A serialised novel of sunless planets, hallucinogenic mushrooms, daemons, and... pizza rats. đđ
New chapters posted every Friday!
Tuesday nights at the Blue Bunker were a sad wasteland of aging caprattlers and hardcore nostalgia junkies. Caggotty called it Tranq Tuesday. He muted the lights to hazy orange and yellow and played a looping image of wind-tussled desert grass on the wall behind the bar. It was supposed to create an atmosphere of warm afternoons embraced by the scorching glow of Romarliaâs mega sunâCaggotyâs words of course, not Tattieâs. Tattie thought the ambiance more closely resembled a fetid smog swamp. The type where weevils the size of Rakkonian cats lay in wait beneath the reeking dunes, ready to jump up and tear clean through an unsuspecting ankle.
Caggotty was waiting for her inside the Bunkerâs staff entrance. Heâd rinsed the papery dome of his mostly bald head with some kind of oil. It winked with a metallic sheen beneath the backlights, a few wisps of slate grey hair sticking out at strange angles.
âYouâve got a V.I.P.â
He spoke beneath his breath, as though afraid a contingent of husks were hiding in a shadowy corner, listening to his every word.
âGood evening to you too, Caggotty.â
âSheâs already been waiting fifteen minutes.â
âThatâs not my fault, you know when my shift starts.â
âI know, I know.â Caggotty seemed even more agitated than usual. Heâd probably copped trouble over the kid raging on spiked caps at the weekend. âShe looks groomed though, you know? Like sheâs not used to waiting.â
Tattie deliberately took her time hanging her coat on a vacant peg. âLike sheâs got decent credit, you mean?â
âYes, well. Just get out there and see what she wants, would you?â
The DJ was playing something slow and tinklyâephemeral music that melted in the ears like drifts of pale lavender smoke. Brax would probably love it; it had no discernible beat and was impossible to dance to.
Tattie gritted her teeth when she thought about her houseguest. Sheâd left him back in the apartment after he promised to behave himself but had secretly instructed Paul to keep an eye on him anyway. Imagining Braxâsitting cross-legged in front of her ganked-up viewscreen with Mr Meow purring in his lapâhollowed Tattie out with an ache like indigestion or cap cramps. She still wasnât sure what to do about him. He wasnât willing to return to Rakkone empty-handed, but she would never go with him. Perhaps heâd give up and stay and they could play this strange game forever. Except Brax hated playing games almost as much as he hated dancing.
As she made her way across the virtually empty dancefloor, Tattie studied the V.I.P. sitting in her alcove. She could only see the womanâs back, but that told her enough. She was tall and impeccably dressed in an emerald green coat and a matching stiff-brimmed hat. The hat was placed deliberately askew on a deep teal wig that made Toniâs glossy waves look cheap and generic.
Tattie pulled up a smile as she moved into the womanâs eyeline, ready to play the role of Tattiana the Blood Seer. Some nights she hated the pretense and hated herself more for consenting to perpetuate it. Other nights, nights like this one, she enjoyed playing this twisted little game in return for easy credits.
âGood evening, sister,â she said, raising her arms to induce a further touch of theatricality. âWhat might your pleasure be?â
âGood evening,â the woman returned. âYou are Tattiana?â
She wore a lot of makeup, but not the way everyone else wore it in the Noko District. Dark blue paste shimmered on her eyelids and her mouth made a delicate rosebud etched in frosted pink. Her skin seemed unnaturally smooth and flawless, refusing to reflect any light even beneath the unforgiving glare of the artificial candles. She definitely belonged amongst the monied, and sheâd definitely strayed very far from her sunlamp-lit comfort zone.
âI am the one and only Tattiana the Blood Seer.â
Tattie sat behind the table and folded her hands on the velvet tablecloth.
âGood. Thatâs good.â The woman was nervous. Tattie wondered how long it had taken her to rouse the courage to come here. âDo you provide privacy?â
âOf course. For a fee.â
The woman nodded and pulled up the sleeve of her coat. When she offered Tattie her upturned wrist, the movement was awkward and unnatural. If Tattie was a betting woman, she would have laid coin on this being a second, hidden chip kept in the womanâs non-dominant arm. This V.I.P. had things to lose and secrets to keep. Tattie pulled out the scanner she kept beneath the table and flashed it across the womanâs wrist. Of course, it flashed green.
âYour creditâs good,â Tattie told her. âIâve taken a holding deposit and weâll tally up at the end, okay?â
âYes, thatâs okay.â The woman spoke slowly, careful with her words.
Tattie nudged a switch set into the floor with her foot and a glass partition swept up from the floorboards on three sides of the alcove, so swiftly it made the woman start. When the partition had locked itself into inconspicuous grooves in the ceiling, Tattie leaned across the table and lowered her voice to an ominous pitch.
âPrivacy has now been provided. You may talk freely. These walls are sound and scan-proof.â She didnât actually know if they were scan-proof. She only had Caggottyâs word for it, and that man would sell seats to his own motherâs funeral if he thought he could save money on the wake.
âWhat should I call you, sister?â
The woman only hesitated for a moment. âMy name is Verna.â
âHappy to meet you, Verna.â
Tattie waited for the woman to speak, to tell her why she was sitting in a privacy booth beneath a garish flashing sign advertising the services of a blood seer in the arse end of the Noko District. Verna remained silent, her too-smooth face tight and pinched.
âWhy did you seek me, sister?â Tattie tried again.
Verna finally settled herself and when she spoke, she managed to keep her eyes on Tattieâs face. âI know who you are. Who you really are, I mean.â
Tattie remained perfectly still, her patented patient expression a rigid mask. Inside, she was tensing like a cornered spider readying to pounce.
âIs that so?â
There was no reason to think this woman knew anything. She was just another monied gawker whoâd lived her life knowing nothing but comfort and privilege. And power, never forget that. Still, there was nothing to know and nothing left for anyone to find out. Tattie had made absolutely certain of that.
The woman had drawn herself up on the bench but now she deflated slightly. âIâm sorry, that was blunt. Iâm not very good at this.â
âGood at what?â Tattie was finding it hard to maintain an even tone.
âIâll just come out with it,â the woman said, placing her hands squarely on the table. Tattie slowly drew hers away and held them in her lap, surreptitiously scratching at the fleshy pad of her palm with a fingernail kept filed to a fine point. If this Verna said anything she didnât like the sound of, she could draw blood and blind the bitch in the time it would take her to finish her sentence.
âI know youâre not Noctarian,â Verna continued.
âNeither are half the population.â
âAgreed, but you come from Rakkone, and that makes you an extremely rare creature.â