Chapter 4: Respite
The night air is thick with the scent of ozone and spilled ale as I step out of The Cauldron. The heavy wooden door groans shut behind me. The neon glow of the city pulses like a living thing, casting jagged reflections across the slick pavement.
Eva is unwinding, leaning against the brick wall of the bar, her sleek black tail flicking lazily behind her. The cherry of her cigar glows in the relative darkness, its acrid smoke curling around her sharp features. Her golden eyes turn my way, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk.
"You did well today." she observes, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.
I smile, relishing her rare compliment. "T-thank you, ma'am." I blush. "I just did my job." I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
"You've been... different lately." Eva's eyes narrow slightly, her golden irises catching the neon glow. "More *submissive*." She says the word like shes surprised to be using it to describe me. "It's not a bad thing. Men should be obedient. It's their place, after all. But you're usually so... headstrong and defiant. Some women might be into that, I suppose. Now if only you'd wear more revealing clothes..." She tapped her cheek, obviously undressing me with her eyes.
I feel my face grow warmer. "I just want to do a good job." I mumble, avoiding her gaze. Where did that come from?
Eva pushes off the wall, and turns toward her home."See you tomorrow, boy. Keep up the good work. I'll be watching you." Eva's tail flickes once, the motion almost dismissive, before she turns on her heel and dissappears into a shadowed alleyway.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that had settled there. Eva is always... intense but rarely so forward. She is a woman who knows what she wanted and takes it, but she usually does it with a certain finesse, like a queen who doesn't need to explain herself, and it usually feels like it was your idea, all along. Tonight, though, there was something different in her tone. Like she was holding back.
I turn to leave and jump in shock as Emma is standing inches from me. I never even heard her approach. The imp stands so close I can feel the heat radiating off her small, compact frame. Her red eyes gleam in the neon glow as they look up at me, her expression unreadable.
Ema doesn't speak. She doesn't need to. Her presence is enough to make my stomach clench. She holds out her hand, palm up, the gesture unmistakable.
I swallow hard, my fingers curl around the bulge in my pocket. The tips from tonight's shift were good, enough for two meals... Four, if I skimp on things like flavor and nutrition. I hesitate contemplating shorting her. But I know better than to resist.
The imp's claws tap against her palm impatiently.
"Come on, Emma! I gotta eat. I'm starving here." I protest, my voice coming out weaker than I'd intended.
Ema's red eyes narrow slightly, her pointed ears twitching with irritation. She doesn't speak, but the message is clear.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat. I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled notes I'd earned tonight. The paper is damp with sweat and spilled drinks.
"Here." I mutter, pressing the notes into Ema's waiting hand. "That's all of it."
The imp's claws close around the money with practiced efficiency. She doesn't bother counting it. Her red eyes flicker with something like satisfaction before she turns away, her boots silent against the pavement as she disappears into the neon-drenched shadows.
I exhale sharply, my fingers curling into fists. The loss of those tips stings, but worse is the creeping realization that I'm becoming accustomed to it. I should be furious. I should be fighting back. But all I feel is a strange hope that Ann appreciates how hard I'm working. So strange...
The walk home is long but I manage to avoid any undesirable attention. The streets of the city are alive even at this late hour. Demihumans of all kinds move through the neon-lit streets, their laughter and curses blending into the night. I keep my head down and my hands in my pockets, trying to make myself as unremarkable as possible.
My apartment building looms ahead, its once-grand facade now stained with years of grime. It's a far cry from the high-rise condos I used to see back on Earth, but it's home. Or at least, it's where I sleep. The thought of running into Beth makes my chest tighten. She'll know something is wrong the moment she sees me. She always does.
I'm almost not surprised to see her standing in the hallway, outside my room.
Beth leans against the wall, her amphibious skin catching the flickering fluorescent light in a way that makes her seem almost otherworldly. Her neon-green eyes are sharp, studying me with a mix of concern and something else—something I can’t quite place.
"Hey, sweetheart," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You look, sad."
I force a smile, but it feels brittle. "Just... tired, Beth. Long night."
She doesn’t buy it. Her fingers brush my forehead, cool and damp.
"You're lying." Beth says, her voice gentle but firm. "I can always tell when you're lying. Your eyes get shifty, and you rub the back of your neck. You've been doing both since you walked in."
I drop my hand from my neck, realizing too late that I'd been caught. "It's nothing, really. Just..." I try to keep my voice light, but the words feel hollow even to my own ears. Beth’s soft eyes, so filled with compassion, look up at me and the words get stuck in my throat. I can't keep lying to this wonderful woman.
Beth is the closest thing I have to family in this strange world. She’s always been there for me, even when I was at my lowest. But if I tell her the truth—about Ann, about the debt, about the way my mind feels like it’s being slowly rewritten—she’ll worry. She’ll try to help, and I can’t let her get involved. Ann is dangerous, and I refuse to drag Beth into this mess.
But Beth isn’t letting me off that easily.
Her neon-green eyes narrow slightly, her amphibian skin rippling with concern. "You’re not just tired, sweetheart. Something’s wrong." I look away, staring at the chipped linoleum floor. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sickly glow over the hallway. Beth’s fingers brush my cheek guiding me to look at her.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I... messed up...” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I cut through... someone's terf and now I owe this someone money. A lot of it.”
Beth’s eyes darken slightly, her amphibian skin rippling with concern. “How much?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm.
I hesitate, my fingers twisting together. “A Queen’s note.”
Beth’s lips press into a thin line. “Sweetheart...”
I shake my head, my shoulders slumping. “It’s complicated. I didn’t mean to.”
“Who is it?” Beth interrupts, her voice sharp. “Who do you owe this money to?”
I turn to face her. “No!" I say more firmly than I intended. "She's powerful. I don't want you to get hurt because of my mistake. And... well. it's complicated." I sigh, calming my nerves. Beth can't go against Ann. She's an underworld criminal with insane powers. She'd get eaten alive! "Beth, please don't push this. I'm handling it."
"You're so stubborn!" she murmurs. She looks cute when she's frustrated. "But alright. I'll let it go. For now."
I nod, my throat tightening. "I'm sorry, Beth."
Beth's fingers linger on my cheek for a moment longer before she pulls away, her expression thoughtful. "Okay." she says finally, her voice gentle. "But you need to eat. Come with me." She doesn’t wait for an answer. She takes my hand in hers, turns and starts walking down the hallway toward her apartment.
I'm several stepps down the hall before I realize how out of character this is for me. I should protest. I should insist that I’m fine, that I don’t need her help. But I submissively accepted her authority, allowing myself to lead like a puppy.
Beth stops at her door and glances back at me, her gaze warm and knowing. "Make yourself at home, sweetheart." She glows, as she pulls me into her home.
The scent of lavender and something earthy, like wet stone, fills my nose. The apartment is warm and inviting, the walls lined with shelves of books and strange artifacts. A plush couch sits in the center of the room, its cushions worn but comfortable. A small kitchenette is tucked into one corner, the counter cluttered with jars of herbs and a kettle that’s always on the verge of boiling.
Beth leads me to the couch, her fingers still wrapped around mine. She sits me down gently, her touch lingering for a moment before she pulls away. “Stay here.” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
I don’t argue. I feel like I should but I find it so much easier to simply obey her. I sink into the plush cushions, the fabric soft against my skin.
Beth moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, her glossy skin catching the light in a way that makes her seem almost otherworldly. The kettle whistles, and she pours steaming water into a mug, the rich aroma of chamomile filling the air.
She brings me a plate of food—a thick slice of buttered bread, a small bowl of stew that smells like heaven, and a cup of tea. The steam curls up, carrying the scent of chamomile and something sweet. She sets it all down on the coffee table in front of me. Then sits down next to, resting her hand on my back.
"Eat, sweetheart. You need your strength." Her voice is soft but firm, the kind of tone that doesn't leave room for argument. I pick up the spoon, the warmth of the bowl seeping into my palms. The stew is rich and savory, the meat falling apart at the slightest touch. I take a bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue—earthy mushrooms, tender meat, and a hint of something spicy that lingers on my lips. It feels like it's been ages since I've had a good meal.
Beth watches me eat, a soft smile on her soft lips. "You're always so hard on yourself." she murmurs, her hand softly stroking my back. "Let me take care of you. Just for tonight." She whispers. "You don't have to be strong and independent. Not tonight. I'll take care of you, okay?"
I nod, my body moving on it's own. My brain struggles to keep up. The stew is warm in my stomach, spreading through my limbs like liquid comfort. Beth's fingers trace slow circles on my back, the rhythm steady and soothing. The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the city outside. It feels safe here. It feels like home.
The tea is sweet, the chamomile tugs at the edges of my exhaustion. I take another sip, the warmth seeping into my bones. Beth watches me, her expression unreadable but her touch never ceasing.
I finish my meal in what feels like seconds. The stew is gone, the bread reduced to crumbs, the tea drained to the dregs. My body feels heavy, my thoughts sluggish, but in a good way—like sinking into a warm bath after a long day.
"You look better already." she beams, her voice soft. "You should stay here tonight. You don't need to be alone."
I open my mouth to protest, but she puts a finger over my lips and shushes me. The words die under her gentle insistence. She scoots over and pulls my head down onto her lap.
The fabric of her skirt is soft against my cheek, and her fingers begin to comb through my hair. The sensation is soothing, almost hypnotic. I should resist, but I don’t. Instead, I let my eyelids grow heavy, my body relaxing into the cushions.
“You work too hard.” Beth murmurs, her voice a low, melodic hum. “A boys place is here, at home.” I then so softly, I'm not even sure she really said it, I hear her wisper. "Your place is here. With me."
I don’t say anything. I want to argue but her lap is so soft, and I'm so very tired. Beth’s fingers continue their slow, rhythmic motion, working through my hair, tracing the curve of my scalp.
My body betrays me and before I know it, sleep claims me. Beth slides a pillow under my head and drapes a blanket over me.
Her fingers linger on my temple for a moment, her touch cool and comforting. The apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside.
I dream of Ann. I dream of Beth's warm embrace and warmer meals. I dream of slavery and freedom, but surprisingly, I'm not bothered by any of it. In my dreams, I simply exist, unconcerned and fearless.