When we enter the house, the small stage is full of bodies and instruments. In the center of the bustle is Talia, a spot of stillness, standing straight as a fence post with her eyes shut. I watch as Cynthia’s date approaches with a drink. She opens her eyes as he says something and holds out her hand for the glass. Before he can hand it over, Kierra is suddenly there. I saw her crossing the room, but the admittedly good-looking man didn’t, jumping as she grabs his wrist.

A strange feeling overcomes me as my wife raises the glass to her nose and sniffs. It’s a mix of anger, dread, anxiety, and expectation. The world seems to slow down as I watch her expression change, going from mildly disapproving to murderous. I break away from Cynthia and Way’s holds on my arms, rudely throwing them off as I stomp forward. Before I take two steps, Kierra grabs the soon-to-be-dead man by the throat, the dead man croaking as he is lifted off the ground.

“What did you put in that glass?” a furious Kierra hisses.

“Nothing!” he squeaks out. “A blend that enhances taste. We were discussing it and I thought I would give her a sample!”

“There is nothing else?”

“No! What kind of a man do you think I am?”

“The kind of guy who puts something in a woman’s drink without telling her,” I sneer, arriving at the scene. I gesture to Kierra to drop him and she does…only to grab him by the shoulder. Yeah, she’s pissed and he’s not going anywhere until she’s satisfied. It’s too bad that nothing but his blood will satisfy her. “Thia?”

“Right here,” the alchemist says, sidling up to my side. Her eyes are regretful and her expression somber as she stares at him. “Farran, what were you thinking?”

“I was being friendly—hey, what are you doing?”

“Ignoring you,” I say while I search him. I turn his pockets inside out and find three bags, one noticeably smaller than the other two.

“You can’t take those!” he protests but his attempts to break free of Kierra’s hold is useless. Her glare stops further protests, the young man physically and literally shrinking under the weight of her displeasure. “Cynthia, tell them they’re overreacting!”

“They are not overreacting. You do not give people alchemical substances without their knowledge or permission. That’s the basics. Have you completely forgotten my ethics class?”

“For the love of the saints’, it was a drink. I offered to fetch her one, being a respectable gentleman. As I was fetching her drink, I thought to introduce her to my field of Sensory Enhancements. The powder I added is in the light brown bag. It is completely harmless, it’s only effect to enhance sweet flavors and give bitter flavors more complexity,” Farran explains with growing indignation. “Try it yourself. Saints, give it to me. I’ll happily drink it to show I’m serious.”

I turn to Cynthia, who bites her lower lip in thought. “Before tonight, I would have immediately vouched for his character. I didn’t know he was the type to enhance a lady’s drink without her permission. He can defend himself.”

Farran sneers as she throws him to the proverbial wolves. “Before tonight, I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind of woman to throw herself at a little girl. Especially a married one. You have no right to look at me like that.”

Little girl? Is this bastard blind? And how exactly do those two things compare? “What are in the other two bags?” I ask, shaking them in front of him.

He hesitates. It’s the smallest of hesitations accompanied by the faintest twitch of the eyes that someone without my eyes would be hard-pressed to notice…but I do. So does Kierra and her tightening grip makes him wince.

“Answer,” I hiss menacingly.

“…the black bag is a mix that you sprinkle on the eyes. Allows you to see perfectly in anything but complete darkness but makes one very sensitive to light. I always keep a bag on me.”

“And the red bag?”

Oh, he really doesn’t want to tell us. Thankfully, he knows very well that he doesn’t have a choice. “My own blend, unnamed. It greatly magnifies sweet and sour flavors while inducing a mild state of euphoria.”

Cynthia curses. “Farran, you didn’t.”

“I’m not a scummy drug peddler! It’s a mild effect with no side effects and I certainly wouldn’t have offered it to her without her knowledge.”

“Oh no, of course not,” I say, pocketing the bags. “You’d just lower her guard with the harmless concoction before asking if she wanted to try your other work, right? Let her think it was just as harmless as the last stuff? Isn’t that how it works?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I gently slap his cheek. “The real question is, what comes after that? You fix her a drink with your little magic powder, she’s feeling good, and then what?” Farran flinches as I get uncomfortably close, holding his stare. “What then, Mr. Respectable? Go on. Tell me you would have walked away having spread good cheer. Tell me you weren’t hoping to take advantage of whatever your little party favor would have done to her.”

“I wouldn’t,” he says through grit teeth and, to my immense surprise, I believe him. His heart rate doesn’t spike, his expression doesn’t flinch, and his stare is steadfast. That is real righteous indignation in his tone. Huh. He might not actually be a scumbag. Or at least, not a complete scumbag. What he did is plenty scummy.

Which is why I have no intention of forgiving him. He’s stepped beyond all feasible boundaries of propriety with his little stunt, no matter his intentions. And though he says he didn’t want to take advantage of Talia, I know he had something else planned rather than demonstrating his alchemical abilities.

I’m not just saying that because he’s a man and she’s a beautiful woman. He’s just too squirrelly. I believe his little powders are what he claims to be, mainly harmless, but it wouldn’t take much to compromise someone’s judgment.

While my insistence of having a good time and commitment to not immediately resorting to violence lends me to be merciful, my wife is reading from a very different book. This poor man just tried to mess with her flower and her expression says she doesn’t care what his intentions were.

“I believe you,” I tell the dead man. “Good news. That means I’m not going to tear your head from your shoulders.”

“Do you expect me to thank you? This is an unwarranted assault!” Farran complains, not very grateful for my mercy.

“Unfortunately, there’s also bad news and worse news. The bad news is that I’m a wanted woman and could care less about legal consequences for things like assaulting people that offend me in my home.” I have to smother a laugh at how much his eyes widen. “Don’t look at me like that. The worse news is that my wife is something of a bloodthirsty maniac and she’s not very happy with you.”

“Not happy at all,” the elf growls. Farran lets out a cry as Kierra’s other hand squeezes his shoulder, probably breaking something. “Come. Let me explain to you why you do not touch another’s flower.”

I wave as the angry elf drags him off, ignoring his protests. Poor bastard.

“Is she…” Cynthia starts but can’t finish.

“Going to kill him? Not sure actually. He’s…saints, he’s nobody. But he tried to give Talia something suspicious. It could have been a potion of eternal life and she’d still be pissed.” It’s the principle of it.

“Lou.” I turn to Talia. “A drink will make singing easier.”

“And yours was taken. One moment.” I don’t even bother calling out for it. In the next moment, as expected, one of my servants appears with the requested drink. Namely Bell, holding the glass in her tail as she scampers onto the stage. She delivers her burden before running toward me, looking up at me with wide eyes next to my feet. “Coo!”

“Yes, yes.” I scoop up the adorable succubus, falling right into her trap no doubt.

I make my way back to Arthur and Way, Alana having wandered off. The pirate cook is practically bouncing on her feet. “Hey, land captain,” she says once I’m in range for a normal person to hear her whispers. “If you’re going to skiv that guy, I’ve got a good recipe for making meat soup.”

“Skiv?” I ask, more disturbed by the nonsensical word than her offer to help me disappear a body. She’s Arthur friend, I expect nothing less.

She makes a jabbing motion. “Wouldn’t blame you. I’ve seen his type, you know. Slips something in a girl’s drink and makes off with her. Or knocks her out so he can go out to sea without paying for her services. In the gray, they get the same punishment as they would for stealing anything else. Lose their hands, heh.”

Beside me, Cynthia sighs. “I don’t know what got into him.”

Drink? Acute embarrassment and humiliation from having his date show more interest in someone else? Love at first sight compromising his judgment? Lust at first sight compromising his judgment? Temporary insanity?

Whatever it is, it won’t matter. “He’ll be lucky if losing his hands is the worst that happens to him.”

The alchemist shakes her head. I don’t need a mental spell to know she’s cutting her old student off and abandoning him to his fate. How practical. And far more cold than I expected from the overtly friendly intellectual. “I know you call her a flower but I’m beginning to think it’s more than a pet name.”

“Another time. They’re starting.” I wave for them to quiet as Earl begins to play. The violin is usually reserved for slow and somber melodies, but he starts with a jaunty tune, the notes practically skipping as he plays them. Talia’s song matches his tone. Singing a sea shanty of all things. One that seems to be popular as all the Graywatch natives sing along enthusiastically, including Arthur. To my surprise, Alyssa’s crusty hunter friend joins in as well, showing his first smile of the night as he raises a glass.

Talia’s song and the jubilant atmosphere conjures images of sparkling waters and night skies full of stars. No, wait. Those images I’m imagining are real.

Gasps and mutterings of awe fill the room as the floor shifts to resemble the sun shining down on a body of water and the ceiling becomes dark as twilight, interspersed with pinpricks of light. Above Talia’s head, Rolly pops into existence with a flash of light, bobbing in time with the music.

When the song ends, Geneva climbs onto the stage with the strikingly red instrument Earl brought back from his trip to the market. It reminds somewhat of a lute, but with a longer neck and a thinner body. I don’t expect anything less than mastery from my succubus but it’s still a little shocking to hear her play.

In my experience, string instruments are played in two ways, slow and sad or as a happy ditty. Geneva plucks the strings sensually, deliberately rather than slowly. And when Talia sings in a soft but husky tone, the combination sends shivers down my spine.

Oh, wait. That’s Alana’s fingers trailing my back as she leans against me, quietly announcing her return. I move with her as she sways to the music, her other hand going around my waist as she lays her head on my shoulder. Another perfect moment, made better by her fingers tugging at the waist of my pants.

I’m about to suggest we slip away when the door is thrown open. I don’t think much of it, as there are a few people with invitations that haven’t shown, but my nonchalance is blown away as I take in the group of three following behind Nomad; an unmistakable succubus despite her human guise, my childhood tormentor, and an exhausted young woman with a passing resemblance to me.

What in the Abyss is my cousin doing here?!