“I moved out of there a few weeks back. I’m living in Golgotham now.”
Nessie’s jaw dropped as if I’d told her I’d bought a condo on the moon. “No way!”
“It’s true. I found this great place over on Golden Hill Street, in the heart of the neighborhood, not the touristy section. Plenty of space. Great light. It’s cheap. And, best of all, the neighbors don’t care how much noise I make. ...”
“Wow! What’s it like?” Nessie asked, her eyes gleaming. “I mean, I’ve been to Perdition and Duivel streets—but everyone’s been there.”
“It’s—
different
,” I replied, “and it takes a little getting used to, at first, but I love it. You really ought to come over and check out my studio. ...”
Nessie glanced at her cell phone. “I’ve got a couple hours before I have to be anywhere. Why not?”
We decided it would be best if we took the Number Six train to City Hall and caught a hack into Golgotham. I was keen to catch up with my old friend, since it was nearly a year since we’d last seen each other. That was due largely to my ex, thank you very much. As we took our seats on the subway, Nessie turned and gave me what I knew was her “Please don’t disappoint me” look.
“So—Are you still seeing Dickweed?”
“You mean Roger?”
“Of
course
Roger. What other Dickweed have you been dating? Recently, that is.”
“I broke up with Roger a couple of months ago.”
“Good. I always hated that jerk. He acted like he was God’s gift to women. And to some dudes.”
“Tell me about it.” I smiled sourly. “I walked in on him ‘gifting’ himself to some bimbo he picked up at a bar.”
“Awk-ward!”
“And he was in
my
loft! I was out of town and the bastard didn’t want to take her back to his place, but he was also too cheap to spring for a motel room. Since he hadn’t bothered to check the voice mail I’d left him, he didn’t realize I was coming back earlier than expected.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes in disgust. “Ugh! Now
that’s
just tacky. What a he-ho. I hope you burned the sheets.”
“I dumped them down the incinerator chute.”
“Close enough. Personally, I could never understand what you saw in that guy. ...”
“Well, the sex
was
good,” I conceded grudgingly. “And he laughed at my jokes.”
“Good in bed and a sense of humor—the smart woman’s Achilles’ heel!”
“Sadly, smart women can’t live on orgasms alone.” I sighed.
“Although, you gotta admit, it’s fun
trying
.” Nessie grinned.
We collapsed into a giggling fit, just like we used to do back in our dorm room. By the time the train reached City Hall, we had finally regained enough composure to look relatively sane, if not particularly respectable. We exited the car and headed toward the street, hurrying through the Guastavino tile arches of the platform and mezzanine, past the colored glass tile work and antique brass chandeliers that are a hallmark of the station.
Upon reaching street level, we cut across the plaza toward Broadway, where a mixture of yellow taxis and centaur-drawn hansoms lined the cab stand. I looked for Kidron’s top hat or Wildfire’s garland, but I did not spot them.
Suddenly a man’s voice spoke from behind us. “Excuse me, ladies—are you going to Golgotham?”
We turned to find a satyr standing behind us. Due to his crooked hind legs, he appeared slightly shorter in stature than an average man. His upper body was identical to a human male’s save for his long, flat ears and horns of a goat. The only item of clothing he had on was a Mets jacket.
“I can take you anywhere you want—cheaper than any centaur,” he said, pointing to his rickshaw, which sat nose down next to the curb, awaiting the next customer.
“No, thank you,” I said, recalling Kidron’s advice about taking rides from satyrs.
“Oh, come on, Tate!” Vanessa grinned. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these.”
“I don’t know. ...” I eyed the satyr, who was politely waiting for us to come to a decision. It suddenly occurred to me that I was being unfair to the man-goat. Perhaps Kidron’s warning me away from the rickshaw drivers had more to do with the satyrs cutting into his livelihood. No doubt they, too, suffered the same bigotry and prejudice as the Kymerans and the various shape-shifting races endured, with people projecting dark motives onto them simply because they were different. Besides, there were two of us. Safety in numbers, right?
“C’mon,”
my friend teased. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Okay, we’ll hire you,” I agreed.
“Right this way, lovely ladies.” The satyr grinned. The rickshaw he ushered us into was, like most of those found in Golgotham, large enough to accommodate two adults. It was painted bright red, with a canvas canopy that could be folded forward or back, depending on the weather.
I gave the satyr the address, and after we made ourselves comfortable, he stepped between the running posts of the rickshaw. Within seconds we found ourselves rattling down Broadway toward Golgotham. The satyr dodged in and out of the motorized traffic with surprising speed and agility, his hooves clattering loudly against the pavement.
“So, are you still seeing Adrian?” I asked, finally returning to our previous conversation.
“We’re still with each other.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid we’ve reached that stage where we need to either get married or break up. I’m not sure which it’s going to be, just yet. In fact, he proposed to me a couple of days ago. I told him I had to think about it.”
“Adrian’s a nice guy, Nessie.”
“I know that—but I’m not sure I’m ready to settle down. What if I decide I want to take a lesbian lover?”
“
Do
you?”
“No, not really,” she admitted. “But what if I wake up one morning and regret never doing so because I married Adrian and had a bunch of kids?”
“That’s what the Internet’s for,” I laughed. “But all joking aside, it sounds to me you’re just trying to find reasons not to make a decision about something you know will change your life forever—whether for good or for bad.”
“How about you—?” she asked. “Are you seeing anyone now that Roger’s out of the picture?”
“Well, there
is
someone I’m interested in ...” I admitted, blushing as I spoke.
“Is it anyone I know?” she asked excitedly. “Ooh! I bet it’s the bartender at Max Fish! I saw how you were eyeing him the last time we went there. ...”
“No, I seriously doubt you know him,” I laughed. “He’s, uh, not from our scene.”
“Oh, God—he’s not a stockbroker, is he?”
“Of course not,” I replied, aghast at the very suggestion. “He’s a Kymeran.”
“Holy crap, Tate!” Vanessa gasped, genuinely surprised. “Talk about getting some strange! Does Mrs. E know about this?”
“No, she doesn’t. Besides, there’s nothing for her to know. I haven’t even kissed this guy yet.”
“Okay—I believe you. But have you fucked?”
“Nessie!”
“I’m just kidding, Tate. But, really, you can tell me—have you?”
“No!”
“Do you wanna?”
“God, yes,” I groaned. “Wait until you meet him. He’s handsome, kind, intelligent, generous, and he actually thinks about something other than himself.”
“He sounds perfect—except for being a warlock.”
“He’s not that kind of wizard,” I insisted. “He doesn’t curse people—he’s a healer.” As I glanced up from our conversation, I suddenly realized we were no longer headed in the direction of my house. “Hey—wait a minute!” I yelled at the rickshaw puller. “This isn’t how you get to Golden Hill Street. Where do you think you’re going?”
In response, the satyr lowered his head and started running, causing the rickshaw to jounce across the cobblestoned street. I was so mad at myself, I didn’t have time to be afraid. I had been so eager to show my old friend around Golgotham to prove to her that it was “safe,” I went against my better judgment and ended up played for a nump.
“What’s going on?” Nessie yelped.
“We’re being kidnapped,” I shouted, fighting down the panic that was finally starting to rise in my gut. I didn’t know where the man-goat was taking us, but I knew we didn’t want to find out.
“Jump!”
“But we’re going so fast—!”
“Don’t argue with me, Nessie—just grab your purse and jump!”
Marshaling my courage, I leaped over the side of the wildly bouncing vehicle, rolling as best I could upon landing on the street. Sitting up, I saw the rickshaw disappear around a corner, the satyr still cantering along.
Vanessa was on the other side of the narrow street from me, grimacing as she clutched her left ankle. The locals barely glanced in our direction as they went about their business, as if the sight of women jumping out of runaway rickshaws was a common, everyday occurrence in that neighborhood.
“Are you okay?” I asked as I hurried to her side.
“I think I sprained my ankle.”
“Oh, God, Nessie—I’m so sorry about this!” I exclaimed as I helped her up.
“There’s no need to apologize,” she grunted. “I’m the one who insisted on riding in the rickshaw, even after you said no. Where are we?”
I looked around, trying to get my bearings. “I think we’re on Ferry Street. We’re not that far from where I live. I need to get you off the street, in case goat-boy comes back.” I pointed to a nearby bar, the sign for which read BLARNEY’S. “That looks like a good place for you to get off that ankle.”
“You’re not going to leave me there alone, are you?” Nessie asked fearfully.
“Of course not,” I said reassuringly. “I’ve got my phone on me. I’ll call this cabbie I know to come pick us up. ...” As I opened the door of the pub, the sound of Flogging Molly played at near-deafening volume greeted us.
“Is this an Irish pub?” Vanessa asked.
“You could say that,” I replied as I stared at the child-sized, green-clad men lining the bar.
“Oi! What are you lot doing here?” the bartender snapped. Like the other leprechauns, he was dressed in green and had bright red hair. “Clear off! We don’t serve numps!”
“My friend’s been hurt,” I explained. “She needs to sit down while I call a cab. We won’t be any bother, I promise.”
Upon catching sight of Vanessa’s coppery locks, the bartender’s demeanor softened slightly. “You there, the ginger—what’s your last name?”
“Sullivan,” she replied.
“Very well, you can stay,” the bartender said grudgingly. “Just keep your distance from me reg’lars.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said as I seated Vanessa on a stool better suited for a day-care center than a pub.
The bartender merely grunted and returned to his customers, all of whom glared at us while muttering darkly among themselves. I noticed that those leprechauns not carrying shillelaghs clutched fistfuls of darts, and all of them had a drink in their free hands. Fifteen tense, Celtic-rock-infused minutes later, I received a text informing me our ride was waiting for us outside. I wasted no time in getting Vanessa back on her feet, allowing her to use me as a human crutch as she limped out the door.
Kidron was standing patiently at the curb, awaiting our arrival. “Good afternoon, ladies,” the cabbie said politely, tipping his hat in greeting.
Vanessa balked at the sight of the centaur. I suppose it was only natural for her to be hesitant after her narrow escape from the satyr, but I could not help feeling a little embarrassed by her reaction to Kidron.
“It’s okay, Nessie,” I assured her. “He’s straight up.”
“Tate informed me of your predicament, Miss Sullivan,” Kidron said solemnly. “I hope it will not taint your view of Golgotham and of those of us who live here. Not all half-beasts are as untrustworthy as satyrs.”
“I sent Hexe a quick text, to make sure he was home,” I said as I gave Vanessa a boost into the hansom. “He’ll get you fixed up right away.”
“Who’s Hexe?”
“He’s that Kymeran healer I told you about,” I explained. “He’s also my landlord and one of my housemates.”
“Who are the others?”
“A geriatric soothsayer, a were-cougar, and a demonic familiar.”
“You know, my ankle doesn’t really hurt
that
bad. ...”
“C’mon, Nessie.” I grinned. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Hexe was standing on the front stoop as we arrived, a concerned look on his handsome face. Vanessa grabbed my arm. “Is that him?” she whispered.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“He is
dreamy
!”
Before the cab could come to a halt, Hexe hurried down the stairs to meet us, his golden eyes intent on me. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Your text said something about an accident—”
“I’m okay,” I replied. “It’s my friend here who’s hurt. Vanessa, I’d like you to meet Hexe. Hexe, this is my old college roomie, Vanessa.”
“
You
can call me Nessie.” She smiled.
“Pleased to meet you, Nessie,” he replied, helping her out of the cab. “What seems to be wrong?”
“I sprained my ankle.” She abruptly grimaced in pain as her left foot touched the sidewalk.
Hexe produced a thumb-sized, tea bag-like pouch from his pocket. “Stick this under your top lip, against your gum, and let it sit there. It’ll help with the pain. So how did you come to injure yourself, Nessie?”
“It happened when we jumped out of the rickshaw,” she replied. The pouch under her lip made it sound as if she were talking around a chaw of tobacco.
“Rickshaw?” Hexe turned to look at me, his previous concern replaced by alarm. “What in seven hells were you doing riding in one of those?”
“I thought it would be safe if there were two of us,” I explained. “I was wrong. The satyr pulling the rickshaw tried to kidnap us, no pun intended.”
“Satyrs can be extremely dangerous,” Hexe said grimly. “You and Nessie could have ended up in a lot of trouble.”