Bo dropped a sopping wet washcloth onto the table just like an angsty teen. Sudsy water splattered this way and that with each belligerent twist of the rag, then she proceeded to half-assedly wipe down the bar booth. She resented this work and saw no reason to hide it. Her behavior often caught both Dyson and Trick's attention, interrupting them during their own cleaning duties.
Every so often the men would look at each other - attempting to wordlessly communicate that someone should speak to her - and then they would both resume cleaning.
Trick had spent the past week negotiating the terms of a meeting with the Morrigan. He insisted they meet on his turf; in turn, she insisted he sterilize his "revolting scum-infested two-bit saloon" floor to ceiling. It was a huge inconvenience, but the Blood King found the request amenable. Besides, he really needed her to come to the Dal Rialta.
Given the nature of this meeting - the barkeep knew secrecy was of the utmost importance. Thus, he'd given his usual waitstaff the day off and called his closest confidants to his side. Only those who knew the situation were permitted, and unfortunately for them - their inner-circle knowledge consequently relegated them to scrubbing duty.
Bo switched her attack-cleaning to another booth, dunking her rag into a bucket before slamming it against the wood table. Dyson gradually pushed his mop in her direction. When he was close he meekly said, "Hey."
She didn't respond or acknowledge him in any way. Bo continued sloshing her cloth around in broad, careless strokes.
"Hey. What's going on."
The succubus threw her head back and sighed heavily. When she turned to face him, Dyson strained to conceal his nervousness.
"Did you know?"
He swallowed hard, but discreetly, "Did I know what?"
She stared at him, searching for the faintest reaction. Though they were skills typically reserved for seduction, she could smell a faint wisp of perspiration off him, she could sense his heart rate kick up a notch. To up the ante, she waited just long enough for the moment to become uncomfortable before saying only "Taft."
A shock ran through the shape-shifter's body. He never anticipated this line of questioning would rear its ugly head again, and suddenly found himself without an answer.
"Don't you trust me?"
"I trust people to act in their own self-interest."
He furrowed his brow, "Are you accusing me of something?"
"Why can't you answer my question?"
"Because I shouldn't have to, Bo. I thought we trusted each other."
Bo violently kicked a chair and it flew across the room.
"Lauren and Tamsin are basically off on a fucking pretend honeymoon and so help me god, if I find out some little white lie of yours helped put them there - I will never forgive you. Do you hear me?"
Dyson's stomach sank, "That's not fair Bo. I was delirious, I was strapped to a table and.."
Bo got in his face and pointed a finger directly at his nose, "It's true, isn't it?" she hissed. Her eyes frantically darted back and forth between his eyes.
Shame washed over the wolf's face but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"I thought so."
In his office, Trick opened his desk drawer and gazed at the large folder waiting within. He removed the folder, opened it, and reviewed the document inside for the hundredth time. The parchment was covered in lengthy text written in the Old Tongue - paragraph after paragraph after paragraph - outlining a strict list of terms Evony would need to abide in exchange for Lauren's serum.
He'd written close to two dozen versions of this contract, refining his language and snuffing out plausible loopholes. He knew it was impossible to pen a fool-proof and perfect document, and often had to remind himself that the words he used hardly even mattered; the true power of this binding agreement was that it appeared to be written in blood.
When he had originally discussed this plan with Lauren, he'd envisioned a much simpler contract written in his blood. Knowing such things come with wildly unpredictable consequences she'd persuaded him to use lamb's blood mixed with powdered Lamia horn. The latter added an other-worldly glow to the ink. It was pretty convincing.
Lauren's reasoning was that there wasn't any need to take unnecessary risks; simply revealing himself to be a blood sage would be enough to make Evony think twice about double-crossing them. It also didn't hurt that the document didn't make any unreasonable demands; it didn't banish her to some distant corner of the earth, it didn't ask her to relinquish her seat of authority. It primarily dealt with Lauren's research. Evony was forbidden from pursuing revenge, and from reverse engineering the virus.
"You are wise, doctor," Trick said with a heart full of thanks.
Lauren blushed a little, "Thank you, but honestly I've just had a lot of time to think this over."
The coup de grace in cementing the believability of their ruse would be the signatures on the document. As it was tradition to sign the document in the presence of witnesses, Trick and Lauren labored over how to do so convincingly without using his actual blood.
"You know what we should do? We should have her use her blood as well. Every magician implements some sort of distraction to promote his illusion; she'll be distracted thinking about having to render her own flesh since she's without her powers. Knowing this she's likely to focus less on what you're doing."
"That's brilliant! And adding her own blood will undoubtedly increase the stakes for her! She'll think she'll be bound through her own blood."
"Okay then. So now we just need to rig something that you can conceal in your palm... It needs to hold just enough blood.."
Within minutes the doctor had constructed a workable plan; Trick would fill the finger of a latex glove with lamb's blood and tie it off. He'd keep this tiny vessel hidden in his apron pocket until the appropriate time, at which point he'd transfer it into his left fist. If all went well, he'd cut the balloon and not himself.
"This is just crazy enough to work."
Evony waited in the backseat of a dark sedan parked outside the Dal. She understood the purpose of this meeting. She'd been told she could bring a lawyer, a witness or both. She brought neither. She could not afford to share her dire circumstances with anyone.
"Ma'am it's time," her driver announced.
"It's time when I'm ready," she snapped.
Evony wasn't so much irritated by her driver's sense of punctuality as she was afraid of entering the bar. She had absolutely nothing to bargain with. Her Light-sided nemeses held all the power and they knew it. She knew it. It saddened and enraged her to admit that nothing she owned or was capable of acquiring - nothing - was off the table.
She removed her favorite stiletto from her purse and carefully slipped it into her boot. If shit goes south, she said to herself, I'll go down stabbing that succubitch in the throat.
"Do you think she'll come?" Dyson asked.
Trick yanked his pocket watch from its hiding place, popped it open and then snapped it shut again, "She'll come. She just has too much pride to show up on time."
Sure enough, a full fifteen minutes after their arranged meeting time - the Morrigan entered the Dal Rialta, her face half-hidden by Jackie O sunglasses and her hair worn up inside a turban. As she cleared the doorway her cobra-coat started hissing and spitting at Dyson, then Bo.
"Ah-ah, my babies," she said as she stroked the forehead of one the glittery serpents. Its black tongue flicked before disappearing into its razor-slit mouth.
She walked towards the bar with the confidence of a runway model.
"It reeks of oil soap and bleach in here. I imagine the roaches won't return until summer."
Trick thanked her for acknowledging the overpowering stench of cleanliness, and encouraged her to get serious. He nodded in the direction of Dyson, who was holding a medical vial containing a pale yellow liquid.
"That's what you came here for."
Evony turned took look, and then returned to Trick, "So what's it going to be?"
Trick presented the contract written in blood and her eyes lit up.
"What the fuck is this?" There was a clear note of shock in her voice.
"You knew we'd be asking for something in return, so here it is. It's pretty damn reasonable too, I might add. Please take notice of how we are not blackmailing you, or ex-communicating you. What we are asking for - is that we all agree this never happened."
The Morrigan took a moment to compose herself, "First, it sure-as-shit happened. Second - you're a Blood Sage, you dirty dog."
"I am indeed. So consider this before you decide to look a gift horse in the mouth. If you leave here without signing this, a couple things might happen - first - you might have the grave misfortune of experiencing the Dal's first ever Red Hat Happy Hour. That starts in about three minutes. OR, I'll just go back to my office and write you out of existence.
"Lauren said to tell you she's sorry. She's sorry she did this to you. She didn't fully realize all the consequences that would come out of her invention. We all agreed it sets a bad precedent, and that is why we only seek to undo what we have done. We are asking no more of you, and no less.
"Abandon any desire for revenge, or for seeking this weapon for yourself - and you can leave here as your old self."
Evony looked squarely at Trick, "If the shoe was on the other foot, I'd take you for everything you own, everything you hold dear.. I'd take this disgusting pub, burn it to the ground and build an Urban Outfitters right here on this spot."
"That's why you're one of the bad guys."
"Semantics."
As the Morrigan pored over the document she could see Trick wasn't kidding; they weren't exploiting the situation for personal gain at all - it almost seemed like a waste. But unbeknownst to Trick - Evony agreed that the influence of science could be devastating to their world. She wanted no part in proliferating a virus that could exterminate Fae based on ability. She knew that such power was a zero-sum game. Eliminate the Old Beasts first - the wandering old relics - who needs them? Then get rid of the bloodsuckers. They're so unhygienic and contribute nothing to society. Next, get rid of everyone else you don't like. Who are you left with? Eventually the bar gets raised so high the only one left alive is the one who's finger is on the button.
Evony hesitated as if she had to contemplate her response; as if there were pros and cons to this bargain she needed to weigh.
"So are you going to give me a pen to sign this thing or what?"
Trick placed a quill in front of the Morrigan - followed by an empty saucer and a dagger.
"Oh you've got to be shitting me."
"I'm afraid not. I'll go first if you prefer."
As she mulled over this new development Trick deftly maneuvered the latex finger of blood into his left hand. He positioned his fist over the saucer and dragged the blade through his curled palm. A rush of blood trickled into the saucer and when it was over, he quickly grabbed a bar rag and acted as if he'd genuinely cut himself.
He returned the knife to Evony saying, "Your blood will bind you to this contract."
She clutched the knife and glared at the Blood King. Unflinchingly, she ran the knife against the meat of her thumb. As soon as her blood made contact with the lamb's blood and horn dust concoction it crackled and sizzled and sparkled with an iridescent glimmer. With a trickle of blood snaking its way down her forearm, Evony quickly snatched up the quill and scrawled her name at the bottom of the document. She handed the pen to Trick and he immediately followed suit. He felt an enormous sense of relief but did his best to conceal it.
The barkeep then offered the Morrigan a clean cloth, and promptly she accepted. She pressed it against her hand, almost surprised to still see blood. While she was mesmerized by the frailty of her human body the Blood King quietly disposed of the latex balloon.
"I'm not even sure I know what to do with this?"
"You've got it, just apply pressure, the bleeding should stop in a moment or two."
Dyson walked up to them and placed the glass phial and a syringe on the bar. He exchanged looks with the Morrigan, both of them clearly suspicious of the other. Just then there was a commotion at the front door, so Trick volunteered to administer the injection.
"You go, I'll take care of this. I've got a bit more experience with this sort of thing."
"Oh thank gods," Evony sighed. Her sleek, glittery coat collectively hissed as Dyson turned to go.
Trick gently cleaned her bicep with a sterile pad, and then drew the serum into the syringe, "Dr. Lewis said it could take a couple days for the cure to reach its full effect, but you should be feeling better by the end of the day."
"And what if I don't?" The Morrigan's dark eyes flickered with disdain.
"Then you'll let us know. Dr. Lewis will keep working until she finds something that cures you. We are obligated to help," the barkeep was starting to feel the strain of his own words.
He looked her in the eye, "This will pinch, probably a bit more than usual given your condition.."
Evony was apprehensive. She silently nodded, giving Trick the go-ahead. He then plunged the needle into her arm, reassuring her the whole while, "There now, almost done-" The raging, untamed beast that often drove her to act unpredictably was soothed by his calm but stern fatherly demeanor.
He had just finished applying a bandage when the first of the Red Hats spilled into the room. Dyson had stalled them as long as possible but keeping a gang of thugs away from their watery ale is like separating a pile of magnets.
"Looks like we finished just in time."
Evony pulled on her coat and reached for her purse. She searched the mirror of her compact for any discernible difference before reapplying her lipstick.
A Red Hat waiting at the bar looked her over head to toe, "Hoy! I did'n know this was such a classy place!"
She abruptly snapped her purse shut and stood at her full height, the serpents of her coat bobbing and darting, tongues flickering. The offending Red Hat took a step back, aghast.
As she made her way towards the door Trick called out to her, "Keep us posted." The Morrigan paused, hoping against hope in that moment that further contact wouldn't be necessary. She rolled her eyes in disgust.
Feeling the compulsion to burn at least one tiny bridge before leaving - she walked over to the end of the bar where Bo was nursing a beer. The succubus dragged her gaze from the rim of her glass to Evony's smug expression, a well of resentment inside her slowly starting to rise.
"You know," the Morrigan began in an inappropriately cheerful tone, "That doctor of yours is quite the spitfire, isn't she? Here I always assumed she was a timid little thing.. Boy, was I ever wrong!"
Weary with drink, Bo's voice was rough when she spoke, "Evony - I'm not in the mood."
"I thought succubi were always in the mood, hmm?"
Bo took a deep breath and opted not to respond.
"I have to admit, I never saw the attraction. I figured you must be some sort of power top with a kinky penchant for shy wallflower types. Oh, but I get it now!"
Bo tapped her fingernail against the side of her pint glass, patiently waiting for her antagonist to get bored and leave.
"Do you - do you suppose she seduced Tamsin too? Oh my! They'll be calling her the Town Bicycle pretty soon, know what I mean? Everyone gets a ride?"
"Cute," Bo sighed, exasperated.
"I imagine she really had to work at getting Tamsin to crack... I mean, they were cooped up in that tiny lab together for months. Can you imagine? The long hours, all that repressed frustration - the two of them hungrily staring at each other - I bet they were really angry at one another - but angry at you most of all! Why, I may have put them in the same room but you really brought them together!"
A moment later she leaned in close and added, "If you ever find yourself thinking about revenge, succubus, give me a call."
Evony closed by giving Bo a pat on the back, then smiled and walked straight out of the Dal and into her waiting sedan.