He pointed as if I’d answered an unspoken question. “There’s a lad.”
Pulling up the table, I armed us both with wine and waited for him to deliver whatever request or advice he’d brought. It was hard to read him. Plain, form-fitting gray garment that draped his back but left his broad chest exposed; bare feet; slight swish of a cat tail at his back. Like most moon-souls who lived mainly in Serenity, he maintained a constant half-shape—a hybrid body, benefiting from hints of animal on the foundation of human. It always struck me as surreal, and no less so now—somehow, the laws of the world had produced this scene. A cat and a dove, sitting down to drinks together, just like that.
Kadzuhikhan sipped his liquor. I got tired of waiting. “Is this a de facto visit on behalf of his lordship?”
He sucked long on the pipe, poured more wine. “Of course. But fuck him. Mostly I wanted to see if you were still kicking. His lordship’s business can wait.”
Mm. Which may have been his way of saying, wanted to see if you were up for some cock? We’d fucked before, which probably should have been strange, considering how mentor-like he’d always been toward me. Protective, in a way. Managerial. But we were also both bored a lot, and he was a gorgeous, energetic lover. Only thing was, he preferred fresh, mortal bedmates. Unprepared—blushing and virginal, the kind who could be effectively described as “ravaged” when fucked. This may be what I knew best about him: he enjoyed the upper hand, even if he wasn’t violent in wielding it. One way or another, I had to remember that Kadzuhikhan was proudly identified with his trade. It had many polite names, but none of them got to the essence quite as well as “pimp.” He always seemed to treat his workers well, but it was hard to shake an uneasy feeling around him. I didn’t remember my mortal life, but it wasn’t hard to reassemble the wisdom that pimps tended to be bad news to those who worked for them.
So no surprise that the possible invitation made something in me clench. I picked as noncommittal a response as I could, and shrugged. “Not much to kick. It’s all the same.”
His silence was pointed. He knew. Because his immortality was demarcated by the same amnesiac void as mine, even if he’d had longer to fill the gaps with new memories. We both had nothing but Serenity to care about.
“Let’s say—” he puffed again, purring “—a party.” By which he meant an orgy. Probably with a number of his workers earning their bread by serving as entertainers. “Tomorrow night. Mountains of fresh meat, just flushing in. Lots of firm, tight ass. Whatever poison you want to go with, and drinking.”
Drinking. Not alcohol, but blood. Blood-donors, supplying the immortal orgy-goers within their bodies’ limits in exchange for a night they’d either never forget or never remember, depending on their choice. And they’d probably all be drinking spirits touched with silver colloid. Made for a nice toxic buzz that booze never brought me anymore.
My mouth was dry. “Eh. Not in the mood.” At the raised eyebrow, I shrugged again. “I take it this is what Umber sent you for?”
He didn’t even bother lying. “I would have asked you without the nod from him. You depress me, lying around up here. Act like you’re not actually dead anymore for a change.”
Lord Umber. My employer and Kadzuhikhan’s business partner. Umber sold amnesia, gifting anyone who paid him with the bliss of oblivion. Then, those who gave up their memories usually became donors for Serenity’s crowd of blood-drinkers. Kadzuhikhan got all the blood donation he wanted and plenty of fresh, fit candidates to join his sex-selling business. I helped out by healing the blood-donors after they gave blood, as well as making sure the sex workers were in good health, and in return I got to not be bothered by everyone who Umber had his talons in. Which was probably everyone. I’d tried my best to avoid becoming dependent on the rush of blood-drink, the way it warped hunger. So far, I’d succeeded, and also fucked off for most of the rest of the dealings. But I’d figured sooner or later I’d be asked to earn my keep again.
“I don’t lie around up here. I sleep. And then fly. Sleep and fly. It’s a system.” All right, there were gaps. Including much in the way of food—starvation was almost impossible for me now, but that didn’t mean my spare-eating afterlife style was pleasant. I could probably do with a little revelry, at least with blood and meat from actual non-human animals. Maybe a way to run off my libido. But the thought of another of Kadzuhikhan’s orgies struck me as surprisingly bleak. “Why’s this bash so important?”
I could swear his claws protracted. “Fucking hell, you are fidgety. I’m asking you to drop your ‘sad bird in a cage’ act for one night because the sympathy pains are getting unbearable, and because it should be a hell of a night. But you just want to pick at the fine print. The fact that his lordship is hoping you’ll play host is mostly beside the point. So you do a little supernatural healing for a few blood-donors. It won’t be that much work, and I know you enjoy it.” He swabbed his face with one hand, his inestimable age actually showing through for a moment. “Look. Umber is a piece of shit who only thinks about himself. I get it. But this is what we’ve got.”
He may as well have said, We both know there’s nothing to go back to.
And he was right.
I looked down into my cup, the empty reflection there. “Stop begging. I’ll go, if you want the company that badly.”
His purr became more like a snicker. “Big heart.”
Sourness crawled through my stomach. “Oh, you know me. An outright angel.”
* * *
I sought out the only person I knew who I could count on to have worse insomnia than me.
Tamueji was not exactly a friend. She and I didn’t pal around, drink together, go places together. She was more like someone to talk with who seemed to expect very little. It was...nice.
Finding her was the roll of a die. She was the Watcher of Shadows, maestro of espionage and the information trade in Serenity’s shadows; she might at times lurk through daylight hours in the bowels of the night-streets, where the sun dared not come. Or she could be poised on the mountain, as if surveying a vibrantly decaying kingdom. Hundreds of bird-souls—spies, informants, detectives—answered to her from over a dozen flocks, but she often appeared to be gathering her intel herself, as often as she seemed to sit in meditation on the world around her, plucking secrets from the brittle air.
It was the diversion of an hour or so to come across her this time, her legs swinging over the edge of a chipped tower side. Tamueji’s crow wings were almost more purple than black, catching shades of blue and red in her feathers. Her short hair, collected demeanor, and impressive physique made her look like a cool goddess of the night wind. She nodded with a quirked grin as I descended, the most animated greeting I usually received from her.