Dim Sum Asylum(38)

Ten


THE FIRST time I’d walked into Kingfisher’s, I was about nine or ten years old.

There were a lot of reasons I shouldn’t have been there, and my age was probably the second to last item on a long damned list, but I always remembered how I’d felt when I first walked through that red door: like I’d bitten off a lot more than I could chew and my throat wasn’t wide enough for me to swallow it down.

Much like how Trent looked as soon as he passed over the threshold and took in the insane circus known as Kingfisher’s.

I’d never seen the place empty, its chairs upside down on the tables and the floors being mopped. I don’t know when the main floor got cleaned, but it never looked anything but pristine. Sleek black marble walls reflected the crystal chandeliers hanging from the twelve-foot-high gold-embossed ceilings. The carpet was a deep lush red dotted with yellow peony medallions, and shoulder-high partitions inset with screens in the same rich ebony as the walls separated the tables. A wide, sweeping staircase led to the upstairs rooms, private areas where business could be done without anyone overhearing a deal or selling their souls to a devil they hoped would never collect—but always did.

But what really made Kingfisher’s awe-inspiring were the men and women gliding between the tables, delivering drinks and affection with a potent freedom guaranteed to knock the wind out of whoever hired them for the hour.

The air ran rich with the scent of champagne, whiskey, and fine food. A soft murmuring chatter ran low beneath the clink of silverware and crystal. A long bar along the far side wall was in the weeds with a small gathering of businessmen wearing suits I wasn’t sure I could even afford to look at, much less wear. The bartender, a petite narrow-faced brownie, slung frothy drinks with a jaded insouciance gained from years of hearing sob stories and cheesy come-ons. About four foot three, she stood on a platform built up behind the bar. I knew this because I’d once been tossed over the top of that bar and hit my chin on the metal grid risers the staff laid down when the brownie poured.

A sylph strolled past us, his rolling-hip swagger and black leather pants accentuated by the sway of his double-scalloped opaque ivory wings. Pale to the color of bleached bone, his skin caught every bit of light licking at his bare face and muscled chest. Teal strands streaked his long, wild white hair, framing his strong vulpine face and bringing out the Bay-green tints in his narrowed ocean-blue eyes. He threw us a cocky smile as he turned to step down onto the main floor, his wings sweeping around to create a sunshine and washed cotton–scented breeze.

I heard Trent gulp, and if I didn’t already know how much of an asshole Ghost was, I’d probably have stepped off the landing and followed him straight into Hell.

Most of the household were common faerie, but there were a few who wore their fae blood in the curve of serpentine tails or glistening spangles under their pale skin. All were beautiful stained glass and powder, mandala–patterned wings sweeping up in glorious displays of mottled colors and glittery translucents. They were heartbreakingly gorgeous, some baring skin while others showed very little, but all were dressed for one purpose: the seduction of the senses. And standing at the entrance, drinking in the spectrum of saturated artistry made of flesh and sex, Kingfisher’s was an awe-striking experience, no matter how many times I walked past that heavy door.

“Holy… crap.” Trent’s hushed whisper joined the murmur running through the enormous room. The stoic badass demeanor he’d worn since I met him cracked a little bit under the sheer force of sex, desire, and decadence in front of us. “They’re….”

“Yeah, they’re all fae.” I cocked my head, taking one last good, hard look at Ghost’s ass. “That is trouble. Watch yourself if you wander over there.”

“I was going to say gorgeous, but….” Trent’s face shifted, hardening to a wary poise. “Everyone who works here is… faerie.”

“Or at least close enough to count. Roll your tongue back into your head, partner. We’ve got a woman to see.”




THE CROWD was a bit thicker than it looked, and it was tricky to maneuver around some of the more boisterous parties. I was steering Trent toward the bank of corridors to the left of the bar, but it was difficult. Ghost was a distraction. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was around, lingering and being… Ghost-like. I nodded hellos at some of the staff I knew personally, sending a wink to a froth-haired pink faerie whose dress seemed more of a hint of gossamer than actual fabric. I lost my partner to a quick-handed feu follet for a moment, her low, seductive chuckle tickling my ears as I dragged him away from her cloying embrace.

“It’s illegal to hire only faerie,” Trent grumbled from behind me. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being fae, it’s just—”

“Humans work here too,” I corrected. “It’s just not… look, we have more important things going here than labor violations. Kingfisher’s sells a fantasy. Just like a casino or one of those amusement parks where they make really short people dress up as bobbleheaded furry creatures. You hire who fits the part. Now how about if you act like… no, don’t act like a cop. Just… follow me, okay?”

Someone’s elbow hit my ribs, and I was swiftly reminded I’d been blown to kingdom come earlier that afternoon. Combined with the fall off the benevolent society’s roof, I was a walking disaster. Pain blossomed along my kidneys, and a pulse began in my temples, pounding a light salsa beat into my brain. I wanted to throw up, and then after I swallowed, another tap made my eyes water to the point of tears.