Chapter 6 Zera #2
Zera huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She hated not knowing all the details, but she had to trust Maverick for now.
The landscape changed as they neared the city. The trees turned into towering skyscrapers made of steel and glass, stretching toward the sky like giants reaching for the sun that beamed down on them—a dazzling display of supernatural diversity and danger.
Zera’s heart raced as the bustling business district engulfed them.
Fae of all kinds milled on the crowded sidewalks during the lunch rush.
Vampires with their sharp fangs sipping their blood coffee, plumpish dwarves with full beards groomed into braids, elves with their sharp noses, bald scalps, and long ears—even longer than hers.
It was a convergence of all faen species working alongside one another, as if there were no difference. As if vampires, elementals, and shape-shifters weren’t in a social war with one another. As if class meant nothing and here everyone worked together for a common purpose.
But everyone knew deep down it didn’t matter what the cover looked like.
Only upper-level elementals like the elves, demons, and even pixies like herself made it into government.
She’d never had the desire to go into politics, especially when elections were a far cry from fair.
It was a problem everyone avoided to keep the peace. Zera wondered how long that would last.
“Remember to stick to the plan,” Maverick said softly as the skyscrapers and nicely dressed business fae fell away.
The bus turned down a long stretch of dilapidated buildings, each one with a neon sign or two advertising services and products she wasn’t quite sure were legal.
This wasn’t the fancy west side where Maverick had taken her the night before or the business district. This was the underbelly of Mystic City.
“We’re here as a husband and wife on a date,” he said softly as the bus squealed to a stop. Zera’s stomach churned, the reality of their mission setting in. “Follow my lead.”
Zera nodded, securing her backpack before taking a deep breath to steady herself as they disembarked.
Outside the bus, the stenches of sweat and urine filled the streets.
A homeless glucksboten—a goblin faerie with the power of luck—with tattoos under his eyelids, pointed ears, and short stature held out his shabby top hat for faecoin in exchange for his luck, though everyone knew it was a trick.
Luck went both ways, and if one gave him a penny, they could find themselves losing their livelihood just as easily as winning the lottery. It was a fool’s game.
She still felt sorry for him as a troll with large gauges and a spike through his nose knocked the glumorgeist to the ground with his fat belly.
Maverick weaved a path down the sidewalk and took a turn down a narrow alleyway that was far less crowded.
He didn’t let go of her hand, even though there was barely anyone around, save for a scantily clad dryad with vibrant green irises who meandered by and a few stark, skinny junkies, their bones nearly visible through their purple skin as they came down from their pixie-dust highs, from the looks of the swirls in their eyes.
Whatever fae they’d been before they got hooked was unrecognizable, and they lay about useless in homeless groups.
Bile rose up in her mouth. She wanted to vomit and scream at them all at the same time. She wanted to curse them for what they did to her kind, not to mention what they did to themselves.
But she had to remind herself that, even if she did that, users would still use as long as dealers were still dealing.
It didn’t matter if the Fae Tribunal had already made it illegal.
It didn’t change anything. The only thing that would stop it was if the supply completely ran out and her kind ceased to exist. There had to be a better way. A way to end this without more death.
She balled her hands into fists and forced her eyes to look away.
“Did it make you happy when your kind hunted mine?” she asked, her voice tight.
Maverick glanced over his shoulder at a deteriorating fae, pity in his gaze. “Not one bit. And I never joined them.”
“How?” she prodded. “You are a born Lunar wolf. Grew up in their ways. Haven’t you all had some decades-long deal with an elf gang to supply them with enough pixie dust to last generations?”
He ground his teeth. “One of the many reasons I refused to participate.”
She frowned and studied his features. He was telling the truth. Perhaps there was more to this arrogant faeboy werewolf after all. “But wouldn’t they have rejected you for insubordination? I’ve never heard of a wolf breaking pack law.”
“I rejected them.” he said, fixing her with a stare that said he was finished with the topic of his old life before masking it with one she couldn’t quite figure out. He took her hand in his. “Now, let’s sell this married thing, shall we?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t remove her hand. She didn’t mind the warmth. It kept her focused on the present instead of the endless worries that kept creeping in.
He held her close, dodging a homeless junkie who swiped at their ankles.
By the size of the fae, she was sure had the junkie not been under the influence, it would’ve been a fair fight.
But because of what the addiction had done to the junkie’s body, leaving deep holes in their spidery legs and bat wings, they were no threat to them anymore.
Even if the fae wanted help, she’d heard on the news that the addiction treatment centers were overrun and heavily underfunded.
For the addicts, there probably was nothing she could do, not without going back to school, but for her people…
she had to find another way. Create a competing drug, perhaps, that didn’t involve hunting and killing pixies.
An added bonus would be if it were less devastating on the users.
But as of yet, she hadn’t made any progress toward this.
No combination of herbs or enchanted elements resembled the compounds she’d studied in her own pixie dust. When she figured this out, it would change everything.
On the other hand, it would be better if everyone just stopped putting bad things into their bodies, but if fae were going to use anything to chase a high, they might as well use what wouldn’t kill them and the innocent pixies who were hunted for it. For that, she’d keep experimenting.
They came to a nondescript building nestled at the end of the alleyway. A neon open sign flickered above a crusty window with peeling letters stuck to it reading Bar. She couldn’t imagine this place ever being as classy as the Crystal.
Maverick paused in front of the bar, a hand on the door, and whispered, “You should do whatever you did to your eyes and ears when I first met you. Yours will draw too much attention.”
Understanding what he met, Zera reached for her pixie dust within. There wasn’t much magic left inside. She’d used more than she’d ever had before these last few hours and didn’t know when her power would be back to full capacity. She would have to stick close to Maverick.
When the brown film across her irises was safely in place, Maverick took one last look around to ensure they weren’t being followed before he yanked the door open and they entered the seedy bar.
Gritty darkness enveloped them, punctuated by the flicker of cigarette lighters and candles on every table. A haze of blue smoke hung in the air, making everything look like it was underwater. The smell of stale beer and body odor made Zera’s stomach turn.
Maverick guided her closer to him, as if to protect her, and she didn’t fight back.
Even though she worked in a tavern, this place felt entirely different.
It was darker, more dangerous, and the atmosphere was thick with an eerie tension that sent shivers down her spine.
Perhaps it was just that she was here under false pretenses, but either way, something didn’t sit right.
“Stay by my side,” Maverick whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Despite her reservations about him, the closeness provided a sense of security she couldn’t deny.
She nodded, unable to speak as they moved through the dimly lit space.
Though it was still early in the day, the bar was already filled with patrons, all in various stages of drunkenness.
Zera couldn’t help but feel out of place, her clean clothes and straight posture giving away the fact that she didn’t belong here.
Supernatural beings of all shapes and sizes were scattered across the room, some hunched over tables nursing their drinks while others engaged in heated conversations.
A group of goblins laughed raucously in one corner, their hooked noses snorting up the thick smoke that hung in the air.
Across from them, a pair of vampires sat in silence, their red eyes gleaming with hunger while demons played a heated game of cards and a rowdy group of werewolves howled and drank malt beer from chipped mugs.
Bone cracked as a monstrous, scale-tatted dragon shifter stretched and eyed them both warily as they passed by.
Maverick didn’t have to remind her to stay close.
She was practically glued to his side and tried not to make eye contact.
Dragon shifters were known to be dangerous, and if he could shoot fire out of his mouth like the sigil branded on his neck suggested, then Zera definitely didn’t want to draw more attention to herself.
The bartender, a snake shifter with slits for pupils and a forked tongue that jetted out at random intervals, leered at Maverick when they reached the counter. “What’ll it be?”
Maverick smirked back. “Forgefire Whiskey on the rocks, and my darling Charlotte here will—”
“She’ll have the same,” Zera cut in, her cheeks heating up at the sudden nickname.