by Jamie Wyman
Most people assumed it was a typical tag, indiscernible jargon from the subculture of graffiti artists. Well, those people had the right idea. They just didn’t understand which subculture they were actually dealing with.
“I still don’t see anyone here,” Marius said, peering in. “Just a dirty, dusty garage.”
“Don’t trust your eyes,” I said.
I held up a hand and pressed it against the glass. Immediately, the pane gave off an acid-green glow. Like something out of Star Trek, a digitized keypad appeared beneath my fingers. I tapped in my password, and with a groan, the garage door began to rise.
Music flooded the night, a throbbing bass beat with electronic melodies cascading over it. As shafts of light shifted in blues and greens, shadows writhed on the floor. Marius watched the dancers grind against one another then passed me a questioning look.
“What? You think you’re the only one who knows a bit about glamours?”
The door shut behind us as we ventured into the press of bodies. Designer colognes blended with the primal scents of sweat and musk. The crowd boiled with the music, dancing in a chaotic choreography. Moving through the throng, my muscles relaxed, and I took a deep breath. The forbidden radiance and communal ecstasy of this place was balm for a weary soul.
YmFy. My home away from home.
The place served the hacker and technomancer crowd. Occasionally, I’d seen vanilla mortals like me or other magical beings like Marius, but that was rare. The bar maintained a steady stream of loyal clients without advertising itself.
Marius stared at the mixed factions on the dance floor. Barely legals in cyberpunk latex and LED clothes gyrated against one another. Lurkers in black trench coats clung to the walls. Jeans and T-shirts, low profile or high maintenance; YmFy hosted all types.
“Excellent,” Marius said. “You’ve decided to jump into a scene out of the Matrix in your hour of peril. Shall we go sing our sorrows to the bartender and wait for Morpheus?”
“This isn’t the kind of place where everyone knows your name,” I called, standing on tiptoe to reach Marius’s ear. “Come on.” I tugged at the satyr’s arm and guided him toward the white-and-green light pulsing from the acrylic bar. In orange and blue, I could make out YmFy being spelled in light over the bodies on the dance floor. My feet were tight, swollen, and ached in a million places. My steps were slow and careful, but each one set my soles on fire.
“What the bloody hell is a Yim Fee?” Marius asked.
I shook my head. There would be time to answer him. But right then I had to get the hell out of the crowd. And before I could do that, I had to find Flynn.
Sliding onto one of the egg-shaped barstools, I swept my gaze down the row of bartenders. Flynn glanced up from the drink he poured. When he caught sight of me, he grinned and nodded once in a way that said he’d be right over.
“What are we doing here?” Marius yelled over the driving bass.
I held up a finger. “Wait a minute.”
Good to his unspoken word, Flynn glided over to us an instant later. “Cat,” he said, his voice carrying over the din. “I didn’t think you’d make it tonight. Want the usual?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I need to use the bolt hole.”
His cheerful face fell with concern, and he leaned across the bar. “Are you all right?”
I wanted to say yes, to assure him all was good with the world, but how could it be? Flashes of hot blood spurting beneath a hammer, of my hands coming down to split the sandpapery, gray hide. All this and more rushed through my mind.
My chin quivered as I tried to hold myself together. I shook my head.
Flynn jerked his chin. “Come on back.”
Leading Marius around the other patrons, I met up with Flynn next to a flat, black wall. He bristled at the sight of my companion. “Cat, who is this?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “This is Marius.”
“The satyr? You brought him here? No, Cat. I don’t like this.”
“He’s helping me out,” I said. “Please. We need a few minutes.”
As if trying to read him, Flynn’s eyes passed over Marius for an ungodly long minute before the mage finally nodded with approval. Well, maybe not approval, but at least begrudging tolerance.
Flynn passed a pale hand over the wall and with that same toxic-green glow another keypad appeared. He punched in his code, and the wall slid away. Darkness concealed the room from the rest of the bar.
My friend bowed gallantly. “Ladies first.”
I tried to smile but couldn’t hold back the grimace as I passed Flynn and entered his sanctuary. When we were all inside, Flynn closed the door behind us, and the sounds of the club dimmed to little more than a background hum with a beat. Soft at first, so as not to blind us, the lights came up. He thinks of everything. It’s one of the reasons I like him so much.
The bolt hole—this little secret behind the wall of YmFy—was a rectangular room running maybe a quarter of the length of the warehouse. With little else but a few black leather love seats, it acted as a salon or waiting room. A visible door led to a bathroom, and a few hidden exits connect to the more enjoyable areas of Flynn’s playhouse. While I knew my way around, I never assumed I’d seen every part of his complex.
With the lights up to full power, Flynn finally got a good look at me.
“Jesus, Cat! What happened to you?”
I looked down. The coat did nothing to hide the gore on my pants, and my bare feet were dirty and covered in abrasions.
“I’ve got a problem,” I said weakly.
He pawed at his ginger mop then dragged a hand down his face, still staring at my stained pajamas. “I’m guessing that’s not your blood.”
I shook my head and clenched my jaw against the scream threatening to consume me. Flynn nodded and took me into his arms. I sagged, limp as a doll, and the tears began to flow. As I sobbed into his chest, his large hands stroked my shoulders and held me close.
“Shh,” he said, rocking me gently. “We’ll fix it. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” He took my face in his hands and made sure I could see his smile. “Right? It’s what we do.”
He winked, brushing my hair back and wiping a few tears from my cheeks. “You need the bag?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Tell you what. Go on into the bathroom there and type in your code to give me access. I’ll run down to the locker room and pick up your things, okay?” After I’d agreed, he went on, “Then I want you to take a long, hot shower. I’ll drop the bag in there so you can get into some clean clothes. When you’re done, come out here, and we’ll talk. All right?”
I clutched at his hand, still holding my chin, and gave my best attempt at a grateful smile. “Thank you, Flynn,” I said.
“Any time,” he said. With one last pat on the cheek he sent me to my tasks.
As I padded into the bathroom, Marius cleared his throat.
“Need any help in there?” he asked.
I was too tired to roll my eyes. I shut the door behind me and palmed another keypad into existence. After I’d granted Flynn access to my personal storage locker, I glanced up at the mirror.
Bad idea.
Quickly, I turned away from the lady with the haunted eyes and red crust drying all over her. Shivering, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of Marius’s jacket. My fingers curled around something small, round, and flat.
The poker chip.
Smooth clay, it was like all the others you’ll find in this town. Almost. I sighed, worrying at the golden apple at its center with my thumb. And I had to collect three more when gods were trying to kill me?
Weary, I shook my head.
I carefully put Marius’s coat on a hook then slipped out of my dirty clothes. I wadded them up into a ball and stuffed them in the bin. Maybe I’d burn them later. I would never wear them again, that’s for sure. Some stains can’t be washed away.
Cranking the hot water and letting the steam f
ill the room, I stepped into the shower. There, finally alone, I came face to face with horrible reality.
I killed it.
The words echoed in my head as if bouncing off the shower walls. I cried. I’d never killed someone. I mean, I’d stepped on bugs and swatted my fair share of spiders, but never willingly killed, never purposely ended a life in such a brutal way. Not like this.
With shaking hands I took the bar of soap and scrubbed at myself, hoping this suffocating guilt would slough off with dead skin. It was a monster, part of me said, trying to rationalize what I’d done. It wasn’t human. This thought, however, brought with it no more comfort than the idea that I’d used the hammer in self-defense.
I wept for something that had seeped away with the shark’s life: a purity within me, an innocence. I mean, I’m no saint, that’s for sure, but people tend to go through life reminding themselves, “Well at least I’m not a cold-blooded killer or anything.”
I couldn’t think that about myself anymore.
And if this pillar of my being had fallen, what would come next?
While scalding spray pounded on my back, the water sluiced away my pain, panic, and terrible memories. I sank to the tile floor and huddled my knees to my chest. For a long time I sat, bawling, letting myself fall to pieces and flow down the drain.
I’d fix me later.
Right?
###
True to his word, Flynn had silently placed my bag on the floor inside the bathroom along with a fluffy white towel and a steaming mug. I caught the scent of sugar and cinnamon. Bless him—Flynn had prepared a chai latte. As the spiced tea warmed my insides, I could almost hear Flynn telling me everything would be all right.
After I’d dressed in simple jeans and a T-shirt, I pulled on a pair of chucks, and brushed my wet hair. I shouldered the bag and stepped back into the outer room of the secret chamber.
Marius paced back and forth like a caged lion. He’d smoothed his hair into its ponytail once more, and at some point he’d rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt. His golden-apple brand, a twin to my own, peeked out from beneath the cuff on his left arm.
“There you are,” he said impatiently.
I draped his suit coat over the back of a sofa and settled my bag on the ground. I found comfort in order and tidy courtesy.
“Did you get in touch with Eris?” I asked.
“No, dammit. I keep calling, but every time it’s different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, one minute the recording tells me the line’s been disconnected, the next, this bint’s voice tells me all circuits are full. A few times I even got a busy signal. Seriously? A busy signal? I haven’t heard one of those since before MTV stopped playing music.”
I drew in a breath, adding this information to what little I already had, and sank into the folds of the couch.
“Care to enlighten me as to what we’re doing here?” he asked.
“Remember that job in Belize a few years ago?” When he nodded, I said, “Well, I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to have a bug-out plan. Flynn offered to help. He gave me a place to stash my GTFO bag.”
“GTFO?”
“Yeah. You know how some people have a suitcase in the trunk or something for emergencies? That’s what this is,” I said patting the duffel. “It’s got my passport, phone charger, clothes, toiletries—all the necessities in the unfortunate event I need to Get The Fuck Out.”
He nodded. “Fortune favors the prepared.”
“Something like that.”
The door slid open as Flynn returned. He took a seat in one of the black leather armchairs and propped one leg over the side. More often than not, my bartender friend dressed in the style of the bar: edgy, dark, and somewhat enigmatic. Sometimes he poured himself into vinyl or some other tight-and-shiny clothing. Since the music out in the club had faded and tonight’s last call had come and gone, Flynn lounged in his favorite torn jeans and a vintage tee. Tattoos showed over his lanky arms in the shapes of mechanical veins and pathways like those on a motherboard. Here and there, his pale flesh glistened with metallic studs. Tonight he’d spiked his red hair up into a fauxhawk.
“Hiding in a wall with the bartender,” Marius mused. “You surprise me, Catherine. By the by, are you going to tell me what the hell a Yim Fee is?”
“Y-M-F-Y. It’s computer code,” Flynn explained. “Base64, specifically.”
“That’s great, but does it actually mean anything?”
With a smile my friend said, “Means ‘bar.’”
“Delightful.” Marius sneered. “He thinks he’s clever.”
Flynn ignored Marius and fixed me with a level stare. “So, what happened?”
“Eris bet my soul in a poker game,” I said bluntly.
He drew in a breath, those ancient eyes hardening with anger. “Well, fuck.”
I took off into a cold report of my night, starting with our arrival at the gala and ending with our appearance at YmFy.
When I finished, Flynn heaved a sigh. He pawed through his spikes and gave me a wary smile. “Everything old is new again, eh?”
I hung my head. “Complete with a visit from Dahlia.”
“Joy. You okay?”
I repressed the urge to scream, No, I am not okay! and opted for, “I will be.”
Flynn steepled his fingers, deep in thought. His gaze kept darting to Marius. The satyr was a fly buzzing too near. As if he couldn’t stand the constant annoyance of his presence, Flynn stood and stalked right up to Marius’s side. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but Flynn towered over him.
“What’s your angle on this, satyr?”
Marius took a step away from the looming technomancer. “What are you talking about?”
“Why are you here?”
“Eris bade me to escort Catherine to the gala. I do as I am told.”
“And he said he’d help me figure out what was going on with the poker game,” I added.
Flynn snorted derisively. “I’m sure that help comes with a price. What’s in it for you?”
Marius leered. “An evening with the pleasure of Catherine’s company.”
Like lightning, Flynn’s fist blurred through the air. Equally fast, Marius’s forearm came up to block the punch. As he twisted Flynn’s wrist with his left hand, Marius’s right attempted to jab my friend in the ribs. Flynn slid, his torso shifting out of the satyr’s reach. But the bartender’s arms were longer and impossibly fast—faster than Marius could dodge. Flynn’s hand shot out and gripped the satyr’s throat.
I darted across the room to tug at Flynn’s arm. His flesh no longer felt pliant and smooth, like a normal arm. Rather it seemed I fought against steel.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
Marius choked, hands scraping at the one pinning him to the wall while his feet kicked uselessly at the floor. Like glowing blood, orange light pulsed through the mage’s tattoos.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Flynn, let him go!”
He shot a glare to me, eyes emitting the same citrine light. “Why?”
“He saved my life.”
As I looked to Marius, the light coursing through Flynn traced lines up the veins in the satyr’s purple face. I saw his horns splitting through the glamour again. While he gripped at Flynn’s clenched fist with one hand, Marius worked the other as if groping in the air. What if he pulled the sword again? I couldn’t stand to see Flynn impaled on the blade.
“Flynn, please,” I said.
Without ceremony, he let go. Marius fell to the floor, gasping. The glow left their bodies. Brooding, Flynn straightened himself and stepped back.
“You are corrupted,” he spat at Marius.
The satyr didn’t answer but warily eyed Flynn.
I gulped. I’d never seen Flynn go über-protective of me, or anyone. I appreciated the sentiment, but the quick escalation left me guarded. And since when could he make his limbs light up and turn hard as marble?
“
Flynn,” I said quietly. “Do you want us to leave?”
“No,” he grumbled. “Just…something’s not right with him, Cat.”
“I’m right here,” Marius complained. “You don’t have to talk of me as if I’m not.”
Flynn stared a hateful challenge to the satyr. “Did I hurt its feelings?”
“Just who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
Still fuming, Flynn turned his blazing gaze to me. “Did he make you a promise, Cat? Like a real, binding contract, or did he just nod or something?”
“Christ, Flynn,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “We made the deal. He offered. I accepted the terms.”
The mage chewed on this info and ground his teeth. Something about Marius rubbed him the wrong way, and I didn’t think it was the satyr’s affiliation with Eris or the shit I’d been through at her whim. No, Flynn had called him corrupted. There was something deeper going on that made him think Marius was playing false. But what?
Flynn jabbed a finger at Marius. “So help me, satyr, if you break your word or if any harm comes to Cat, you will beg me for a swift death.”
Venom flashed in Marius’s eyes. As he picked himself up off the floor, he kept his stare locked with Flynn’s.
“Catherine’s bargain is with me. I will honor my word so long as she keeps hers. I’ve done nothing to her—or to you—to make you believe I’m anything less than sincere.”
Flynn snorted. “You’re a satyr. That’s hardly the most honorable race in existence.”
“Furthermore,” Marius said loudly, ignoring the slight on his species, “I’ve already risked my neck for her by fighting land-walking sharks and a side of bacon. That should earn some trust, I think.”
“You work for Discord,” Flynn retorted. “I can’t trust a damn thing you say.”
“In case you didn’t notice, Eris isn’t exactly forthcoming with me these days.” He waved his phone in the air.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “Maybe she sold you, too.”