Chapter 8 Purgatory #2
“Huh.” Glyma cocked a hip, gaze jumping between them. “This might be the most sexual tension I’ve ever witnessed between you two.”
“Oh, gross!” Quin cried as Waryn gasped dramatically, hand pressed to his chest in affront.
“You take that back, young lady!”
And Glyma laughed, full-bellied and boisterous. It may have put a sappy smile on Quin’s face, but she would never admit to it. “How does anyone believe you two are in love?”
“Because I am an exceptional actor,” Waryn boasted.
“And I scare people into compliance,” Quin said.
“Sure,” Glyma said before she took Quin’s arm and dragged her toward the station exit. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
Outside the station, the blue sun felt extra bright and hot, glaring off the teal sand. The mustard sky was clear of any clouds to offer shade, and Quin—who had sharper eyesight than most—had to squint to protect her retinas.
They fell into step with one another as they crossed the sand toward a dilapidated, yellow brick building with a red metal roof. Quin walked in the middle, Waryn on her left, Glyma to her right. Glyma linked them at the elbows, and Quin tried to calm her racing heart.
“You look nice,” Glyma said, smoothing a hand over the lapel of her Quin’s powder blue blazer. “It’s a good color on you.”
She blushed like a teenager and ducked her head. “Thank you. Your dress is very fetching—I mean, it’s a pretty pattern.”
“Thanks. It has pockets!” Glyma showed off the pockets with her free hand, and Quin chuckled.
“All your dresses have pockets. I thought it was a prerequisite for you.”
“I do love a dress with pockets,” Glyma agreed. “Why should I have to sacrifice convenience for beauty? Men get pockets on everything, and they barely have any stuff.”
“I agree,” Waryn said. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense. Except for, you know, sexism.”
Meeting Waryn’s gaze above Quin’s head, Glyma said, “If marrying you wouldn’t make Quin miserable, I would be so happy you’re the man she chose.”
Waryn simpered. “Aw, Glyma, that is so sweet.”
“When did this become my life?” Quin questioned no one in particular.
“Oh my gods, look at it,” Glyma breathed, squeezing Quin’s arm.
Quin followed Glyma’s gaze to the building rising before them. It wasn’t in horrible disrepair. Some weather damage and discoloration, and one of the windows was cracked. But the roof was in good shape, thankfully, and from the quick perusal Quin gave it, the foundation looked sound.
“The sign will go right there. The Passing Through Cafe.” Glyma waved at the brick above the front door.
“You chose a name?” Quin asked, and Glyma shrugged.
“It’s my favorite so far. Has a nice ring to it.”
“I don’t get it,” Waryn said.
“Because no one comes to Purgatory,” Quin started.
“They’re only passing through,” Glyma finished.
Waryn chortled. “Clever girls.”
The front door opened, and a harrowed looking Sypent scowled at them. “You’re late.”
“Come now, my good man. Only a few minutes. We were admiring the architecture.” Waryn slapped the Sypent on the shoulder, making his tail rattle in warning.
Thank the deities Quin and Waryn were here for the viewing. The Sypent was from Pride—and a man—and if he felt comfortable enough speaking that way to Waryn, a Daemon from Greed—and also a man—how much worse would he have treated Glyma had she come alone?
The realtor introduced himself as Grof, shaking all three of their hands. He hesitated with Glyma, and Quin’s lungs started to boil, heat building in her sinuses. Like Glyma could tell, she reached out and gave Quin’s wrist a squeeze. It helped, but only a little.
Luckily, Grof wasn’t the landlord himself, just a representative of the firm who was renting the property, but Quin still despised him. She listened, though, when he went through the history of the building.
“It was used by some of the building crew when they were constructing the train station, and later, the DDMV. Most of the foremen would sleep here, while the lower crews slept in tents. They used the kitchen and main space as a mess hall.”
Waryn launched into questions immediately as Glyma gazed around in wonder. Quin could almost see the creative ideas flying through her mind, and her excitement was infectious.
“I’m going to paint the walls purple, and we’ll hang curtains, and this will be where patrons can sit.
” She motioned to the space currently housing hundreds of cardboard boxes from the DDMV.
Then she spun to the small corner counter and smoothed her hands over the dirty surface.
“Customers will pick up their coffee and pastries right here, and we’ll have the espresso machine here.
And then there’s space here for a bakery case.
We could install some swinging little doors here with an ‘employees only’ sign. ”
Pressing her hands together like she was praying, she brought her fingers to her lips and squealed. “Quin, it’s perfect.”
“I know you’re excited,” Quin said, not wanting to squash her enthusiasm. “But remember—”
“Realistic expectations,” Glyma repeated, and Quin rubbed her biceps, ignoring the electricity crackling up her arms.
“Let’s see everything first. Keep imagining, but don’t forget to see what’s actually here. Okay?”
After three deep breaths, Glyma nodded. “Okay.”
The kitchen was in worse condition than the dining area.
Most of the appliances weren’t good anymore, though the oven may have been salvageable.
The walk-in cooler hadn’t been in use for years, and it smelled like rotten vegetables and rodent shit.
Everything was covered in several layers of grime and dust.
“Just needs some elbow grease,” Grof said, and Quin scoffed.
“It needs a crime scene clean-up crew.”
“We’re not paying for that,” he snipped.
“Can I see the flat above?” Glyma asked, and they retraced their steps to the main area, then followed Grof down a narrow hallway.
“There’s a room here that was used as an office of sorts. They kept the building plans and blueprints here.” Grof opened the door to the room at the end of the hall. It wasn’t overly spacious, but it was the perfect size for an office.
Two doors on the left led to a bathroom and a supply closet respectively, and the final door on the right held a staircase.
Glyma went first, and Quin followed. The space above was a modest size for a one-bedroom.
The front door to the apartment opened up to a small kitchen and living space, open concept.
Two sliding doors separated the space from the bedroom.
The only bathroom was a small ensuite, which meant guests would have to walk through the bedroom, but Glyma didn’t seem to mind.
“There’s a direct entrance as well,” Grof said, pointing to the balcony that also doubled as a fire escape. “A set of metal stairs out the back, if you don’t want to walk through the commercial space.”
“Is it smaller than your current place?” Quin asked, and Glyma see-sawed her hand.
“The kitchen’s smaller, for sure, but the bedroom is more spacious. And there’s a tub.”
“You wouldn’t have to do as much up here,” Waryn commented as he checked the fridge and turned on the kitchen sink. “The top floor was better maintained.”
“It’s structurally sound,” Grof said, which was really the only thing the place could boast about.
“I love it,” Glyma said, and Quin cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, but I love it, Quin. It’s… I know it’s gonna take a lot of work, but it’s perfect.”
The flat was more or less livable, and the commercial space could be spruced up. The kitchen was Quin’s biggest worry, but if they—Glyma—hired an inspector to make sure the vents and the pipes were good, it could be salvageable.
“It could be pretty great,” Quin said, and Glyma rounded on her.
“Really?”
“You don’t need my permission,” Quin said.
“No, I know that. But I’m not the professional one here. I value your opinion.” She spoke to Waryn next. “Both of your opinions.”
Waryn looked around, hands in his pockets. Grof mumbled something about a phone call and disappeared back downstairs. When the door at the bottom of the staircase shut, Waryn nodded.
“It’s solid. It will take work, and I mean physical labor, to really get it where it needs to be.
There are some repairs needed, like the broken window and I saw some cracked tiles in the kitchen.
My biggest worry is the walk-in cooler. If it’s not repairable, I don’t know if you could afford a new one. ”
Glyma grimaced. “How expensive are they?”
“It’s not my field, but easily twenty thousand,” Waryn said, and Glyma balked.
“Oh my gods.”
“That’s why you request inspections,” Quin jumped in. “You check electrical, vents, pipes, everything. Make sure it’s all on the up-and-up. Then you decide whether to sign a contract.”
Glyma wandered around the flat, then out onto the fire escape. Quin joined her as Waryn headed back downstairs, probably to pester Grof some more.
“Imagine this as your view all the time,” Glyma said, staring out over the desert.
The wind was hot and filled with grains of sand, but even Quin could admit how beautiful it was. “Pretty good view.”
With a cheeky smile, Glyma knocked Quin’s shoulder with her arm. “Better with you here.”
“Charmer,” Quin said dryly, even as her cheeks flushed.
Glyma’s fingers grazed the back of Quin’s hand, and without looking at her, Quin turned it in invitation. Their fingers slotted together, shooting more electricity over her skin. Like two puzzle pieces, their hands fit perfectly, Quin’s smaller, daintier, Glyma’s soft and cool.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Glyma said, thumb rubbing over the back of Quin’s hand.
“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Quin admitted, and it was so very, very true.