Chapter 12 Kaian #2
Kaian can tell the older man loves his son, and that he cares enough to say something in front of Kaian and the guy’s friend means he’s not afraid to show it.
“Eat this and go home. You too, Duane, or I’ll be calling your Mama.”
“Yes, sir!” Duane salutes, falling on his pie like it’s his last meal.
Kaian knows the feeling. “The food’s real good, Oscar. Thanks.”
“It’s nothing.” Oscar shakes his head. “If my boy were far from home, I’d hope someone would put food in his belly. Glad to do it for you.” He hesitates before adding, “Do you have somewhere to sleep?”
“Yes, sir. I’m at the hostel tonight, at least. I’ll look for work tomorrow.”
It was hard to find work without identification, and the amount of power it takes to convince people that the Sam’s Club card he had was an actual driver’s license is more than he feels comfortable with, unless absolutely necessary.
Bars with illegal card games in the back were surprisingly sticklers about ID at the door.
“Good.”
Kaian stuffs the last of the fries into his mouth and finishes his creamy, too-sweet coffee. He wouldn’t normally ask for the cream, but he’d needed the extra energy when he’d thought he wasn’t going to be eating until much, much later.
Jackson and Duane push their empty plates away at the same time, but one look from Oscar has his son on his feet and into the kitchen while Duane scrolls his phone.
“Whoo! Jack! We’re in! You won’t believe the password today, man.” Duane pushes through the door to the kitchen. “Helioscope. No…wait, heliotrope. Is that some kind of binoculars or what?”
It’s a flower. Purple. Smells like a warm vanilla, cherry-scented hug from your grandma. Wild and beautiful. He doesn’t say so, but lets the two younger men hash it out until they burst through the door as loudly as they’d arrived.
“Bye, Dad! Don’t wait up.”
“Jackson! Dammit. You got no business—” Oscar seems to realize Kaian is staring after them, too. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Kids, eh?”
Oscar laughs. “Yeah, kids. You’re all of eighteen, right?”
Kaian knows what he looks like. Slender, with soft cheeks, wide eyes, and a big smile. He wears his dark, wavy hair a little longer than is probably wise, but it keeps his neck warm, and he can tie it up in warmer climates.
“No, sir. I’m twenty-seven.” He likes to tell the truth whenever possible, because his life is full of more lies than his conscience prefers.
“Sure you are,” Oscar scoffs, throwing Kaian’s plate into the bus tray. “It doesn’t matter to me how old you are; you come back at the same time tomorrow, and I’ll put you to work in the kitchen with the dishes. How’s that?”
Kaian can’t help but grin. It’s not the first time he’s been lucky to meet the right people at the right time. Only he’s not stupid enough to think it’s just luck anymore, either.
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Kaian says. “I appreciate it.”
“No trouble, just be here around eight, and I can show you the ropes. What did you say your name was?”
He hadn’t, but he’s never liked lying about that either. It was a gift from his mother, and he never wanted to forget who he was, even if it was only a name. “Kaian Noa.”
He should have seen it coming. A deal in the western part of the world is always sealed with a handshake, and men from Oscar’s generation relied on the gesture to take the measure of a man.
Oscar wipes his hand on his apron before offering it, and there is nothing Kai can do but accept.
It’s a relief to see Oscar’s pure gold timeline stretch off in every direction, unbroken as far as the eye can see.
In his mind’s eye, he sees the older man head into the bar next door for a beer or in another direction, a trip to the grocery store, where he buys a single avocado that he’ll press to his nose, eyes closed, before taking it home and placing it on his nightstand.
It’s a lonely gesture as much as it is a strange one.
He could turn around and see every choice Oscar has made to get here, too—for as long as Oscar’s soul has existed, laid out before him like a roiling net, over millennia.
He doesn’t turn to look, though, despite how beautiful his threads are; he’s afraid he’s already been gone too long.
When Kaian opens his eyes, Oscar has his nose in the air and his eyebrows in his hairline.
He’s preparing to explain himself—make an excuse about being too exhausted to think. Anything but confess to this guy he’s had a magical vision of every choice he’ll make or has made on into infinity, but Oscar just squeezes his hand before letting it go.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You have that air about you.”
“Uh…” Kaian pauses, not sure what to say or what Oscar is getting at. Humans don’t know about magic, and a surefire way to get unwanted attention from the magical authorities is to tell them differently.
But Oscar smiles, nods to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eight sharp, or I’ll worry, Kaian Noa. Now, you skedaddle. I’m going to clean up here and head out. I need to hit the market before it closes at ten.”
Kaian narrows his eyes, wondering how or why that was so easy. Even though things often were for him, it was as if luck was built into his genetic makeup. But he’d never ever not had someone ask about his weird fugue states when they were witnessed by regular people.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Kai returns the smile. Maybe he’ll figure Oscar-from-Barbra’s-Bistro out tomorrow.
“Bye. Thanks again for the fine meal, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He sees Oscar staring after him through the window, his lips moving as if he’s talking to himself, or maybe the ghost of his wife. So, he raises his hand and heads off down the street.
Most of the shops are closed now, cages down over the windows, so Kaian just walks, lets Fate decide his direction, trusting his gut feeling to lead him where he needs to go when he needs to get there.
Past honky-tonks and late-night eating spots, he turns left and right until he’s sure he’s hit the part of Nashville only locals visit at this time of night.
There’s a club across the street, a big gaudy sign advertising cage dancers and specialty drinks.
Half the sign is dark, the bulbs behind Glory long dead, so that all that shines over the door is The Hole.
Silhouettes of a naked man and woman shimmy up and down as it blinks on and off.
It’s just the place to see if he can find a game, or at least someone who will know where to find one, but as he takes a step off the curb, a sizzle of dread slips down his spine. He tests the sensation by allowing his trajectory to take him all the way to the front door.
A bouncer, twice as wide as Kaian and two feet taller, guards the door, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. The stained t-shirt he’s wearing is stretched to the limits, with the words THE GLORY HOLE on the breast pocket.
“Hey, kid, you coming in or what? Lots of hot bodies. Twenty-dollar cover.”
The bad feeling gets worse, and even if he was inclined to ignore it—he’s not—he can’t pay the cover and have enough to bet on a few games of cheap-ass poker.
“Nah, thanks though.” He waves, but turns back. “Hey, you wouldn’t know where I could turn thirty bucks into a couple of hundred, would you?”
“Thirty bucks ain’t much.”
And didn’t Kaian know it?
“But there might be stuff going on at All’s End tonight. Two blocks that way.” He points behind the club. “You got a fake ID? I might have looked the other way, but Opal’s a stickler.”
Kaian doesn’t waste time explaining for the third time today that he’s older than he looks, just nods. “I’m good. Thanks for the tip.”
“Yeah, yeah. You win big, you come back and tip old Bruce. I’ll introduce you to Jewel.”
“See ya.”
It takes Kaian ten minutes to find the All’s End bar.
Right out of Ireland, the big carved wood sign looks brand new, its name curved over a road that has a lamp post in the middle with six roads that veer off in every direction.
It’s a work of art, and so out of place here in the backass end of the city.
The sign is the nicest thing about the place, though, as there aren’t any exterior windows, and the facade is covered in chipped reddish-brown paint. When he pulls open the door, he can hear a wailing karaoke rendition of Islands in the Stream.
“Hold on there, little buckaroo.”
Kaian lets his eyes adjust to the dim interior of the foyer. There’s a broad-shouldered woman with deep golden skin and a high ponytail on top of her head. She’s perched on a tall stool scrolling through her phone, but the minute she spots him, he has her undivided attention.
“You have to be twenty-one to be in here, honey. Sorry.”
“I’m twenty-seven.” Kaian can’t help that it sounds snarkier than he’d like. First, Vera and Adelaide, then Oscar, and now the bouncer. Maybe he should try to grow a mustache.
She holds out her hand, short fingernails painted a deep maroon. “Sure you are, hun. Let me see it then.”
The Sam’s Club card is easy to find, and when he holds it out, he draws on The Plain, just a slim strand of burnt umber over the card, before handing it to her with a smile.
“Kaian Noa.” She peers closer at his face. “When’s your birthday, Mr. Noa?”
“March nineteenth, 1999.”
She still looks skeptical, and she tilts her nose up, nostrils flaring as she hands the card back. “Well, you’ve got ID, and if it comes back to bite me in the ass, I’ll put you over my knee and smack yours. Do not bring the cops down on our heads tonight of all nights. Clear?”
“As crystal.”
She nods to the door to the inner sanctum. “Git.”
“Okay, thanks. By the way, Bruce says hi.”
She’d gone back to her phone, but she looks up, scowling. “Bruce is a dirty old dog. You stay away from The Hole. He’ll have you in a cage before you can drop your Underoos.”
It’s Kaian’s turn to look confused. Cage? And what the heck are Underoos?
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smirks at his attempt at a drawl and waves him away.
The bar is surprisingly full, with most patrons at tables in front of a small stage where the lyrics to Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy slide across a television.
Two women mangle what has to be an old country classic.
Two bartenders fill orders for those who like to fend for themselves, while another fills trays for a single server.
Kaian is used to places like this. Locals gathered like they do on weeknights, trying to forget the trials of the day and bond with their friends. He slips through the crowd, finding a single seat at the far end near the short hall that says restrooms, on yet another fancy wood sign.
“Hey. How’d you get past Opal?” The bartender asks. She’s petite, with curly blonde hair in two long pigtails. Her name tag says “Ruby,” and it matches her lipstick. “You got ID?”
With a sigh, he repeats the Sam’s Club card illusion, sliding it across the bar.
“She already checked it. I’m twenty-seven.”
“Well, Kaian Noa, forgive me, but we’ve got rules, and there are no exceptions, nice smile or no.” She hands him back the card with a smirk.
“You’re saying that all I had to do was smile and she’d have let me in?”
Ruby laughs. “I’m not not saying that she has a soft spot for a sweet smile. Her kid’s about your age.”
“Twenty-seven? She doesn’t look old enough for that.”
“Don’t tell her I said so, but she is, but also no. He’s fifteen.”
“Oh, come on. That’s just mean.”
“Okay, maybe you look twenty, tops. Since Kaian Noa is buying, what can I get you?”
He knows he’s got to pay for a drink, and needs to sit at the bar until he can explain why Big Bad Bruce sent him to the All’s End bar. But Kaian doesn’t drink. Alcohol makes it too hard to control The Plain, and his metabolism burns through the high in ten minutes, anyway.
The server walks by carrying a single martini.
“A martini, please.”
“You sure about that? That’s a strong—”
“I’m sure. How much?”
“It’s on me, sugar.” She smirks, shaking the mixing cups. Pouring it into a glass, she then slides along the bar.
“Thanks!”
He’d been ready to sacrifice ten bucks for the drink, maybe it’s a really lucky night.
“Ruby! Can you get me another Cuervo?” The other bartender calls, shaking the almost empty bottle of tequila in her direction from the opposite end of the bar.
“Sure thing! I’ll be back, Kaian Noa. Don’t go anywhere.
” She lifts the end section of the bar and follows four people down the hall.
She swipes a card and heads into what must be a storeroom while the four people disappear—literally—through a door at the end of the hall.
When he unfocuses his eyes, he can see a subtle weave around the frame.
He wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching, but they’re there one minute and gone the next.
“Holy shit,” Kaian murmurs under his breath as a sizzle of right tingles in his fingers. He knows without a doubt that what he’s come for is behind that spelled door.
A second guy goes down the hall and into the restroom, and doesn’t even look at the door.
Sliding a single dollar bill under the still-full glass, Kaian waits until another group of twenty-somethings slips down the hall. He falls in behind, and as they go through the door, he’s right on their heels.
“Password?” A voice says from inside his head.
He says the only thing he can think of, hoping he’s not about to get his ass kicked out before he even gets a chance to see what has everyone so eager. “Heliotrope.”
“Enter.”
There’s a long set of stairs with a landing at the bottom. When he stops, the scent of blood and the sound of a small crowd cheering burst around him, and Kaian realizes he’s found why Bruce sent him to All’s End.
This is an underground fight club.