The next morning, I wake from restless sleep in the massive bed in the penthouse. Mid-morning sunlight streams through the glass wall. I shuffle into a pair of Drowning Man lounge pants and fill my pink mug with the coffee and steaming milk waiting in the kitchen. Breakfast is spread out on the low table: rice, eggs, brothy soy soup, baked tuna, and fresh melon. Among me, Sven, and Genk, there’s enough food for eight people, not six. Karla and Sven are eating already, although Sven’s looking less aquamarine and more sickly green, poking at his food. I stop near the expansive bar. My blood itches. I’ve got a crushing task ahead. A drink or three would help.

  A chime dings in my head.

  “Hey,” Deach says beside me in his half-orc form. He didn’t stop laughing for a minute straight when I showed the team an illusory copy of Richard’s nude painting last night. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Well enough,” I say, sipping. I dreamed of being lashed to a rock, burning seawater lapping at my chin. “Did you get Jingles all the details?”

  “Yeah. They’ll come by later to meet everyone. We also need to go to the Guild Hall to get Oka. And I can introduce you to someone who’ll be helpful to know. I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  His words trail off. His eyes, the color of tanned leather, linger on me. It’s almost like he’s got a question. Or he wants a kiss. I lean in. His breath quickens, and he tilts his head in response. Then, he hesitates and backs away. “Sorry,” he fumbles. “Not in this form.”

  “Sure. We’ll get started after breakfast. Give me a moment.”

  “Wait,” he says, stopping me. “This came for you.”

  He hands me a sealed letter. It whiffs faintly of magic.

  I take it and return to the bedroom, past Sven’s empty cot near the sliding door. A wood and paper divider gives him a bit of privacy, at least. I halfway expected him to join me in bed. I shut the door and approach the statuette on a low table in the corner. It’s not lit up. Am I supposed to do something to it? Maybe it’s out of charges. I set my coffee beside it and kneel, rubbing tiredness from my face.

  I crack the letter, and the faint magical aura fades. It’s in the same dark ink sheening with deep red.

  Warchief,

  May I be among the first to welcome you to Shirano. I hope you enjoy all the accommodations and pleasures the Guild can offer. I’m told you’re a man of eccentric taste, and I can appreciate that. I’m afraid my schedule is quite full over the coming weeks, but I would cherish the chance to meet in person. Perhaps after the Gala, we can discuss the future of the Guild as it pertains to your Byrian Isles.

  Chairman Carolus Baumbach, Minister of Policy

  I peer at it. That’s the second time he’s written me directly. But I’m not sure why it gives me the chills. I fold it up and set it aside for Deach to review. I push it out of mind.

  I search inward, looking for the pool where I usually feel the warmth of a dawn sunbeam ready to help me pick divine spells. But oddly, there’s nothing. Looking into the pool, there’s just a bland rotation of spells with no presence guiding me toward anything in particular. The seal is in place, and there are no ripples, but it’s like I’ve got no connection. I pause.

  “Light Daddy, are you there?” I ask quietly.

  There’s nothing.

  I crack an eye. The statuette doesn't even glimmer. I quickly swipe through spells, randomly picking out a few and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Then, I grab my coffee and head to breakfast.

  Everyone’s gathered when I arrive. I sit cross-legged and fetch eggs and thin soybean soup with my arcane hand. “Lucy, do you know who this woman is?” I point, and an illusory picture of Richard’s girlfriend appears in front of her. “Dickcheese had this at his apartment.”

  She peers at it, chewing on a spoonful of pomegranate seeds. She’s wearing a silken robe, a plush towel around her hair. “I think that’s Selena Ortega. She was the last blood member of the Ortega family until a few years ago. She mysteriously passed away.”

  The table falls silent. “His wife, then?”

  “Fiancé, I believe,” Lucy says. “I heard he kept her name in her memory.”

  Genk asks the question we’re all thinking. “Did he kill her?”

  “It’s doubtful, but it’s always possible,” Lucy says. “Byra frowns on that. Not to mention the Ortega family was fading, and the Manchego family was already widely successful as a cheese magnate. I don’t know what they would’ve gained by it.”

  “That's horseshit so ripe, it’s still falling,” I say. “We’ll find out more.”

  Once I’m done eating, Karla presents the sigil kit she picked up yesterday. We sink an hour into it, inscribing it on the floor just outside the penthouse door. While we wait for it to set, she lets me try on her magical heels, which can change to any size, height, or appearance. They’re also stable even with a pencil-thin heel. She got them on consignment, she tells me, since the newer models are egregiously priced and have fewer features. They’re irreplaceable. I walk around in glossy black platform heels that make my legs look godly.

  I set the sigil to trigger if the door is opened without a spoken password. I gather the team and make sure they understand me loud and clear when I say it’ll be a bad time for everyone in a thirty-foot radius if they forget. I send word to the staff downstairs, too. Deach has already collected a frightening amount of information, determining they’re trustworthy. I return Karla’s heels and ask her on a date. After a chat with Deach, she eagerly puts on her best kimono. Sven sheepishly admits the sushi last night isn’t agreeing with him, and he needs a rest. I tell him we’ll be fine, and we depart.

  I grab a carriage, but it’s not Oka. Karla mentions The Glass Lily when I ask where the important people are seen around here, so we go there. It’s filling up quickly for lunch. People everywhere love Carthesian things, whether names, food, or architecture, and this place is known for Carthesian infusion food. It’s not a tavern – they only offer wine for spirits. It’s set up like a bistro with tables and wire chairs. The menu’s in elven, and it’s murderously overpriced. Everyone’s dressed like they're practicing for the Gala, and the only reason I don’t get chucked out after one look from the staff is Deach’s reservation in my name. I get us a seat in the middle of the room. The catfolk next to us isn't subtle about asking for a new table.

  “So, you like dinosaurs,” I say. We’ve still not mentioned our deal at the Shadow Vault. I’m not sure I should. Still, she looks ravishing.

  She slurps a bowl of noodles with gazelle meat. On the side is a small baguette and a dollop of herb butter. “I love dinosaurs,” she says eagerly. “I was saving for a safari on Talnir. There’s an island in the Watcher Lake where they’re experimenting with breeding. It’s very controlled, though. The dinosaurs are all female.”

  I pause mid-bite. “That’s smart.”

  “I want to see a real tyrannosaurus at least once in my life.”

  I shrug, sipping coffee. “Well, if you need a traveling companion, I happen to make a lovely one.”

  Her eyes are drawn over my shoulder, and her smile fades. A chime dings in my head. I turn to see Richard.

  The staff fluster after him as he pushes into the dining room. He’s got his full armor and longsword on, purple cloak brushing the ground behind him. Voices hush. Every head in the room turns to look. He stops at our table, looming.

  “Chouncey.”

  I lean back, cocking my head. “Richard. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Who is this?”

  I gesture. “This is the delightful Karla Anklebreaker, my date for this fine afternoon.”

  He bristles at the word date. She’s hiding behind her hands. “I should’ve been clearer in my expectations. You have quite a… licentious reputation, after all.”

  “Are you calling me a slut?” I point at him. I stand, and he steps back. “Tough talk from someone within coming distance. Don’t think I didn’t see that nudie hung up in your bedroom, you self-fucking pillock.”

  The room falls silent. The kitchens pause. The streets outside pause.

  “I –” he sputters. He straightens, looking down his nose. “Consider this association over, then. Slut.”

  I laugh. I snap my fingers, and a pair of silken purple underthings appears in my hand. I pat them against his chest. “You'd best take these back, then.”

  He glares at me, fisting the thong away. “My mother will hear of this.”

  “You’re gonna tell your mother we fucked?”

  Someone laughs in the corner. He turns on his heel, marching from the restaurant.

  I sip my coffee, glancing around. Everyone’s still watching. “I’ll not apologize on his part, but my best wishes for the rest of your meal.” I put a hand against my chest and give a short bow, then sit. Conversation burbles immediately.

  Karla and I finish up, and I charge the whole meal to the Guild, including the bills of everyone unluckily interrupted. We stroll down the street past expensive shops. We browse, and Karla ogles a clothier boasting prices that make my eyes bleed. She prods me about getting better clothes, and I tell her I’d rather walk around in a sack. Finally, we turn down a side street, and a chime dings in my head.

  Deach materializes from a shaded corner. He’s in his fuckable half-elf form, looking every part a manservant in a deep gray hakama and shirt. “I got an appointment with Masato on your behalf in a couple hours,” he says. Masato’s the High Justicar and Richard’s superior. “You can report that incident before Richard even knows what happened.”

  “Perfect. That gives us time to hit the Guild Hall.” I turn to Karla, taking her hand and bowing to kiss it. “You’ve done a lovely job. Thank you so very much for your help.”

  She nods, looking a bit sick now that we’re out of sight. “I think I’d like a nap.”

  “Get yourself a massage while you’re at it.”

  She brightens. “I’ll do that.”

  We send her off in a carriage and fetch our own, hustling to the nearest Guild Hall.

  There are several Guild Halls in Guildania. They’re hubs for adventurers to pick up locations of potential treasure, as well as make use of certain resources. They’re also where the Guild does most of their clerical work for the greater public. The original one is in the central city, the most richly decorated. It’s all rosewood floors and wide-open spaces. A long line stretches to a row of low windows, behind which are workers. It's a lifelike depiction of the first layer of hell. There's a desk near the entrance. Sitting cross-legged behind it is a half-orc woman in a striped suit and ascot.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  I approach and sit, Deach beside me. “I’m Chouncey of Seven Oaks, the Warchief of the Byrian Isles – here for the Gala. I’d like to talk to someone about a contracted worker of yours, but I see your line is a bit long. I’ve got an important appointment with the High Justicar, and I’m a bit short on time. Maybe you can help me.”

  “Of course. Do you have your Guild card?”

  I freeze.

  “It’s right here, Warchief,” Deach says, something appearing in his hand. He passes it to the half-orc. She peers at it, then passes it back. Deach and I reach for it. We scrabble, crumpling it. It rips in half. I snap my fingers, and his half appears in my hand. He frowns. I’ll magic it together later, only after he squirms about having to make a new one. I put both sides together and peer at it.

  The immaculate lettering is printed on official Guild-sealed paper.

  First Name: Chouncey

  Last Name: of Seven Oaks

  Species: Human

  Birth Origin: See above

  Age: 30

  I pass both halves to him, and he tucks them away with a glare. “I’m twenty-six, you half-brained gink,” I whisper to him.

  “Figures you’d be a child about it,” he hisses back. I pause. That was almost halfway witty.

  “And your assistant?” the half-orc asks.

  “Oh, this is Hans. He was prime booking at the Velvet Rod in Sissthira when I found him. He’ll wait outside,” I say. I turn to him. “Please remember the cats are not free game around here. I'll not be consoling anyone's children this time.”

  "Of course," he says through his teeth. Then, he switches to fey. "You’re a fucking ass."

  My brows go up. I switch over, too. "You speak fey? You can floss with my nut hair."

  His jaw says he’s itching to throw a middle finger at me.

  “Okay,” the worker says. She stands, gathering some papers. “I’ll bring you to our senior manager. Right this way.”

  It takes me the better part of an hour to haggle Oka’s contract into my ownership. The senior manager is a bugbear in a suit who’s got questions about why. Professional that he is, Oka made record of the incident yesterday, so it’s easy enough to say he saved my life and I want him around. It’s an absurd 1,000 gold to buy the contract. The Guild reclaims their carriage, meaning we’ll need to buy one of our own. I sign a dozen different documents that would give any respectable devil a life-threatening hard-on. Finally, I exit to find Deach sitting on a low stone wall, whittling a piece of wood.

  I flick out my pick, grasping onto the third ley line. Power surges like a flash of lightning in the dead of night. The pick glows pink, flickering and flaring as I talk into it, just like Arriel showed me. “Oka, it’s Chouncey. Your contract’s moving to bigger and better places. I’m staying at the Cherry Blossom Resort, top floor. Head there, and we’ll talk.”

  After a pause, I hear a suave, twanging voice in my head. That’s mighty fine news, Mr. Seven Oaks. I got word to drop off my materials after I finish my workday. I’ll meet you there afterward.

  I nod to Deach, and we head to the next item on our list.

  The justicar headquarters is an unassuming building near the Guild Hall. It’s spired with sloping roofs and slatted windows. A defensive stone wall surrounds it, swarming with guards. I report to the front desk, where I'm ordered to put my weapons and mandolin in my magical bag and hand it over. Still, the guards all but search elbow-deep in my ass. Deach insists on coming with me, and I’m certain he's still got a dagger on him somewhere - the same place he keeps his edgy demeanor. I’m brought to a large sliding door where a couple people, armored similarly to Richard, stand guard. We’re admitted after another search. If I’d wanted a justicar fondling my cock, I’d have stuck around Richard’s apartment last night. Finally, we’re let into a roomy office.

  Sitting at a low, wide mahogany desk is an old dark elf.

  He’s got light indigo skin and long, silver hair worn halfway up in a bun. His eye is bright amber – the other is covered by a supple leather eyepatch. A royal purple cloak drapes over his shoulders, and he’s wearing a similarly-colored hakama and leather overcoat underneath silver-plated armor, more richly decorated than the other justicars. He sets down a pen and weaves his fingers on his cross-legged lap.

  “Warchief. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the two pads across from him. A vase with sprigs of cherry blossom is set on the desk corner, along with stacks of paper and ink.

  I take a seat. Deach joins me. “And you must be the High Justicar. Thank you for agreeing to meet on short notice. This is Bertram, my assistant – he’s here to witness and take notes, if you don’t mind. He’s a mute – I special-ordered him from an orphanage in Lengenfeld.”

  Deach is already scribbling notes on a pad. His lips twitch, and he scrawls FUCK YOU across the page in fey.

  “Call me Masato,” the dark elf says in the clipped and sing-song accent of the Horonese I’m hearing everywhere these days. It’s an odd combination with his gruff voice. “My job is an important one, not a punctilious one.”

  He pauses, looking at Deach. Then he stands and approaches a broad bookshelf along the back wall. A small Guild sigil rendered in stone sits on a shelf. He touches it. A faint wave of buzzing magic washes over the room. Then, he returns and sits.

  “There. Now we can speak plainly. Welcome back, Deach.”

  Deach nods. “It’s good to be back.”

  I freeze, looking between the two of them. “We were acquaintances before his unfortunate stay at the Shadow Vault,” Masato says. “He occasionally passed me information about the less lawful actions taken by the Ministry and the Guild.”

  “And you couldn’t keep him out of prison?” I ask.

  “Unfortunately, no. That decision was made above my jurisdiction. It was uncharacteristic and rather… personal in nature.”

  “Vincent,” Deach says by way of explanation.

  Masato clasps his hands again. “I understand you had difficulties with Richard this morning. To best help you, I need to know if that was truthfully him or… not.” He looks at Deach.

  Deach cuts in before I can say anything. “It was me.”

  “What’s your goal by reporting this?”

  I glance at Deach. I've missed several conversations. “I told him everything,” Deach says. “We want his help. He has control over the whole justicar organization.”

  He doesn’t usually trust anyone breathing. The fact that he’s being frank is worth noting.

  “That’s correct,” Masato says. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s corruption. It was a mistake on the Guild’s part to give me this job if they intended such blatant depravity. They plan to part me with it soon enough, likely by replacing me with the very person we’re talking about.”

  “So you know what we’re actually doing here?” I ask.

  “Indeed, and it’s long overdue. Whatever the Guild may have started as, it’s no longer a useful power structure that fits its people’s needs.”

  “Aren’t you sworn to it?”

  “I’m sworn to uphold law, due justice, and the greater good. The Guild abides by none.”

  I can’t help looking at Deach. Am I impressed or aroused? It's a half-standing mix of both. How does he do all this without me knowing? Somehow, in the frustration of what's between us, I get the sense we make a good team.

  I turn back to Masato. “The Guild wants the Isles. I’ve gotta rub elbows with the Ministry sooner rather than later. And I’ve gotta make the Gala the biggest embarrassment it can possibly be. Richard’s practically begging to be our starting point.”

  Masato nods, raising an eyebrow. “The Ministry is proud, if nothing else.” He pauses for a long moment. “There are rumors that I can’t confirm, nor will I tell you what they are. But maybe you can come to the same conclusion. I’ll create a report and pass it to Felicia, recommending that you meet with her. Unfortunately, this is not the first time a report of this nature has occurred, so it won’t be out of place. I’d appreciate your quiet cooperation on whatever… agreement you come to.”

  That’s two handfuls of words for saying he’s building a case against her. “I’ll give you all the details if you can get me in there.”

  He picks up his pen and writes a few things on a pad of paper. Then, he sets it down again. “One more thing – what’s your plan for after the Guild falls? The vacuum left in their absence will be enormous.”

  I sigh. We’re barely two days into this. But he’s right. I can’t take charge when I’ve already got the Isles to look after – and I don't want to do either. “It’ll be up to the people of Horonai.”

  “A nice sentiment, but we can’t allow anarchy to run rampant. Not everyone will agree with its fall, and you'll need the right people to convince them otherwise. As long as I have this job, the justicars will keep order, but it’s not a long-term solution. If the Ministry falls, someone will have to take its place, whether temporarily or not. It’s something to consider.”

  He’s not the right audience to confess that I’m making this up as I go. I nod. “I’ll do that. It’s nice making an ally for once. I’ll get what you need.”

  “I’m a man of my word, and I understand you are, too. It’s a pleasure. I’ll begin filling out paperwork. Look for an appointment with Felicia and keep it – she’s a very busy woman.”

  “Then, we’ll leave you to it.”

  I collect my magical bag again, making sure the essentials are inside. The rest is buried underneath a thousand leftover Drowning Man shirts, a crate of Deach’s daggers, and the fat stack of gold I brought from the vault on Jor. Deach calls a carriage, and we rattle toward the penthouse. It’ll be a longer ride than usual, the roads crowding with other carriages.

  “Hey,” Deach says quietly. I glance over. He’s looking at me like he did this morning. “You’re an asshole. How about that kiss now?”

  I smile, looking at his full lips. The smell of citrus and pine wood wafts from his neck. I bring his head closer and kiss him.

  His breath instantly quickens, hot on my face. He becomes eager. It stirs me. He pushes closer, straddling me. I perk. It’s a carriage big enough for four. We’ve got plenty of room. His tongue caresses out, licking along my lips. It’s divine.

  “We’ve got a half hour,” I say. He nibbles my neck. I shudder, nerves bursting to attention. I journey a hand down, finding a grabbable bulge through the illusion of his clothes. We’ve gotta do it right here, or I’m gonna cause a scene. Neither of us moves to draw the curtains. “I’ll make it count if you will.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Oh, I’ll make it count,” he breathes. He pauses, eyes hesitant. “Want to... try a different form?”

  That's like asking whether I want cock or hole. “I’d like to try several.”

  He smiles and blurs. Gray inkiness swirls over his skin. The solidity in my hand vanishes. He becomes the walnut-haired half-elf woman from yesterday, wearing a mossy kimono. Her slender fingers reach for my belt. “How’s this?”

  I’m already breathless. “Exquisite.”

  After a lusty carriage ride, we arrive at the penthouse to find Jingles. They’re wearing a velvety coat and breeches you’d expect at a Carthesian ball, except it's an unfortunate casualty of a theater troupe’s wagon. They’ve made themselves at home, reporting that Richard found the gift I left last night. They’ll keep up their guise as Richard’s housekeeper to feed us information. But they’ll stay here when needed. They immediately book themself a massage and facial at the spa. I have them put us all down for an appointment while they’re at it.

  Dinner arrives that night, and I play a few songs at Genk’s request, some of the team singing with me. I set my mandolin down when footsteps come from the front door, then the voice of a staff member.

  “I love cock,” they say quietly. Then, a knock comes on the door.

  I open it to find Oka.

  “Howdy, Mr. Seven Oaks,” he says, tipping his hat.

  I gesture him in. “The delightful Oka Shiro. Come in. Have you eaten? You’re certainly welcome to join us.”

  “I am feeling peckish. I might take you up on that,” he says. He’s wearing the same thing as yesterday. Within his long, black duster coat, I spot the bulge of a holstered gun. A longer one is slung across his back with a bag.

  I bring him to the table and make introductions. “Respectfully,” he says, turning to me. “I asked around, and I didn’t realize you freed all those slaves. I look forward to working for you, sir.”

  “About that,” I say. I grab the stack of paper on the table in the sitting area. Deach already used some of it for target practice. Better that than some devil using it for smut. I hold it up. “I got my hands on this.”

  I pitch it into the fireplace. It crinkles and burns.

  Oka's whiskers twitch.

  “I’m being honest with you,” I say, crossing my arms. The chatting at the table stops. “I brought you here because I need help. I’m going for the Guild’s throat. I’m gonna make sure there’s no more shit contracts, no more slaves. And I’m gonna give you the same chance I gave everyone else I set free.”

  I hand him a small pouch of ten gold.

  He takes it, squeezing it in his paw-hand, feeling the weight. I continue. “Whether you join us or not, that’s yours. You’re free to go or stay. There’s no slaves here.”

  “That’s mighty generous,” he says quietly. His voice wavers. “I’ve been behind on payments for my children. I’ll get this to them straightaway.”

  “They’re here in the city?”

  “They are. I don’t see them as often as I should. I’d like to. And I reckon you’re gonna make a lot of enemies. I’ll get you there safely.”

  Jingles claps. The rest follow suit. I smile. “Your first order of business in the morning is getting us one hell of a carriage. It’s gotta fit him.” I point to Genk. “Bring him with you. Karla, too. She’s in charge of the coin.”

  Oka nods. “I’ll find the best damn carriage gold can buy. You’re worth nothing less.”

  “Lucy, go with them. We’ll put it in your name so it’s harder to find.”

  Lucy nods. She’s reclined on a couch in a silk negligee, doing a number puzzle with a pencil in hand. “Only if I get to keep it after we’re done.”

  I give her a lingering look. “If you and your husband take me for a trip to the Isles in it, we’ve got a deal.”

  She nibbles her pencil between her teeth, winking. “That could be arranged.”

  “Where might I humbly rest my paws?” Oka asks.

  “There’s room with Genk,” Karla says, appearing. “I can show you. I’m Karla, by the way.”

  Oka’s whiskers twitch as he looks down at her. His tail swishes underneath his coat. “That’d be most appreciated, Madame Karla. By your lead.”

  He tips his hat. She fumbles, a smile halfway etched on her face. Redness creeps onto her cheeks. “Um, okay. This way.”

  Deach appears with a soft chime. He leans in and whispers. “Can I join you tonight?”

  “Sure. Just don’t trip over Sven.”

  He titters. He puts a kiss on my jaw and vanishes into the bedroom.

  The next morning, I wake up beside him when Lucy delivers a note from the Defense Ministry with an appointment. There’s no options – it’s ten in the morning or get fucked. I’ve got an hour – hardly enough time to consider having a drink to make this easier. I pound down breakfast and dress, Deach hovering. He and Jingles are gonna get a pulse on what’s going on with the Ministry now that we’re here. Karla’s there too, reading me highlights from the tabloids about my public falling-out with Richard yesterday.

  I jump into a carriage with Sven, and we race toward the Palace.

  The Palace is the center of the Guild’s power. It’s tall, buttressed, and spired, made of rich jungle wood from the swamps north of Horonai, painted richly in red and purple. Banners with cherry blossom sigils hang from a thick wall, guards patrolling. Outside, a small orchard of cherry trees and smoothly paved paths lead to the stone stairs. People are bustling in and out. It’s been like this for weeks and will only get worse as the Gala approaches, one of the guards explains. Meanwhile, they check my weapons, bags, instruments, friends, associates, shoe size, last bowel movement, preference for how I take my coffee, and whether I like being top or bottom. My weapons and mandolin go in my magical bag, which the guards keep. I nearly burst a blood vessel. But I don’t have a choice. Sven’s rifled through, too, only to be told he’s not allowed with me. With much weeping and gnashing of teeth, he sits on a wooden bench under a cherry tree and waits.

  I’m brought through the Palace against the flow of people. Behind massive double doors is the Grand Hall where the Gala will be held. I peer around, committing it to memory. Deach is gonna hold my balls hostage about it later. An assistant takes me up a vast set of stairs, where it becomes quieter and less bustling. These are offices, and expensive ones. At the end of a long hall is a mahogany sliding door. A plaque beside it reads Chairman Carolus Baumbach. It’s hair-raising – just a year ago, I was flopping from one cozy ditch to another. Now, I’ve got some of the most powerful people in the world on their knees asking if they can get started. We turn down a short hall, and finally, I’m brought into a reception room before a paneled door.

  Richard is standing just outside.

  He’s wearing his armor and royal purple cloak, longsword at his belt. His hair glistens. He scowls at me, straightening. “Warchief,” he says, cleft chin in the air.

  “No need for standing on formality, Dickcheese,” I say. “We can still be friends.”

  His jaw squares. He’s got the same slight blank glow to his features – a charm. “Quite the contrary.”

  “Well, you made that clear at the restaurant the other day. I prefer taking the high ground. I wish you the best in all your endeavors.”

  He bristles. “That was –”

  The door slides open. A voice like a whip comes from inside. “Come in.”

  Sitting at a low desk is Felicia Manchego, Minister of Defense.

  My mouth goes dry. She’s the kind of beautiful that belongs in a painting. People just aren’t born with that kind of bone structure. She’s slender, wearing an impeccable dark red kimono, shot with black silk. Her hair is spun gold, pinned in an elegant, fanning bun with a wooden pin in the shape of a cherry blossom branch. Her eyes are grayish green and piercing, sharp and prickly like a rose thorn. Her full lips are utterly flat. She could charm a sphinx with that smile.

  I step inside, and the door slides closed behind me. It’s quiet – a magical dampening effect. It’s dim, too – paper is stretched over the paneled windows, leaving only a slight beam of sunlight. The rest is lit with candles. She rises and bows. She straightens and extends a hand like a lever. “Warchief. A pleasure.”

  I get an uncanny feeling like she’s three kobolds puppeting a high-elf body. My stomach buzzes. I clasp her hand, bowing over it. “And you must be Felicia. The pleasure’s all mine. Thank you for meeting me on short notice.”

  “I don’t normally take meetings of this nature,” she says. She sits cross-legged at her desk. I sit across from her. “Masato passed me a report you made about my son. I won’t waste time on whether it’s truthful or not. I know whose company you keep. And you have a rather dissolute reputation as a bard – and someone well-versed in enchantment magic, if the reports from the Shadow Vault are to be trusted. Aside from that, my son’s memory has been known to be… spotty.”

  I pause. It’s odd that she’s bringing up enchantment magic, especially with the charm on Richard just outside.

  Felicia continues. “Frankly, I don’t care what the situation is. You have priceless value to the Guild, so I’m willing to extend you a generous benefit of the doubt.” She lowers her voice. It's honeyed. “But this is a path you don’t want to continue down.”

  I cock my head. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning,” she says curtly. She rubs a finger along a slender ear. “You should heed it.”

  Something nudges my head. I pause, my spine prickling. I throw up a middle finger, chucking magic.

  Pink magic swirls around her, toiling in the shape of a heart. She hisses, waving it away. For a split second, her face scrunches like a fanged animal ready to snap. But then, it’s gone.

  I freeze. Then, I laugh.

  I didn’t think I could negate spells anymore. I glance inward. I just ripped a handful of magic off the fourth ley line. I’m not a mana-burnt husk on the floor. My heart stutters.

  She frowns, watching me cackle. I bring myself back together. I point at her. She flinches. “You’d best be careful, or you’ll not see another longship.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Then we should come to an agreement.”

  I look her over. She’s pissed at me, but the Ministry's bent and ready. Maybe they're not as cohesive as I thought. Maybe if I pick at things, I can make them take themselves apart. At least I know where Richard got his charm.

  I shift, leaning against a knee, words halfway from my mouth. And then I realize why something seems odd.

  It’s her eyes. From a different perspective, the glint of the dim light doesn’t quite follow. There’s a slight warping, almost like a bad illusion. Something’s not laid over it right. Her eyes are grayish-green, but there’s a sliver of red along the edge – bright red, like blood.

  Every scrap of warmth leaves the room.

  A thousand old legends exist about magical beings, especially those with the power to charm thralls and blend into society. They look like anyone else, except maybe more alluring, more attractive, more deadly. Those stories are meant to scare you into being careful of who you know – you might never realize someone is something else. They might be a doppelganger trying to take your face, your name, your identity.

  Or they might be a vampire.

  I look at the slim beam of sunlight coming into the dim room. I’m in a cold sweat. It’s a reasonable enough reaction when you realize you’re alone with an undead predator. And the legends usually say that where there’s one vampire, there’s more. I’ve got no weapons – and without my instrument, only some of my magic. A charm’s not gonna help me here. Charms and the like don’t work on their kind.

  “Tell me about these ships you’ve been buying from my late friend Ricky.”

  She returns to her steeled composure. “The Guild’s most prolific commodity is explosives. As you can imagine, equipping Vasterholmian longships with firing capacity is an effective and profitable means of defense. Both Hartland and Torgal have shown explicit interest in this technology.”

  “And you’re selling to both of them?”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential information to someone allied with Byrio.”

  That’s not a no.

  “Well,” I say. “I’ve got a handsome ship sitting in Port Nakanai. It’s our best one, although it’s still got Irminric’s stink on it. How’d you like that one?”

  She pauses, calculating eyes raking over me. She’s catching what I’m putting out. “You make an attractive offer. I’m prepared to offer you 30,000 gold with the understanding that you say nothing of this deal.”

  I almost laugh. The Biggest, Blackest Tide is worth a thousand gold on a good day – maybe less after I nearly sent it to the bottom of the ocean. She wants me to keep quiet – about everything with Richard and her trying to charm me. She’s even trying to buy my loyalty, ensuring I keep sending them ships.

  I tilt my head. “As you said yourself, I’m rather well-versed in enchantment magic. If I wasn’t, I’d be walking out of here happy with getting nothing.”

  “60,000 gold and your silence.”

  I’d double the worth of the Byrian Isles with that. “80,000 and I won’t say a word to Carolus when I meet with him after the Gala.”

  “I accept.”

  She sets a piece of paper on her desk and grabs a long pen. A few moments later, she slides it across. It’s an agreement to purchase a single ship for 80,000 gold. After a gap, it says the bit about staying quiet, probably so it can be altered later.

  She hands across a different pen, setting it on top. I stop myself from grabbing it. It’s magical. But it’s not just that – it’s uncomfortable.

  Something thorny radiates from it, drawing toward my skin. I’ve felt that before. It’s similar to… Irminric’s greatsword. It’ll draw blood if I touch it. I pause. She’s a vampire and a powerful enchantment expert. She’s making a blood contract. If I sign that, I won’t be able to say anything about it, no matter how hard I try.

  I snap my fingers, and my own pen appears in my hand. I shuffle the paper away and sign. She frowns and takes it back.

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” she says with all the delight of finding a pubic hair in her soup. She writes and hands me a different letter. “Bring this to Kanon at the Finance Department. She’ll assist you further. Now, please excuse me.”

  Not Minister Obara, just Kanon. I fold the letter and tuck it away. It’s a personal note telling the Minister to pay what I’m owed, no questions asked. I’m gonna bring up those questions. Felicia just bought a single ship for 80,000 gold. I’m gonna make her look like a rancid, hemorrhoid-riddled ass.

  “And I hope you have a lovely rest of your day,” I say, standing. “Enjoy the beautiful weather.”

  Her face cracks into a porcelain smile. I slip out the door.

  I barely glance at Richard, who’s still standing outside. I hustle downstairs, my heart hammering. I need to get out of here. I barrel past Sven, who races to catch up. I grab my magical bag from the guards and shout for the first carriage I see. It screeches to a halt, and I climb in. We trundle toward the First Bank.

  “Is everything okay?” Sven asks.

  I cross my arms. I’m shaking, my clothes sticking to me. I snap my pick out, grasp a ley line, and talk into it.

  “She’s a leech,” is all I can say. Sven pales.

  A long pause follows before I hear Deach’s breathless voice in my head. Holy fucking shit. That’s what Masato was working toward. You have to go tell him. I’m at the penthouse. Are you okay? What about Richard?

  I swallow dryly, brushing another connection. “I’ve gotta meet with Kanon first. I’ll have something even better for Masato. Make sure the team’s together when I get back. We’ve gotta chat.”

  I will. Gods… this changes everything. She might not be alone. I… have to think about this more. See you soon. And hey… stay safe.

  Sven and I exit the carriage a few blocks from the First Bank. I visit the nearest tavern and throw down a couple shots of whiskey while Sven keeps watch. It tastes like the kiss of a sweet, long-lost friend. I fill my flask with the one-hundred-year-old dwarven whiskey they’ve got in the back, too. What in the sweet fucking hells have I gotten myself into? Am I meeting another vampire? The drink eases the jitters.

  I head to the First Bank. It’s a massive, uncharacteristically marble building draped with flags. I’m bent over by security, once again leaving Sven and my magical bag outside. What follows is a nagging headache: trying to convince someone to let me see Kanon. I flash the letter from Felicia several times, going from desk to desk like a comedy sketch I didn’t ask for. I’m ready to make my case to someone's pussy when I’m finally brought upstairs. Things are brighter here, and the doors are on hinges rather than sliders. It reminds me of Carthesia.

  Kanon Obara is the Minister of Finance and a short forest elf. She seems young, although it’s hard telling with elves. She’s got a certain cute, full-faced look. She’s wearing a tailored gray suit with an emerald ascot to accent her similarly-colored hair. Her skin is tanned and almost the same color as her almond-shaped eyes. She greets me with a beaming smile as I enter her office.

  “Warchief, it’s great to meet you. How are you liking Shirano?” Her voice is buoyant and jarring after coming face-to-face with Felicia’s steel-cast asshole.

  “I’ve not seen a more lovely city,” I say, claiming the chair across from her. I cross a leg and give my most winning smile. “It suits you well, if I might say.”

  “Are you looking forward to the Gala?”

  I laugh. “If I ever turn down a party, start looking for doppelgangers. Will I be seeing your beautiful self there?”

  “Of course,” she says. “The Finance Ministry funds it. I like to see what our hard work pays for. Our stakeholders also have questions about our year-end returns. I do a presentation on our earnings.”

  I pass her a conspiratorial look. “Can you tell me what the theme is?”

  Her lips quirk in return. “Unfortunately, no. It’s a fun little secret. But I think you’ll like it. I can say you’ll certainly be a guest of honor. What can I help you with?”

  “I was told to deliver this to you.” I sling the folded letter on the desk.

  She takes it, scanning it, then sets it down. Her demeanor changes. “Damn it, again?” she mutters. She pastes a bubbly smile back in place. “Okay. I’ll authorize this, and one of our tellers can pay it out downstairs.”

  “Excellent. Waiting in line gets me off like no other,” I say. She gives a slight laugh. I slip my flask out, taking a swig. I stop. “Sorry, would you like some?”

  “Oh, um…” she hesitates. “I really shouldn’t.”

  I nod, gesturing at the letter with my flask. “Seeing as that’s no small amount of coin to be walking around with, could I get an account set up? I've got every bit of faith in our longships, but I'd hate to leave it to chance shipping it south.”

  “Of course,” she says. “A teller can help you.”

  “Have you got any special options for… select people?”

  Her brows go up. Her eyes linger on my flask when I set it down. “Would you like a line of credit?”

  “That's a fine idea,” I say. “The Chairman passed along his wishes that I enjoy everything Guildania’s got to offer. In fact, once in my life, I’d like to throw away an obscene amount of money. Just to see what it feels like.”

  She smiles and grabs a piece of letterhead, writing down a few lines. “Have it on me, then. They can set you up with our platinum-level account downstairs. It’s a zero-percent repayment rate. I’ll approve you for an additional 80,000.”

  I choke. Whiskey cauterizes my sinuses. I’ve just become richer than the Ronchellards by half again. She waits politely. I clear my throat, recovering. “What a thing to hear. I’m remembering why I like you people.”

  She smiles and hands me the paper. “We hope to keep you around. Actually, I will take some of that.”

  She slides a crystal glass over. I pour some whiskey in.

  “So, you pay out whatever Felicia says, just like that?” I ask. “You’re a good friend to have around.”

  “Not always,” she says. She takes her drink in a single slug, baring her teeth and clacking the glass on the desk. “Finance and Defense sometimes have… different goals, let’s say.”

  “It’s good they’ve got you separated then.”

  She laughs flatly. “You would think so. I spend more time with her than anyone else.”

  I smile and lean back, taking a sip. They’re fucking. I pause, examining her eyes. She’s got a familiar blank glow about her, too. I set the flask on the desk within reach.

  “She’s… intense, if we’re putting it lightly. Does she ever have fun? What’s her secret hobby?”

  Her brows go up while she pours herself more. “She’s been writing a romance novel for years. It’s terrible, but I can't tell her.”

  “You’re much more fun to talk to. What about the others?”

  She falters. “That would be unprofessional of me.”

  I shrug, folding my hands over my stomach. “So is paying out hush money for her nepotism hire. Aren’t you tired of picking up their dirty laundry? That’s a terrible job.”

  She seems too nice to be part of this. Maybe that’s why she’s here.

  She throws down more whiskey. “They promised a lot, and they’ve come through on most of it.” She pauses. Her eyes flick over to me. “Holly’s the worst.”

  That’s the Minister of External Affairs. She's rarely in Guildania, from what Karla said, instead touring around to manage the Guild's presence outside of Horonai.

  Kanon continues. “I can see their accounts. Hers never matches up with her estates. External Affairs never matches up, either. I think she’s shuffling things around with the Bellenstein Dynasty. It’s going to get us bit in the ass soon.” She pauses. “Pardon my language.”

  “You’ve done me no offense,” I say. Considering my proximity, the biting might soon be coming from inside the ass. “What sort of freaky things are they doing? I might be an interested party. When in Shirano, and all that.”

  She leans back, too, nursing her drink. Her words string together. “Ichiro bills business expenses from the Fuzzy Back. It’s a whorehouse – not a bad one, don’t get me wrong. It’s the top establishment for anyone with money around here. But I’m not sure what construction business he’s conducting there.”

  “Building towers, maybe.”

  She laughs, gesturing with her drink. A small snort comes out. It’s cute.

  I continue. “What about Vincent?”

  She shrugs. “He’s vanished for the past several weeks. Carolus said it’s fine, but nobody has seen him.”

  I take another drink. Deach will be interested in that. “Well, what a splendid group of people.”

  “You have no idea,” she says, passing me an emphatic look.

  I chat more about the Gala and how the stakeholders are rabid to hear how the Guild is finding groundbreaking ways to suck the peasants dry. I laugh along while she talks about value propositions and share prices. I finally excuse myself, saying I need a nap and to take care of my business downstairs. I spend another hour fuming in line and finally leave with a stack of gold and blank checks with pink hearts. I hustle back to Sven, and we find yet another carriage. We fly to the justicar headquarters.

  I’m exhausted. It's barely after noon. I spread my asscheeks for security again and get a spontaneous appointment with the High Justicar. I hand over everything I discovered, along with every detail I can remember about the contract I signed. I also give information about the Guild account with my hush money. He takes meticulous notes.

  “It’s been a theory of mine that the Ministry has a knack for blood, so to speak,” Masato says. “Although I can’t identify exactly who. They’re able to conceal their undead nature even from me and the other justicars. I suspect Felicia is the most recent addition. I think it’s why she sleeps in her office, not just to appear dedicated.”

  If she's the newest vampire, it's no wonder I was able to detect her. Vampires can live for centuries. And it takes them that long to become good at being vampires.

  “What about Richard?” I ask.

  “I can confidently say that Richard is not afflicted. But I suspect he will be soon. Felicia would rather have her son in my title, and I think he’s being groomed for it, maybe even unknowingly.”

  That almost makes me feel bad for Richard. Almost.

  “Anyway,” Masato says. “You’ve been invaluable. Unfortunately, this kind of blatant corruption is normal. Keep your people close and play along. If they have any reason to think you’re not their friend… I don’t think I need to explain what happens next.”

  His words ringing in my head, Sven and I return to the penthouse. Everyone’s gathered around the table with the nondetection vase in the center. My head spinning, I explain everything. This was much simpler when I woke up this morning.

  “So, Felicia’s a vampire, Richard’s next in line for Masato’s job, Kanon and Richard are both enthralled, Vincent’s gone, Holly’s extorting the Bellenstein Dynasty, and Ichiro’s mixing business and pleasure,” I say, ticking off fingers. “I’ve gotta be honest – a cabal of vampires is two planes over from what I was expecting. But we’ll pivot and figure it out. It’s all the more reason the Guild has gotta go.”

  “That pen was probably cursed,” Jingles squawks.

  “Which is why I’m telling you what happened,” I say. If I’d touched it, I’d be saying Felicia and I had a lovely chat about the weather over some bonbons. “This is the magnitude of what we're up against - and believe me, nobody is more surprised than I."

  Deach puts his half-orc face in his hands. He rubs it, exhaustion scoured under his tan eyes for a moment. “Why did you take money from the Guild?”

  I laugh, slugging from my flask. The room is swirling while I pace. I shrug, putting my hands up. “What’re they gonna do? I’ve got no assets. Until a few months ago, I was sleeping in the sky skiff I bought with coin from the Isles. That mandolin’s stolen. I've got no property, and yesterday you had to get me into a Guild Hall with a fake card. I put on the world’s biggest music festival, and I’ve never once registered with the Players’ Guild. They just fed me the wealth of a small nation while thanking me in advance for the honor of catching the gilded shit.”

  “I reckon we're gonna spend it all,” Oka says. He’s splitting a cigar with Genk, sleeves rolled back with sleeve gaiters fitted around his biceps.

  I point at Oka. “That’s exactly right. We’ve gotta blow that money. All of it.”

  Deach slaps his notepads on the table, beginning to write. He sighs. “We have a lot of plates in the water, then. We need to start preparing for the Gala in a few weeks. So here’s what we’re gonna do…”

  I sit at the head of the table and ponder, leaning against a fist while he talks. I know quite a bit about vampires. Folklore about them is as plentiful as holes at a brothel. But when I first scrambled off Jor and fled toward Byra, I took refuge with an ancient oread living on the outskirts of Oulencia, a smaller town on the way. Rumored to be a hag by the townsfolk, she was actually just prone to delusions, and what a perfect pair we made. She was convinced vampires were after me, not slavers, and wouldn’t let me into her hut until I ate a whole clove of garlic. It was fermented honey garlic, and I ate and drank myself into an ulcer over the few days I stayed, curled on a pile of blankets on the floor, reeking of blood and seawater. I could hardly talk or stop shaking, but I could keep her rambling about vampires, so I didn’t have to think. She was an expert on the topic. And she appreciated having someone listen for once. She never mentioned me to anyone who came by. I never learned her name, nor do I remember giving her mine.

  In the stories, there’s three kinds of vampires – vampire spawn, vampires, and vampire lords. The structure works in a pyramid. The vampire lord creates vampires and controls them. Vampires do the same with vampire spawn. I’ve no idea which kind Felicia is. But she’s not a vampire lord if I detected her. She seemed too put together to be a vampire spawn. Which means if Felicia is a vampire, then who’s the vampire lord?

  "Chouncey, are you paying attention?" Deach cuts in.

  I nod and gesture for him to continue. "Go on."

  He continues.

  I close my eyes, flitting through every tale that oread told me. How much of it's true? It has to be. There’s always a kernel of truth. Vampires can’t enter uninvited. They also can’t abide running water, silver, and sunlight. And holy water.

  I freeze. Arriel had holy water. Did she make it? Is that something I can do now? She used it to scry. Maybe I can do that, too. How hard can it be? I was once able to send an illusion halfway across the world. Scrying isn’t so different. But something’s nagging me about who I need to scry on.

  My son’s memory has been known to be… spotty.

  I shoot to my feet, looking around. Deach falters mid-plan. A silver-framed mirror is hanging on the wall in the sitting area, about the width of my armspan. I grab it, hefting it down. A dagger clatters to the floor behind it. I set the mirror on the table, pushing things aside. My arcane hand fetches my mandolin. I snap out my pick, peering at my reflection. I don’t have any personal effects here to use, but I’ve got a picture in mind. I focus on it and begin strumming. How did Arriel do it? I sing:

  I’ve got a request, if you would

  A picture, painting, in a mirror

  A person far off – bring them nearer

  Light Daddy, show me something good

  I grasp the fourth ley line, my nerves lighting up with magical energy. My vision tinges pink, then fades, except for the mirror before me. The talking around the dining table becomes muted and blurry. A picture forms in the mirror, like looking through a window. Everything is crystal clear, untouched by the drink.

  I see a fey elf.

  “Lucy, dear one,” I call out. “I need you.”

  Something touches my leg a moment later. My heart quickens.

  It’s a beautiful fey elf whose painting I’ve seen before. She looks nothing like that, though. Her deep brown braids are tangled and matted, laced with dead leaves and twigs from the loamy ground. Her hollow eyes are closed, and she’s poised on a mossy bed, curled on her side, willowy hands pillowed under her gaunt cheek. Her thin, bony chest rises and falls slowly in deep meditation.

  “It’s Selena,” I say. “She’s alive.”

  A hand grips my leg. Lucy’s voice comes through deep, dark water. “Where is she?”

  “Under a tree,” I say. The picture expands. A sprawling, drooping tree stretches overhead, branches touching the ground. She’s in a thick forest of rich green moss and gnarled bark. It’s so thick with magic, I can practically see it. Birds flit around, their long feathers shimmering with exotic, almost impossible colors. A stream burbles nearby, the music of a nymph hushed underneath it, alluring and seductive. It’s almost like the fey plane is bleeding through. “It’s in the middle of the woods. It’s ancient, maybe, and full of magic. I’m not sure where exactly.”

  “It has to be somewhere in the Heartwood,” comes Lucy’s voice. The Heartwood is the forest that covers much of the central and eastern parts of Vesh, as old as the hills. It’s where most of the world’s fey beings trace their ancestry, if not the fey realm itself.

  Across the image, a faint green glimmer of a ward flashes. What’s it keeping out? I go cold.

  “She’s trapped there. Magically,” I say.

  Lucy doesn’t say anything.

  Suddenly, I’m ripped from the spell. It’s like jolting awake from falling asleep too fast. I gasp. My vision comes back, swirling with whiskey. I've got a headache already. Everyone is standing around, watching. Lucy’s sitting beside me. I swallow dryly.

  Silence stretches.

  “What if she’s bound to her ancestral tree?” Lucy asks quietly.

  I look at her curled hair laced with sage and emerald, like the leaves of a tree. Her earthy skin is slightly textured and bark-like. “Is that possible?”

  “If there’s enough dryad blood in us, I don’t see why not,” she says. Dryads are fey beings linked to a particular tree in the woods, acting as the forest's protector. Stories about mortals falling in love with them are, of course, as old as the existence of fey elves. Being able to tie one to their ancestral tree through trace amounts of blood must be powerful magic, but… then, she says the thing we’re all thinking. “The Manchego family is from Byra. What if Felicia is responsible for this?”

  “Masato said Richard’s next for becoming a vampire. They have collateral if he doesn’t do it,” Deach says.

  “We have to kill Felicia,” Genk huffs.

  “Are we saying we all care about Richard now?” I ask.

  They give somber nods.

  “Fuck me,” I sigh. “Then we’ve got work to do.”

  He just wanted a gig. Instead, he became a prophet, a public enemy, and a confirmed System malfunction.

  System-based sci-fi. Corporate dystopia. Comedy with teeth.

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