"Here you are, Mister Axien."
With a seductive voice, Anya came from the bar, holding a rather unique drink in her hands. It was a tall glass containing a red-to-purple gradient that looked like the dawn clashing with dusk. She placed the glass on the table before sliding into the booth with me.
She slid as close as she could to me, her warmth pressing against me. Anya looked at me with a practiced expression meant to entice me, but her brown eyes contradicted it. They wavered, as if unsure how to match the beauty of her smile.
Despite it all, she still spoke with her usual hostess charm. "Don't worry." She brought a finger up to her glossy lips, then traced the rim of the glass with the same finger. "It's non-alcoholic."
She cupped the glass in her hands. The ice inside clinked softly as she lifted the glass off the table and held it right in front of me.
I took it from her; her grip gently released from the glass, and she looked at me like a child expecting something with her widened eyes.
From the smell alone, she was right; it was non-alcoholic. It had a fruity aroma, like blackberries and cherries. Though they did not seem to complement each other, both smells were strong; it was as if they were competing to dominate the other.
A jolt ran down my spine the moment the cold liquid touched my tongue. The taste clung to the roof of my mouth and tongue as it ran down my throat. It was bitter, too bitter. I resisted the urge to spit out the drink. But the urge soon died, as moments later, the bitterness turned sweet. It beckoned me to take another sip.
Anya's eyes finally smiled at me. Her expression was pleased, as if waiting for praise. "The Outer Gem," she said, taking the glass I had placed on the table. She brought the glass up to her mouth, placing her lips on the same spot where mine had just been. She took a single sip before placing it back on the table.
She licked her lips, her cheeks reddening a little as she fought against the bitterness. But then her expression softened as the sweetness kicked in.
Was this how I looked?
"This is my signature mix. Created to reflect my first time seeing the sky." She traced the rim with her index finger as she spoke in a reminiscent tone.
"I'd give it a 7," I said, drawing her eyes towards me.
"?" For a moment, there was a disappointed look in her eyes, but that was so brief that I might have imagined it. "Boo…" she playfully said. "I worked so hard on that." She pouted, turning her head to the side before looking down.
When she looked back up, her playfulness ended. The polished mask she hid behind was no longer there.
This was not the face of a charmer.
Not the face of a happy woman who enjoyed her job.
Not the face of a woman who was confident in taking extreme measures into her own hands.
This was the face of emptiness. Her eyes reflected the loneliness of a woman standing on the brink, desperately holding onto anything to keep her from falling over.
This was the same loneliness I felt the day I killed her…
Anya played with the ends of her hair, curling the tips around her fingers. She kept her vacant eyes on me as she spoke in a hushed tone. "I still can't forgive you, you know. Drugging her like that…I-I understand you had your reasons, but…was there not a better way?"
A faint shimmer in her eyes caught the dim overhead light as tears built up.
"But I can't bring myself to hate you anymore. You were right about it…about me not knowing how to trust. I used to be able to, but that man took that away along with what I held precious to me. He made a promise in exchange for taking it…Yet that promise was broken as easily as glass. I was a fool to believe him…and now I am—"
"Hush now." I held Anya close to me.
"…huh?" she said, but she did not push herself off me. Instead, a sniffle filled my ears.
"You held out this long, looking for a way to help your friend. You even tried to take weapons from me to do the deed yourself. You offered yourself to protect your friend." I placed my hand on her head. "There isn't any need for you to go this far any more. Ritair, that man will be dealt with by me."
After a short moment of silence following my words, she finally pulled herself off me. She grabbed my hand and placed it on her chest. I could feel the quickened beat through the softness of her skin.
"You are kind," she said, her heartbeat slowly normalizing. "But I cannot sit around and do nothing. I want to help, so please." She pressed my hand deeper into her chest. Her heartbeat testified to her resolve. "Let me help you."
This was unfair, and she knew it.
With my hand on her chest and the look she was giving me, how was I supposed to say no? I couldn't. She had steeled herself to do whatever it took, and I wasn't the man who could tell her no.
So why bother fighting the feeling? Use her.
I bit down on my lip as the distorted voice filled my mind once more. I needed to take my medication, the sooner the better.
The sooner the chains are severed, the sooner the darkness can—
Trust in those around you, Aster. You cannot heal alone.
"Mister Axien?"
There was a tightness in my chest. Why…why was I able to hear Rinara's voice call out my name?
A warm hand on my face. A gentle thumb caressing my only good eye.
"You've got this scary look in your eye." She pulled back, releasing my hand from her chest. "Was what I said really that bad?"
"N-no!" I brought the drink up to my lips and downed the entire glass—damn habits.
Trusting others will heal me…there was truth in that. At least, that's what I hope, given it came from the voice of Rinara. Anya could be helpful in this case; she knows a lot about Ritair, well, maybe not his cult life, but his public life.
"Sorry." I took a deep breath. "I was so taken by your beauty and the softness of your chest, I couldn't help but think it's a shame that there was no music to set the mood."
Anya created distance between us, her expression hardening into disgust. "I was being serious, you creep." She muttered as she turned around to look at the lonely piano that stood near the bar. "Yeah…" she said in response to my statement about the music. "Boss said that he's been missing since yesterday. Same with Ritair…" Her voice trailed off.
Was that just a coincidence? With how many customers this place has right now, you would think a pianist would be ecstatic to have this many ears to listen to his craft.
Anya stood up from the booth without a word, her sights locked on the bar, rather than the man behind it. She moved towards the bar, grabbing the barkeeper's attention.
"Anya," his voice was faint, but I could hear every word he spoke. "Need another drink made? Or would you like to make another yourself?" His voice was deep, matching his muscular build.
Anya leaned over the bar top. The barkeep looked down at her before catching himself and looking into her eyes. Anya either seemed not to care or was used to it, as she offered no comment to the barkeep's lustful gaze.
"Or," before Anya could speak, the barkeep shot a glance at me. "Is he bothering you about those unsavory rumors about you being the Fallen Star?" The barkeep poured his metal flask into four smaller whiskey glasses. Another hostess loaded the drinks onto a serving tray and left toward a table. The barkeep immediately began working on another drink.
"It's not like that. That man…I don't even think he knows about the rumors of me deceiving fixers for their weapons. And besides… it's not like I wanted to steal them for personal gain…I just wanted something to deal with Ritair…"
"Yet," the barkeep said while working. "You failed every time, resulting in you not being called the Fallen Star. Stop sleeping with every fixer you find. I say this not only for you, but for everyone else around you. You worry us."
"Sorry, Boss," Anya said, her lead dropping a little. The barkeep forced a smile and patted her head a little.
"So," he spoke in a nicer tone while circling back to the start of their conversation. "Need another drink made? Or did you like your drink and want to make another one?"
"Neither," Anya perked back up. "I want the keys to the upstairs."
The barkeep stopped what he was doing and raised his brow a little. "I just told you to stop sleeping with men, yet you boldly ask me for the keys to upstairs? You know that room is reserved for the head host or hostess. You lost your privilege to the room months ago—"
*BAM!*
The door to the Brass Light opened with a slam. Everyone inside the establishment froze, their eyes glued to a man dressed as if he were from the Lower Core. He stepped onto the floor with a spiked bat on his back.
He scanned the room, his eyes searching every woman.
"Not a bad place." He said before he fixed his gaze on the first man in his sight—the barkeep. He approached the bar, shoving Anya out of the way.
"Ah!" Anya fell onto the floor, letting out a pained cry as she did.
I ripped off a piece of my clothing, using it as a way to hide the pistol that I had trained on him. With him this close, he reminded me of the men who attacked me yesterday…and the same ones who forced Sara's mother to take her life.
"You the boss of this place?" The man said, slamming his bat on the bar top.
"So what if I am?" the barkeep said without a hint of fear shown to the thug.
The thug smiled as he pulled out two pieces of paper and handed them to the barkeep. "These two work here; where are they?"
"Ritair and Ciel? Can't say I have seen them for a while. After some mess in the Inner Ring yesterday, they haven't shown up at work." The barkeep handed the thug the papers back. "May I ask why you are looking for my employees?"
"Heh, you better start hiring, old man." The thug lifted his bat from the bar top, leaving an imprint of several small holes on the surface. "But my boss wants them dead after poking their nose where it didn't belong. You show know all about that, Jace." The thug reached into his pocket and tossed a wad of cash at the barkeeper.
"I told you I had long since abandoned that name." The barkeep glared at the thug as he picked up the money.
"Yeah, I know. But consider yourself lucky the boss let you leave without much of a fuss. So you better not be hiding those two, otherwise we'll treat it as a spit in the face and smash everything here to bits."
Both men glared at each other for a moment before the thug left without another word. Before he could get far, I grabbed my gear and followed him out into the street.
This thug must be working for the Seventh Seat. If I let this opportunity pass, then I would be a failure as a detective.