Did she actually want me to have her sigil, or was it just the only paper she had to write the note on? I reread it again and again. After what feels like an hour, I put it down on my bedside table and pick up Hex. Snapping a picture of the note first, I flip the card over to scan and log the sigil.

Then I remember something E.J. had said, and I frown down at my companion. "Hex, why the curses didn't you tell me I'd left you behind? My voice link was on the whole time."

"You had it in, but you silenced me."

"What, no—I was sure that..." huh. Did I have him silenced? My memory isn't the best to begin with, and I was drinking—so I can't be sure. Shaking my head, I pick up the companion to type a quick note to E.J.

"Don't send that now. It's too soon. Wait until tomorrow, at the very least," Hex chides me. I scowl, wrenching off the link cuff and tossing it into a catch-all dish that used to be an ash tray.

Saving the note as a draft, I drop Hex screen-down on the couch and get ready for bed.

~*~

It's raining again.

The thunder is soft, a rolling purr. I stand outside the matte black doors of Gallery Onyx, trying to summon up the will to open them.

Having already greeted me, the obsidian heron-shaped spirit shell beside the door regards me now in silence. Lighting flashes in the early afternoon clouds, but it's the ordinary kind this time, white rather than violet.

As if any sort of lightning is ever ordinary, I correct myself, thinking of E.J.'s blinding grin. Umbratech is only a few blocks away, and even though I won't let myself truly think the words, I'm hoping I'll run into her.

I startle when the doors swing suddenly outward. A very well-dressed couple exits the establishment, deep in debate over which of their preferred pieces would make the better investment.

As the pair blows by, I catch one of the doors before it can close. Taking a deep breath, I step over the threshold.

Once inside, I'm wrapped in the scent of sweet herb incense and something bright and citrusy. The light is low, save where it's strategically placed around the artwork, illuminating each piece so it glows against the tastefully muted backdrop of the space. The air is comfortably cool.

"Welcome to Gallery Onyx," a kind voice calls from a few paces away. I turn to see a woman who looks just a little older than me, maybe 25 or so, sitting behind a tall black counter. She stands as she greets me, reaching behind the desk and withdrawing a flute glass and a bottle. She wears an off-shoulder dress of cream and silver tones with accents of citrine and a silver pin bearing a rabbit and moon crest.

"Would you care for some sparkling wine while you take it all in? Or some iced coffee?" My eyes linger on her lips—so plush—and her hair, long and chestnut with ashy blue highlights peaking out about her shoulders. Lovely. If she's surprised to see a Rhevan in her gallery, she doesn't show it.

"I, um, no thank you," I don't want her to be upset with me when she finds out I'm not here to shop. She smiles, putting the glass and bottle away. "Alright then. May I take your umbrella?"

"S-sure," I stammer, closing it and handing it over.

"I'm Beatrice, by the way. Please let me know if you have questions about any of the work or the artists."

I blurt out my thanks, only half-aware of what I'm saying.

Beatrice. Beatrice. I've heard that name recently, haven't I?

Partly to stall and partly because I can't help myself, I turn from her to walk deeper into the gallery. It doesn't take long for me to see that there are five distinct styles, five bodies of work.

On one pedestal, a giant clam—carved of dark stone—opens up to reveal pink coral "flesh" that stretches and twists upward into the form of a woman. A whole corner is taken up by a horse made of something translucent and shadowy. Within is a cream-white skeleton, each bone is carved with intricate filigree.

One entire wall is taken up by a series of tall glowscreens, flickering with ephemeral figures coalescing over one another into unearthly, many-faced entities, ever-shifting. Their eyes follow me as I pass.

Every piece is exquisite. Bizarre. Expensive. There's no way a gallery this exclusive could want me. No way. I should just walk out of here now before I embarrass myself.

I circle back towards the front desk and door, determined to grab my umbrella and politely get the hell out. But Beatrice catches my eye as I approach, a bright smile lighting her face.

My hand, already tucked into my jacket pocket, squeezes around my Companion .

"I, um..." what am I doing? "My name's Ashwyn Fleetwood, and I actually came here today on a recommendation from Ms. E.J. Butler—" I falter as Beatrice's smile is replaced by a look of momentary surprise, her lips forming a silent "oh."

I swallow back the urge to bolt. "She suggested I stop by and show you my portfolio. But I can see that you're pretty full up already, so I'll honestly understand if you don't even want to loo—"

"I'd love to see your portfolio," Beatrice cuts in, smile and voice bright.

My stomach sinks. "Oh! Alright, thank you so much. Um, here we go." I pull my companion out of my pocket, laying the little oval screen face-up on the counter.

"Hex, project my portfolio, please. Scrolling gallery."

A row of images glow to life in the air about a foot above the screen, some of them two dimensional, some three-dimensional. My art. Beatrice reaches out, flicking through the images so that they scroll away into nothingness, making room for more. When she reaches the final set, she leans back a bit in her stool, one arm across her chest, pressing a finger to her lips in thought. For almost half a minute, she doesn't say anything.

"Your work is good, very good. I like it. It's got a...a sort of dream-world quality to it. The issue I see here is a lack of cohesion. You see," she flips back through the projections, to one of the three-dimensional ones. A kinetic sculpture—an articulated hare with oxidized-copper antlers and opal eyes, forever loping in place. "This would fit in so well here, but then so would this." She scrolls back further, to an oil on canvas of a luminescent figure at the heart of a chaotic vertical landscape that is city, forest and labyrinth all at once.

"The issue is that they don't look like they come from the same artist. They're not part of a cohesive body of work. We either need a series all in the same medium, or we need everything to be tied together thematically. To have a more distinct identity."

I nod mutely. It's an easier let-down than I ever could have hoped for.

"So, why don't you work on that for a month or two and then get back to us?"

My eyes snap up to meet hers. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A cohesive body of work, six to ten pieces to start, depending on scale. The bigger, the fewer. Pick one or two that you've already done, and then build around that. As long as it's up to par with the quality you've shown me here, we can make the space for you. Commission is forty percent, and you'll be expected to make an appearance for your opening, of course."

"I...really? Don't you need to show my work to the...the gallery director first? Or the owner?"

"I am the gallery director," she informs me with a smile. "And the curator, for all intents and purposes. E.J. Butler is our best customer. A collector. If she likes your work, it's in."

~*~

I can't believe it. I can't believe it. I can't believe it!

Pulling out my companion, I bring up the note draft from last night, rereading it before typing in the edits.

Hey E.J, thanks so much for getting my coat back to me and for the gallery tip. Sorry I was so weird with you before, I was startled. Just left Gallery Onyx and amazingly enough, it went really well! I owe you one for the recommendation.

All the best, Ashwyn

After a quick once-over, I send it off before I can lose my nerve. Then, unfurling my umbrella, I step out from beneath the shelter of Gallery Onyx's entryway.

"Hex, navigate me to the Lock and Key."

~*~

My voice-link chirps not three minutes after I walk through the door, and I whip out my companion to read the note while I wait for my drink.

Ashwyn,

I'm glad to hear it went well, but not surprised. You don't owe me a thing.

Have an excellent evening.

-E.J.B

The words leave me feeling strangely hollow. So brief, so formal. She probably is angry that I used her link sigil. Damnit. I hate myself.

A bolt of terror strikes me as I remember that she could walk through the door at any moment. It was exactly the thing I was hoping would happen, but now the thought fills me with dread.

First I send her an unsolicited note. Then I show up for the second time at her regular hangout. What is wrong with me?

Whatever it is, it won't let me leave. To it, the risk is worth it. Part of the draw, even. I need to know how she regards me. If she wants nothing to do with me, then let me see the ice in her eyes. I can't stand the uncertainty.

Besides, it's not just the possibility of her that brought me here. Ever since the initial aftershock of the interview experience passed, I haven't been able to get the Lock and Key out of my mind.

A place where we can cast aside the roles society imposes on us. A place to choose our own.

What exactly did she even mean by that? What was her role, and what are the possibilities? I have to know. Dressed in a black underbust pinafore dress and a gray top, I do my best to blend into my shadowy corner, eavesdropping and sipping on meads and mint cocktails.

It's almost ten when I finally realize just how long I've been skulking here, with still no sign of Butler. I'm just getting up to go—this time with my jacket on—when the door flies open and three people stream in.

I feel my eyes go wide as I recognize Beatrice from Gallery Onyx, this time on the arm of a handsome man with dark hair and an artfully trimmed beard—dressed all in black. Just behind them is E.J, dark circles under her eyes and a forced smile on her face.

And just like that, I remember where I'd heard the gallery director's name before having met her.

E.J. notices me immediately this time, tapping Beatrice's arm and pointing in my direction. They make a bee-line for my table, not even bothering to go up to the bar. Ren hurries over after them, a tray of drinks already prepared.

"Oh my goodness! What a small world,"enthuses Beatrice as she sits down next to me. With our bench full, her gentleman companion pulls up a seat beside her.

"Ashwyn, this is Rhaj Depestana, part-owner of Gallery Onyx. Rhaj, this is the new blood I told you about, Ms. fleetwood. Our up-and-comer," she pats my shoulder, the warmth of her palm cutting straight through the fabric to my skin.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ashwyn. Bee has impeccable taste. I'm excited to see your work," Rhaj rumbles, his voice pleasantly deep. He reaches out to grasp my hand, shaking it firmly.

Butler sits quietly on the bench across from us throughout our exchange. I try to read her expression, but it's difficult.

"Is this where you two met?" Asks Beatrice, looking from me to E.J, who adjusts her vest and clears her throat—her eyes flashing away for the briefest moment.

Maybe not so unreadable after all.

"No, actually. She was an applicant for a position at U-tech. She just happened across the place afterwards."

Beatrice's eyes go wide as she fixes them back on me, excitement setting her features aglow.

"You were here by accident? And you came back? So, does that mean you're interested in the club then?"

Suddenly I feel like someone's cast a very bright light straight into my face. All three of their eyes are on me.

"Um, I'm not sure yet actually. I just think it's interesting and I want to learn more."

"Oh." Beatrice looks over at E.J. again with an almost conspiratorial air.

Feeling a bit awkward, I change the subject back to art and the gallery—which proves a wise move. Beatrice takes to it with gusto, and before I know it more than an hour has passed. I pull out my companion to check the time and immediately groan. Shit. I jump out of my seat, making sure this time that I have my coat on. "I have to go now or I'll miss my train. Sorry to rush out on you. Have a good night!"

EJ stands up as I do. "I can give you a ride home later, if you like," she calls after me. I stop, turning.

"Really? You're sure?"

She laughs. "It's no problem at all, Ashwyn. Here, come sit back down—"

"Actually," says Beatrice, getting up herself. "Would it be alright if we—?"

E.J. raises an eyebrow. "Is it that time already?"

"If you don't mind," Beatrice affirms. "I'm getting bored."

"Time for what?" I look between the two.

Beatrice answers first, cheeks flushed and hair charmingly disheveled. "We were planning on heading up to J's for a while after this."

"I...oh."

"Not like that," she laughs. "It's just that Rhaj absolutely needs to see her collection. It's magnificent."

"That, and you've been itching for an excuse to get me to break open the '44 Port Ignis."

"Maybe a bit of that, too," she concedes.

E.J.'s gaze flicks to me. "You're welcome to join us, of course, but if not I can take you home first. We should probably head up soon," she adds, side-eyeing a swaying Beatrice. Rhaj wraps an arm behind the drunken gallery director, smiling indulgently.

"S-sure," I answer, once the shock wears off. E.J. Butler's house. I'm going to be in E.J. Butler's house. For the first time since all of this began, I question whether or not I'm awake."How far away is it?"

Both Beatrice and E.J. open their mouths to answer, but Beatrice gets it out first. "Just upstairs. J owns this whole building."

"I don't own the whole thing. It's a co-op, of sorts." E.J. sounds almost apologetic as she explains, rolling her eyes.

"She's the founding owner, and has the biggest share, though," Beatrice adds in a stage whisper, nudging me with an elbow.

"Come on, let's go." E.J. stands and Rhaj follows suit, pulling Bee up with him. As they make their way towards the door, Butler turns to look back at me—raising an eyebrow expectantly. I stick my hands in my coat pockets and hurry to join them.