“You know the parlour? The Necromancer’s Parlour?”
I don’t know why she would, actually.
Hersecondboyfriend’s voice, muffled by a slight distance, yells, “that’s by the waffle place!”
“Uh… yeah. I heard it’s by the waffle place,“ she replies. “You want me to get you some?”
“Yes! Please. I didn’t eat today, and I’m not sure if I’m getting paid or—“
“I would kill for some waffles,“ the boyfriend adds.
“You’re just exhausted. Aren’t you—“ She moves away from the receiver for a moment. “Yeah. Eight hundred?”
I anxiously tap my finger into my leg. “…Could you bring me the box? I’m not sure how early she’s making me work, and I might not be able to leave.”
“The diner is ratty anyway,“ the boyfriend comments.
“Of course I will. I need to see what crappy rebound job you got.“ She ruffles some sheets under her, or something. “Also, what insane woman hired you to be an apprentice?”
“I think I was the only person who showed up.”
“And she settled? Keep a gun tucked under your coat, I guess.”
“It’s back at home.”
“You’re sleeping there?“ She snickers, “you’re dead.”
“Won’t hurt me if thatis her goal.”
“Ouch, you’re a sad thing… Decz’s getting antsy, so I’m going to hang up. I’ll bring you a pistol or something when I show up tomorrow.”
I realize I’ve been tangling up the cable between my fingers and start unraveling it. “Okay. See you then, Lucia.”
“You too. But also,Catie, if you’re ever desperate for a patron and one of my guys dies or stops paying, I’ll give you a pity fuck,“ she offers half-seriously.
But half’s enough for me to shut up and stumble my words.
The line’s cut in the middle of her cackling.
I slowly unwind from the high and hang up the phone. My mind is flush with feelings to express, but my social circle is filled by university students and laborers who should be asleep by now. Lucia’s at least busy with her vampire paramours at these hours.
Time to settle in, I guess. No gun, but knives have managed to kill people.
There’s no windows in this room. I would suspect that the wall is shared with the next door building, leaving me no way to tell that it’s morning.
Except for slightest taps against my door.
“Wake up. You’re earning your stay,” Mistress Vincenza demands.
“Okay… Okay.” I roll out of bed and toss on my clothing from last night.
Not clear on the shoe policy. Given I’m probably not leaving, I should get slippers. Or, just bring some in from home.
She waits in the hallway, fully clothed and booted—guarded—when I exit. “State of your physical health?”
“Fine?” I lock the door.
“Can you stand for hours while shelving books?”
