by Rebecca Grey
That’s okay, I didn’t wake up in a people mood today. Fuck people. All of ‘em.
I try to look past the small group where I find the counters laid out with breakfast. A variety of food, what little the house has to offer, is set out on trays. Mainly they offer an assortment of stale breads.
The girl from last night, the sneering, snotty Orc woman who thought she could slut shame me, pours herself a bowl of cereal at the counter. My gaze automatically travels to the small jug of milk, only half a cup worth available.
As she reaches for a spoon, I mosey up, grab a mug with chipped edges and pour the remainder of the milk into said cup. Funny enough, I don’t even like milk. But I hate this bitch more than I hate milk, so I sip it with a smile on my face.
Her gray hair is braided from the patches that are formed from her scalp. The apples of her cheeks darken, the green shade of her skin turning near purple.
“That milk was for me.” Her black eyes stare at me. “I need that for my cereal.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame. First come, first serve.” I sip again, frowning at the cup. “Milk is gross. Really, I’m saving you from it’s awful taste.”
“I like milk. Specifically, in my cereal,” she sighs but moves to sit down.
“I hate milk.”
“Then why did you steal—”
I dump the milk down the sink, then set the mug on the stained countertop.
“What the fuck, Nilsa!?” she hisses through her bite of dry cereal.
“What the fuck, Calliope?” I laugh.
Maybe they don’t hate me because I’m Human. Maybe they hate me because I’m a saintsdamn bitch.
Her friends send me similar glowers from over their breakfasts. I offer them my politest smile before grabbing an old bagel and propping myself against the counter while I eat. Their conversations swing back into a dull murmur, already forgetting about the annoying Human girl who is but a blip in their mornings.
The kitchen is rather small, which is only more apparent because the body heat from the group of us up for early morning jobs is suffocating. Two blue, worn counters meet in the corner of the room. They’re only large enough to hold the few trays of food set out by Hodgkins, the house help. Chipped gray paint, which I’m sure had once complemented the countertops well, peels off the walls. The brown tile below us only offers enough floor space for the small table and chairs. My feet, as I stand at the counters, almost touch the legs of one of the filled seats. I contemplate kicking it, just so the Immortal sitting there will drop the food from their fork.
The Dwarf is saved only because Joss’s office door clicks shut. Carefully, Joss adjusts his all-black attire, picking a spot of lint from his chest. I take another bite of my bagel, admiring the elegant way he has smoothed back his blonde hair.
I want to mess it up.
Instead of finding myself without yet another orgasm, I meet him in the entryway between the office and the stale breakfast. The legends jingle together in my pocket as I move, the noise drawing his attention. Reaching into my pocket, I clamp my hand around the coins.
Joss raises a single brow. “Good morning, my pet.”
Calliope snickers in her seat, earning herself a dark look from Joss that quickly shuts the shrill noise up. Joss curls his fingers over the back of her seat, letting the silver rings on his fingers tap against the chair in warning.
“I have my housing payment for the month.” I slowly lick my lips, pulling Joss’s gaze up to my mouth.
“Have you?”
The smooth circular coins press into my palm, sticky against my skin, even as I uncurl my fingers to show Joss. He blinks down at my hand.
“You don’t have enough.”
My chest tightens and I have to force myself to take a breath. It comes out in a shaking laugh. I lower my voice, though I know it does little good.
“What do you mean? Housing is fifteen legends. I have fifteen legends.” I staccato the last two words.
“Price went up this month.” Joss plucks the legends out of my hand and flashes his fangs in a brilliant white smile. His shoulder brushes against mine as he moves around me to the food. The sentence, as it leaves his lips, makes me stiff and I give him little flexibility to get by me. “It’s now twenty legends.”
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
“Don’t worry, Nilsa. If you complete your next job you’ll be well on your way to being able to buy the entire establishment if you want.” Joss tosses a crumble of a muffin in his mouth. He hums a laugh behind his closed lips. “Imagine that? You being my boss.” Every chuckle brings my shoulders closer to my earlobes as I tense.
This asshat.
I could easily pick up one of the simple tasks pinned to the bulletin in the living space across the hall. Something like chasing away squatters on someone’s property, or assisting someone disabled with their household chores. Both of those are almost always up for grabs for some quick currency. Those jobs though, quick and easy as they may be, are far below me. The Ghost.
I’d long since given up smaller, meaningless jobs. Now I’m a full-time professional killer. And that would typically pay the bills. If I’d taken that arrogant, thieving, pirates’ life yesterday I’d be in the clear. Marcello, he had called himself.
Without the price on his head I have two choices. Belittle myself, and continue to do so anytime I can’t make rent, or I can change my life. I can commit to taking the deal the big wigs of The Bend are offering. It’s deadly, but I’d never find myself not able to pay for anything again. I’ll never find myself choosing again.
“Have you thought about our little proposition?” Joss wipes his hands on a neatly folded towel hanging from the edge of the sink.
“I have.” It takes everything just to bite the words out.
“And?”
Can I really do this? Do I really think I can pull this off?
Every stupid fiber in my being points to yes. It’s that annoying gut feeling, the one that whispers that I can change my destiny… the one Arron always told me to trust. I look around the room. No one wants me here. I don’t even want to be here. Why stay?
Calliope watches in silence. Her eyes glowing with anger.
I could do it just to spite them. That thought alone fuels me with more motivation than I’ve had in years. Foolish, momentary motivation. I let it carry me away.
“And yes, I think I’ll do it. I’d rather like to be your boss one day,” I answer, returning my attention to his flashing red gaze. That alone should be my warning sign.
As soon as I say it, his maroon eyes narrow. But I’m not sorry for a single word and, hell, he suggested it first. His suit jacket shifts as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the long scroll, the official document, and a pen. It’s clear he’d anticipated my agreement, making the words turn sour on my tongue.
In one way or another, we all sign away our lives on each legal document for every job we take. However, this is much more threatening than any other. In The Oasis Games… I could truly die. So as he unrolls the slender tan pages, my heartbeat stutters. The uptick in anxiety is something he doesn’t miss as he gives me his truly devious grin. This is the business. This is how he makes his living. By playing puppet with the lives of others. I swallow my nerves.
Roughly pushing trays out of the way, he slaps the paper against the counter. The mercenaries behind us have gone silent as they watch with piqued curiosity. Joss rolls the silver pen between his fingers, looking at the document then up at me, as if considering someone else for the briefest second. There are other mercenaries just as good if not better that could do the job well, I’m just the only one willing to kill. Finally he offers me the pen. I take it, still warm from his touch.
With an intentionally ginger touch, he smooths the paper against the countertop. I follow his eyes to where he stares down at the empty black line I’m supposed to sign.
“Name here.” He points.
This pen in my hand feels heavy. Sudde
nly it’s more than just the device for which I’ll write with and now it’s the sword I could cut my own throat on.
Is there another option? I find myself thinking. The longer I look around the tiny kitchen, at these terrible beasts I live with, and think back on the empty nothing of my room above us, the answer only grows more blatantly obvious.
No. There is not another option. Follow your gut, Nilsa.
Ink glides across the black line. I take my time writing. My name is about the only thing I can write well, it's the only thing I've practiced in a long time. Growing up in The Bend there isn't much schooling, and my training in mercenary work mainly revolves around my physical abilities.
I stare at the contract, wishing I could read the document. Perhaps there is more danger in blindly signing my name away than there is in The Oasis Games themselves.
Turning ever so slightly, I offer the pen back to Joss. His hands leave the scroll and it rolls back up without his weight on the page. Joss puts the pen back into his pocket.
"You've done the right thing, Nilsa," he says, "By all of us."
By who? The mercenaries? This establishment? If I am able to get away with this, my life intact, my riches and my status would hardly be shared with any of these Hybrids. I wouldn't even consider giving them a small donation. I've paid my living fees. They deserve nothing else from me.
The rest of the room eats their breakfast without speaking another word. I have to wonder if they saw the job posted on the bulletin before Joss tore it down. Do they see a dead woman walking? That's all I may be at this point. All I ever was.
My eyes trail across the floor, Calliope eats her dry cereal with a smile plastered onto her face now. She knows. They all know. And they'll be glad to get rid of me.
Perhaps in my death I'll be glad to be rid of them too. Or in my winnings happier yet. Only time will tell.
"Guess you better pack your things. Where is that ol' boy you spoke of? Down by the docks? Or you should ship yourself off to audition… pray they take pity on you." Joss pats my back and leans in to my ear. "I expect you'll save yourself for me in the end." His attention trails down my body, catching at my chest and between my thighs. Sometimes I swear Joss can see through my clothes. Just one glance from him is violating and exciting all at once. "I'll come for you in your victory. I have faith."
And even when my life hangs in the balance, I'm simply his property. Joss is all hard muscle, a rung on the ladder that I need to climb. He's a quick fuck for the few moments I can forget myself. But he isn't my owner. Not in the sense he seems to think. I may like to play the submissive in the heat of the moment, but he isn't my master.
I haven't the energy to fight him. Not the will nor the want. Instead I stare at him blankly until I find myself no longer hungry... no longer anything. I've gotten good at turning off my emotions. Being numb is a party trick no one ever knows that I'm showing off.
"Are they paying for necessities to complete the mission?" I take a step toward the staircase. I don’t own much, hardly anything worth packing in a bag. But there are a few items I can’t leave behind, knowing the chances that someone will rummage through my room while I am away.
"I'll send word now. Nathaniel." Joss turns to another Vampire who's lounged in his seat watching in cold stone silence. He offers him the scroll. "Take this to Genovese. Now. Tell him to leave the supplies at the dock."
Nathaniel, with his muscular build and thick beard glares at the scroll, unmoving for a moment. His ears tint pink and his lips pucker with a pronounced frown. It’s the simple task of messenger. It's the lowest of all jobs. He must have done something to piss off Joss, I think. Still, he takes the document carefully and leaves his breakfast behind.
A slight dip of my chin is all I can manage before I turn on my heels and storm up the stairs. I won't give them the pleasure of my reaction. My footfalls resound in the still quiet kitchen. The build of butterflies inside me explodes with a sudden chaos that sends my pulse racing. I don't want Joss to hear it. Not him or any other Hybrid living under this roof. They'd think me weak.
Sometimes I think I'm weak.
I'll have to pocket those thoughts if I'm going to win. Drowning in self-pity doesn't often lend to quality work or grand achievement. Confidence though, either false or true, that could do the trick.
Moving through the dark hallway, I reach my door and throw myself back inside of my room. What have I done? What kind of power will I win? Will completing this mission finally give me that sense of right in this life that is so often wrong?
My breathing quickly becomes wheezy. I pace my room holding my hands cupped over my mouth, trying to take in the recycled air. Don't think, just do.
Maybe Marcello, with all the good fortune he seems to have will help the Saint of Luck shine upon me too. Maybe in his eventual death I'll be able to transfer all of his blessings upon myself. Win The Oasis Games, kill Marcello, kill the heir, kill King Caspar... it is that simple. One task at a time until the job is complete.
I've done this a thousand times. I've killed nearly a hundred men. I take a deep breath. This is just like any other job and I'll fight for my success as I have every other time. Every kill will fill a crack in my broken Human heart, until it’s overflowing with all the power and success I need to finally lift up the Human race. If there are any more of us left.
Once I pacify my panic and sudden regret, I move to gather my items. I fan out a square blanket over my bed and begin tossing in the few items I mean to keep. My feet come to a sudden stop when I look down and realize I've only gathered two things. Apart from the daggers on my waist and the cloak on my back, all that's left to bring is the stone I use for sharpening my tools and the journal left from Arron.
A shuddering sigh passes over my lips. My hands tremble and I force the shaking away as I pick up the worn old journal and the block. I hold them close to my chest.
Genovese and the others... they'll provide anything else that I truly need. They'll ensure that my mission is successful. That only mildly eases my worries.
With one hand, I tap my fingers at my forehead aggressively. This turmoil of emotion needs to end, now. I force my features into the cool mask of indifference, like I do most days. Arron’s voice still echoes in the back of my mind. You're Human, Nilsa, you have emotions. It's a beautiful and wonderful thing. Some things he said so often they’re engraved in my mind forever.
My emotions don't feel so beautiful and wonderful right now. Or ever, for that matter. There are days that I wonder if Arron was even sane enough to help raise me. Other days I miss his insistent lectures so fiercely that my stomach threatens to heave up all of its contents.
The walk to the pier isn't long. An hour tops, less if I walk quickly. I reach for the door, dismissing any signs of instability that could make me look as though I'm not qualified for the job. I force myself to remember who I am, everything I've done. I move with purpose.
When I make it down the stairs for the second time this morning, many of the other mercenaries have left for the day. The few who linger stare at me, unashamed. The door to Joss's office is shut, a sign that he isn't to be disturbed.
So much for a grand farewell.
Yet, I still find myself lingering at the door, not able to bring myself to open it and step outside. I turn giving the building one last look. Who knows when I'll come back? If I'll come back at all. I've known no other home for the past nineteen years.
This is all the good-bye I'll get. All that I'll grant myself. I don't spend another second trying to memorize how the rooms look, or the way everything smells damp and moldy. This place will always be a stain on my memory without me even trying.
I open the door and the heat of the day pours down on me. The sun feels as if it sits only a few feet away from my skin, tickling and burning every available inch. With a yank, I cover my face with the hood of my cloak. There will be no hiding my scent today. I'm asking for a problem. Wishing for some Hybrid to even try to tempt me with an ea
rly kill. It's wrong of me, I know. I don't care.
All of my steps are careful as I move over the sidewalk that buckles from the tree roots that have wound their way underneath. I hug my book and the stone tighter against me, sweating as I pull the cloak around my shoulders to shield me from the sun. There isn't a single cloud up in the big blue sky to block out the blinding light for even a moment or two. This would be a grueling day of heat, which only leads to a bitter cold night.
Most of the streets leading from my coven are nothing but rubble and the leftover framework of homes that at some point either caved in or burned down. Where the kids had played the night before is quiet without any sign that anyone had run or giggled on those rocks. Only when I reach Genovese’s bar do I start passing other businesses or makeshift homes.
During the day the streets are much quieter. Hybrids are mostly nocturnal creatures. Though on occasion I'll come across someone else moving about the walkways as I am. If they are wise, they would cut across the road, giving me space to pass.
I expect some crowd around the pier, where shipments come in at all hours of the day and night. There are likely also Hybrids working the Merchant Market right now, as well as a few stragglers in the Pleasure District from the night before.
At the very least I could be thankful that I wasn't forced into working in the Pleasure District. I'm much more content getting to pick which Hybrids can touch me. There aren't many, which is why I often choose to keep up this illusion of a relationship with Joss. And it’s not as if I haven’t been propositioned by the keepers at many of the whorehouses, I have. Human pussy is a rare commodity for them to be able to offer. Unfortunately for them, mine isn’t for sale.
My gaze is in a constant sweep of the road ahead of me. My ears listen intently for any sign of trouble that can come my way. My weapons are hidden, which makes me a prime target for attack. Though I think my demanding stature does well enough to scare anyone away, it hasn’t stopped them from trying in the past. I promise I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
Soon, I see heads bobbing in the distance. Hybrids carrying goods up and down long wooden gangways to the waiting merchants for distribution. Mainly Elves. All pirates.