Fae Bargain of Shadows

I kept wiping the same rocks glass, though it was already clean. A few regulars were settling their tabs. At the far end of the bar, the man who’d spent an hour bothering Cassia leaned toward her again.

I ran my thumb over the seam in the glass. As long as my hands were busy, nobody had much reason to look at them.

Cassia sat behind the register with a stack of receipts, working out the night’s cash. She could do most of it in her head, which helped when the register’s sticky keys refused to cooperate. Dark jeans, white tee, hair pulled into a bun so tight it gave her an instant facelift. I’d once seen her crack a bottle over a man’s head for less than this.

The man wore an expensive shirt cut for broader shoulders. He’d finished his IPA and was turning the empty glass between his fingers. His eyes followed Cassia whenever she moved, but she kept hers on the receipts.

“Hey, miss, do you come with the register?”

“I’m married,” she said without looking up. “Twice, actually. Both ended in body parts being removed.”

He laughed and planted both elbows on the counter, leaning farther into her space.

I set my glass down and came around the bar. His arm was draped over the till now, close enough that Cassia had to shift her receipts out of his way.

“Hands off the register.”

He turned toward me. “Just talking.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He looked me up and down. I wasn’t tall, and he seemed to take that as encouragement.

“Hey, maybe you should take a break. Let the real staff handle it.”

I caught his wrist and bent his hand back until his elbow lifted off the till.

“We don’t tolerate assholes,” I said. “You’re done here.”

He tried to pull free. I kept hold of his wrist and steered him off the stool. A couple of regulars turned to watch, which seemed to bother him more than my grip.

Cassia finally glanced up. “You want me to call a ride, or just throw him in the dumpster out back?”

“Let’s see if he can walk first.”

At the door, he wrenched himself free. “Jesus, lady, you’re psycho.”

“Go home.”

I held the door open. He hesitated, then flipped me off and stumbled into the cold. I watched until he made the corner.

The bell rang as I stepped back inside. Cassia was calculating tips again, her mouth set in a tight line. Nobody met my eye except the old man by the window, who raised his tumbler toward me.

I topped up his whiskey. By the time I returned to the bar, chairs were scraping and people had remembered their conversations. My hands were trembling now. I took the towel to another glass and worked at a mark on its base until the shaking eased.

Cassia joined me at the well, still chewing one of the sweets she lived on between shifts.

“You should’ve let him swing first,” she said quietly. “Would’ve made it easier.”

“I wasn’t waiting for him to; that's for sure.”

“You could’ve just told him to fuck off.”

“I believe you said that with how your conversation was going, he was a dushbag.” I checked the clock. Two hours until close.

She watched me pick up another glass. “You want me to hang around after?”

“Don’t you have better places to be?”

“Your hands are still shaking.”

I set the glass down. “Give me a minute.”

Cassia leaned against the counter beside me.

The last occupied table had started arguing about politics. I let them get on with it and looked over the room: battered tables, familiar coats slung over chairs, a wall light that flickered no matter how often I changed the bulb. Amber lanterns hung above the bar. I knew every mark on the counter beneath them.

HUMAN ONLY, the sign on the door read. People sometimes laughed when they saw it. Most stopped when they realized I meant it.

The fae had started buying up the neighborhood three years ago. Bars closed or changed hands. The new ones offered things I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, sell.

Haven’s rules were printed on every coaster. No feeding. No enchantments. No debts you couldn’t settle at last call.

Cassia went back to her receipts. I worked a blue lipstick mark off the next glass and lined it up with the others. My hands had steadied.

The old man drained his whiskey and struggled into his coat. On his way out, he paused beside me, resting his fingers on the counter.

“You run a tight ship.”

“Yeah, we're trying our best.”

He nodded and left.

I cleared his table. The argument in the corner wore itself out, and eventually those customers settled up too. Cassia locked the door behind them and dimmed the lights while I straightened the bottles on the mirrored shelf.

At the exit, she stopped with her keys in her hand.

“You sure you don't want me to hang around?”

“Yes, Cassia I'm good, trust me.”

“Alright, suit yourself.”

I listened for her car to pull away, then checked the bathrooms and the back door. The lanterns above the bar were the last lights I switched off. In the dark, the room still smelled of whiskey and old wood.

I set the alarm and took the stairs to my apartment, my legs aching. Behind my triple-locked door, I stood still long enough to feel my pulse settle.

There was nothing left to check. I checked anyway, then went to bed.

The next night, Cassia finished her sweep of the floor and joined me behind the bar to count the till. She took the bills. I sorted the coins into piles beside the bank bag.

She worked quickly, flicking through the notes with her thumb. I was trying to make out the date on a worn quarter when she spoke.

“You see the new place they opened across the street?”

“Yeah.”

“The fae lounge. They’ve got three feeders working the floor. Three, for a strip mall dive. And they’re pulling twice what we are, easy.”

She squared a stack of twenties against the counter. I dropped the quarter into the bag.

“I heard they’re looking for a bartender, too,” she went on. “Pays better than here. Full benefits. Even dental.”

I looked up. She kept counting, but she’d slowed enough that I knew she was waiting for an answer.

“Let them have their fun. We don’t compete with that.”

“That’s what you said about the last one. Now half our regulars spend their nights in feeding lounges.”

“They can have them. I’m not letting anyone feed on my customers.”

Her mouth twitched. “Some people just want a little thrill. One touch, a few minutes feeling good, then they go home tired. It’s not always predatory.”

I pressed my thumb against the edge of a quarter. I’d heard that argument enough times to know where it went. Someone would tell me about a fae who treated them well, and I’d have to listen without asking how long they expected it to last.

Cassia pulled a flask from her purse and poured whiskey into two chipped tumblers. She slid one toward me.

I took a sip. It was the good stuff.

She tapped the bills with a knuckle. “We need a new sign for the front. ‘No fae, no bullshit, no exceptions.’ Maybe it’ll keep the lookie-loos from casing the place.”

“Or maybe it’ll get us firebombed.”

Cassia glanced toward the window, then took a drink.

By the time we’d finished, the pile of bills was a respectable size. Cassia slipped rubber bands around the stacks and opened the logbook. I added the last of the coins to the bag.

My hand went to the pendant at my throat. Three concentric circles were etched into the metal, the lines so fine I could barely see them in the low light. My thumb knew them without looking.

It was the only thing I had left of my family. Everything else had been taken by a man with quicksilver eyes and a taste for gold essence.

Cassia glanced at my hand. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

She left it there. I let go of the pendant and checked the total against hers.

We locked the bank bag in the safe. Cassia put away the logbook, collected her purse and headed for the door.

“You coming to the market tomorrow? Mira’ll be there.”

“Depends on how the night goes.”

She nodded. “Don’t let the feeders get you down. Some of us still know where home is.”

I watched her leave, then rinsed our glasses and wiped the counter. I could see the lounge’s lights through the front window. They’d still be there tomorrow, taking money from people who’d once spent it here.

I put the glasses away and turned the pendant over in my palm. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let the fae see me break. Some nights that meant little more than opening the doors again.

At least Cassia would be here. She’d listen to me bitch about the feeders, tell me when I was being an asshole and turn up for the next shift anyway.

I checked the doors and went upstairs.

My apartment was cold. I left the heat off unless the pipes threatened to freeze. Books stood in height order on the shelves; my clothes were folded in the drawers, and the bed was just big enough for me. I kept the curtain closed over the window facing the street.

I locked the door and slid the extra bolt, then made my circuit: kitchen, bathroom, window latches, back to the door. I went around twice before taking off the pendant and laying it on the nightstand, its chain stretched out so it wouldn’t tangle.

In bed, I pulled the covers up and watched the light shift at the edges of the curtain.

I could usually fall asleep anywhere. I’d learned in foster homes, on the streets and in the hospital, while people tried to fix what they thought was broken in my head. Tonight, I was still awake long after the traffic outside had thinned.

When sleep came, it brought the house with it.

Blue fire burned through the dark. Windows burst, scattering glass. My mother was on the floor. My father reached for one of my brothers. The other lay beyond him, too still.

I tried to get to them. Pain opened beneath my hand, and I looked down at the blood soaking my shirt.

Then came the gold.

It streamed from the skin beneath Malakor’s hand as he bent over them. He breathed it in. Their mouths moved, but I couldn’t hear them.

His eyes were cold as mercury. He turned toward the open door where I crouched.

He looked straight past me.

I stayed there with the pendant warm against my neck, waiting for him to see what he’d missed. That was always where I woke.

I sat up, dragging air into my lungs. My shirt was soaked, the sheet twisted around my ankles. For a few seconds I could still see the house. I was sixteen again, waiting for him to come back.

The clock read 3:41.

I stared at it until I could see the rest of the room: white walls, the receipts I’d left on the desk, the pendant on the nightstand.

I reached for it and struggled with the clasp before fastening it around my neck. Then I pressed the medallion between my fingers until its edge hurt.

Seven years. I still remembered where each of them had fallen.

I tried lying down again, but I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing them. Eventually I gave up and pulled on sweatpants.

In the kitchenette, I filled a glass with tap water and drank it standing over the sink. The pipes rattled. When I set the glass down, my wrist ached where the man had wrenched against my grip.

I flexed my hand and looked at myself in the microwave door. Sweaty hair, a wet collar, eyes wide enough that I hardly recognized my own face.

I went back to the door. The locks were still fastened. I tested each one, then sat down with a book. I read the same paragraph three times before putting it aside.

A siren passed somewhere below. I listened until it faded. My breathing slowed, and I stopped gripping the pendant so hard.

Morning would help. I’d shower, go downstairs and have something to do with my hands. There would be deliveries to check and receipts to sort. Cassia would come in and complain about something I could fix.

For now, I sat on the edge of the bed with all four of them still in my head.

I didn’t know how Malakor had missed me. I only knew he was still out there, and every lock I’d checked was meant to keep him out.