out for those qualities. Her charms would go for a mint in a place like Egbert’s.
Still, I find my hand reaching out, my fingers wrapping around the metal. It’s ice cold, even in the warmth of the stockroom, which isn’t too unusual for the clan's metals. It's how less knowledgeable merchants authenticate their wares.
“You right there, chook?” Kroy eyes me warily, tugging gently on the chain. My fingers tighten until the edges dig into my skin. “Need that blood?”
“Yeah. Yeah, probably, but, uh, this necklace?” I tear my eyes away from where it’s gripped in my hand, up to Kroy, trying to relax my face a little. I’m hungry enough for my fangs to be getting sharp, which isn’t helping me appear rational and calm. “I want it.”
“I can see that, chook. But maybe that’s not a good idea. You’re lookin’ a might bit feral there, and, as much as I trust your judgement when it comes to the clothes, this is a bit odd. Even for you.”
He sounds like he’s trying to talk a rabid dog off the edge, and it’s ridiculous enough to loosen the tension in my shoulders. Schooling my face into something a little more relaxed, I tilt my head and roll my eyes.
“Gods forbid a boy want something shiny, Kroy.” He scoffs but doesn’t let go of the chain. Neither do I. “It’s not what you think. I know what it is. I think I even know who made it. It’s a glamour charm, nothing more.”
The wary look turns shrewd, and that’s probably worse, but the tension on the chain eases ever so slightly.
“And how do you know that, chook?”
I shift uncomfortably, swallowing thick against the lump in my throat.
“It’s from my old clan.”