Nymph U: Spines

Giorgio Catados

Sudarolis, 1952

My father always said that morality was like a well-tailored suit: if it didn’t feel a little restrictive, you weren’t wearing it right.

For a unicorn shifter in Sudarolis, 1952, that restriction was a way of life. The rules were simple: the less you looked like a beast, the closer you came to respectability. Horns were filed down or hidden beneath fedoras, tails bound flat, claws trimmed short, fur and scales all concealed. For any shifter, every day was a study in self-control. You kept your form faeoid, your attire pressed, and your wilder self locked away in a lightless vault.

And today, I’d be facing a true test of those expectations. I was about to set foot in Luxuria—the most uncivilized place in all of Sudarolis, or so my father had warned.

I stepped off the locomotive onto the damp platform, smoothing the lapels of my wool blazer. It had rained earlier, leaving the sky an overcast slate. I adjusted the cuffs of my pristine white button-up, before turning to ensure the luggage porter—an elderly satyr with a subservient hunch, typical of the lower strata—handled my leather trunks with the appropriate care.

“Over here, sport!”

A booming voice echoed across the relatively empty platform, tearing through the quiet afternoon. My gaze snapped toward the gravel parking lot. Leaning with careless arrogance against a gleaming, cherry-red convertible motorcar was one Professor Rudy Saphigimi.

Even from fifty yards away, Rudy was an assault on the senses. He wore a loud, canary-yellow suit with lapels wide enough to take flight. Paired with a necktie patterned in dizzying geometric shapes. His thick brown hair was pomaded into a sharp side part, and a meticulously waxed handlebar mustache curved atop his upper lip. Rudy was the Professor of Unicorn Shifter Studies at Nymph U, an old acquaintance of my father’s.

And currently my reluctant chaperone.

I approached with measured steps, my posture rigid, ignoring the dampness seeping into the soles of my polished wingtips.

“Professor Saphigimi,” I greeted, offering a crisp nod. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Rudy let out a boisterous laugh that rattled his broad chest, pushing off the chrome siding of his vehicle to clap a heavy hand on my shoulder. He smelled of whiskey, spicy aftershave, and exhaust fumes. “Just Rudy, chief! No need to stand on ceremony out here in the wilds. By the ancestors, you are the spitting image of old Eros. Uncanny!” He leaned in closer, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You even do that thing with your eyebrows when you’re annoyed and trying not to show it.”

I frowned, my posture stiffening further under his hand. I wasn’t doing anything with my eyebrows, I thought, fighting the sudden urge to scowl. I was being perfectly pleasant.

“Thank you,” I stated evenly. "My father speaks highly of you."

“And I of him! Finest bookkeeper this side of Sudarolis. That shop of his has been a cornerstone of Luxuria for decades.” Rudy winked conspicuously and waved a hand at the porter struggling with my two heavy trunks. “Just toss ’em in the back, pal! The suspension can handle it.” He turned his attention back to me, his tone dipping into a semblance of seriousness. “Speaking of Eros, how’s your old male doing since he got sick? The letter you sent was mighty vague, sport.”

I tightened my jaw, acutely aware of the satyr lingering near the boot of the car. My father, Eros, would rather die than have his current condition gossiped about in public. Form-Lock Fatigue Syndrome—what the cruder elements called ‘the fits’—was considered a shameful ailment among shifters. It meant you were losing control of your magic, your suppressed animal nature fighting violently to surface. The tremors, the accidental ripples beneath the skin... it was an indignity my father suffered in absolute secrecy. And the sole reason I had been dispatched to run his beloved bookstore.

“He is on the mend,” I lied smoothly, my voice an unreadable baritone. “It will simply be a while before he returns to the bookshop, hence my arrival to manage the inventory and operations in his stead.”

Rudy gave me a calculating look but mercifully chose not to pry. “Well, that’s just peachy. You’re going to enjoy working in Luxuria, Gio. It’s a whole different world out here.” He opened the passenger door of the convertible with a dramatic flourish. “Working around nymphs takes some getting used to. Different pace. Different rules. Honestly, the only struggle is having to go back to civilized life from time to time.”

He barked out another laugh.

I shook my head slowly, unsure what to make of that statement. From everything my father had taught me, Luxuria was a pit of unrestrained debauchery. A necessary evil maintained by the Fae strictly for species preservation. The idea that someone would prefer it over structured, polite society was frankly abhorrent.

I tipped the porter a credit and slid onto the plush white leather seat of the convertible. My briefcase nestled securely on my lap, resting both hands flat upon it.

Rudy vaulted over the driver’s side door, not even bothering to open it, landing with a heavy bounce in the seat beside me. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life with a fury they made my teeth rattle.

“Hold onto something, boss!” Rudy shouted over the engine’s roar.

Before I could even locate a handle, Rudy slammed his foot onto the pedal. The cherry-red convertible peeled out of the gravel lot. The rear tires spun furiously and kicking up a spray of rocks that clattered against the station’s wooden signs. I was thrust backward into the seat, my spine compressing against the leather as we shot onto the narrow road leading toward the surrounding forests.

“Good heavens!” I gasped, abandoning my briefcase to clutch desperately at the dashboard.

The wind instantly dismantled my carefully combed hair, whipping dark strands into my eyes. Rudy drove like a madmale, shifting gears with aggressive jerks. The motorcar hurtled down a backroad past towering ancient oaks and sprawling pines. The forest blurred into a dark green wall on either side of us, blocking off the overcast sky.

“Beautiful day for a drive!” Rudy shouted over the roar of the engine and the rushing air. He seemed utterly at ease, one hand resting casually on the wheel while the other gestured at the trees whipping past. “These woods surround the whole area—Nymph U, Luxuria, all of it. Natural barrier from the rest of the world. Keeps things private.”

I dared a glance at the speedometer and felt my stomach lurch. The speedometer needle climbed relentlessly. Forty. Forty-five. Fifty. On a road barely wide enough for two carriages to pass.

“Is it entirely safe to be operating a motor vehicle at these speeds?” I shouted over the rushing wind and the roaring engine. My fingers turned white where they gripped the leather dash. "In the city, motor cars typically maintain a more moderate pace. Thirty-five miles per hour at most."

Rudy threw his head back and laughed, the sound loud enough to compete with the roaring wind. “Of course it’s safe! There are no speed limits on these back roads, chief! I can get her up to sixty, if you’re feeling adventurous!”

“No!” I shouted, panic sharpening my tone. “Absolutely not!”

Rudy merely chuckled, keeping his foot firmly pressed to the floor. As I clung to the dashboard, I caught a peripheral glimpse of Rudy’s profile. My breath caught in my throat.

His pomaded brown hair was shifting. Strands lengthened rapidly, growing down the back of his neck and spilling over the wide collar of his canary suit. The color leached into a brilliant white, save for a garish streak of red that matched the exact hue of the convertible.

He was letting his mane out.

My stomach plummeted, a mix of sheer horror and deep-seated secondhand embarrassment washing over me. In polite society, allowing even a fraction of one’s beast form to show was an act of extreme social defiance. It was feral. It was filthy. It was everything my father had warned me about regarding the permissive, corrupting influence of Luxuria.

I snapped my gaze forward, staring rigidly through the windshield at the blur of the winding forest road. I refused to look at his shifting hair, refused to acknowledge the blatant display of uncivilized behavior sitting a mere two feet away from me. I focused on my breathing, commanding my own magical core to remain utterly dormant. The beast locked away behind walls of discipline and decorum, praying only that we survived the journey.