A serialised novel of sunless planets, hallucinogenic mushrooms, daemons, and... pizza rats. đđ
New chapters posted every Tuesday!
Available Chapters â Content Warnings
âWhatâs the take?â Caggoty whispered in Ginxâs ear. âPlace seems quiet.â His breath against her neck was warm and unpleasant, shrouded in a sweet-sick fog of cheap beer.
Ginx turned her head away. âNot too bad, actually. Iâve stamped in four hundred and seven.â
It felt like four thousand and seven. Ginx shifted in the hard metal chair, grimacing when the doors opened to pump stale street air into the narrow corridor. A couple entered, their arms slung around each other.
âMake that four hundred and nine,â Ginx said.
Caggotty sucked in acne-scarred cheeks and crossed his arms over his faded denim jacket. âBarely enough to scrape rent. Letâs hope theyâre all bloody thirsty. Make these the last stamps, Ginx. Itâs almost three.â
He disappeared back into the club without waiting for a reply.
The couple stopped before Ginxâs boothâlittle more than a wooden box caged against one wallâand held out their wrists. Ginx scanned out their credits, grateful when neither chirped with the red beep of death. She had already tussled with four no-credit losers tonight and was in no mood to make the tally six. She could have guessed from their appearance that these men rarely had credit problems. The larger one was wearing an expensive-looking leather jacket, far too warm for the weather and definitely procured off-world, and his companionâs teeth were white and straight as marble slabs.
âIs Tattiana in tonight?â Teeth said. He was overly excited and grotesquely sober.
âShe is, but itâs late. If you want to see her youâll have to hurry. She might be three sheets to the wind already and then youâll get nothing out of her but hexes.â
The man recoiled slightly, his bright smile fading, and Ginx grinned as she reached for her stamp. Winding up the blow-ins was eternally amusing. They both waited patiently as she wetted the clubâs rubber logo on an ink pad and pressed it carefully against the backs of their hands. They stared at them for a momentâblow-ins always didâadmiring the way the logo, a crude pair of womenâs lips puckered around a razor blade, shone pink and purple against the blacklight.
âThat stampâs only good for tonight,â Ginx said. âYou try to reuse it, youâll be banned.â
âHow would you know if itâs been used?â Leather Jacket said. He smirked at his partner.
âBoss changes it every night,â Ginx replied, wishing theyâd just hurry up and fuck off. âThe colours will scan different tomorrow.â
They finally wandered away down the short corridorâwallpapered with band posters and blasted with graffitiâinto the bowels of the club. Ginx leapt up to lock the street doors.
âYou all done?â
She turned to find Luke leaning against her booth.
âYes. Finally.â
Ginx raked a self-conscious hand through her hair, wishing sheâd had time to dye it the bubblegum pink colour sheâd been considering for a week. Not that it would have made any difference. Luke was a beautiful mirage. She would never actively pursue him; the idea of him was too salt-sweet delicious to ruin with the messy prospect of reality. He was like a deep-soul song with perfect lyrics. She didnât want all that beauty dismantled by finding out he farted in bed or picked his teeth, or was in any way an actual revolting human being with flaws and moods.
âDrink?â she suggested.
Luke nodded and followed her into the club. They found Riven in his usual place against the bar, the usual cantankerous scowl etched on his face.
âThis place is full of kids now,â he moaned when he saw them. âI feel like an old hag.â
âHags are cool,â Toni said, placing two warm beers on the bar for Ginx and Luke. Sheâd been bartending at the Bunker for over a year and knew how appalling the majority of the cocktail menu was. Her friendsâ budgets only stretched to half-priced, watered-down cocktails, or local beer, and sheâd long stopped asking them which theyâd prefer.
Ginx smiled gratefully. She lifted the flimsy cup to down half the beer in one short swallow, almost burped, and glanced at Luke in alarm. Thankfully, he was distracted by Riven.
âYouâre only twenty-six, Toni,â Riven pouted, freshly glossed lips puckering like a raw wound. âIâm twenty-eight next month. Iâm practically dead.â
A woman Ginx didnât recognise was surrounded by a clutch of old-timers, preening in their midst like a minor celebrity. The woman turned to show the group her right shoulder, bare and gleaming beneath the heavy palette of the clubâs blacklight. It was scored with red, wet-looking lines, weaving in and out of each other to create the angular image of a phoenix, wings spread in flight and beak open in a triumphant scream.
Ginx thought the birdâs face was uglyâpointed and irritable like a wizened old manâs who was too tired and bent with pain to tolerate your bullshit. The scartat was as silly as the interlocking pentagrams the so-called wraith-witches carved on their foreheads. Ginx often wondered what the witches would look like if they made it to old age. She imagined the scarlet-limned scars would disappear into the deep slits of their wrinkled foreheads like angry snakes being swallowed by pudding.
Scartat had caught Lukeâs attention. The woman noticed him peering past Rivenâs scrawny frame to study the raw phoenix, then dropped her shoulder towards him so he could get a better view.
âThat tat looks fresh,â he said, flashing the woman his lopsided smile. âYou just got that today?â
âI did.â Scartat beamed as though she was being congratulated for curing some terrible disease. âI designed it myself.â
Ginx bristled. The laser-scored monstrosity rippling across the womanâs shoulder blade was as far from a tattoo as she could imagine. Ginx held deep love and respect for the old tattoos. Her grandmother had had a full sleeve of what looked like cartoon characters to child-Ginx, the colours remaining bright and vibrant even as Grandmotherâs hair and eyes grew pale and brittle. She used to beg Grandmother to roll up her sleeve, loved to hear the stories that came with each finely etched face.
âThis one is a warrior. He saved a princess.â
âWhy do the princesses always need saving, Gran?â
âNot all of them do. Remember this one?â
Then Grandmother would turn her arm over, flash Ginx the underside of her forearm and the riot of colours splashed across it. Rising from the centre of the rainbow storm was Ginxâs favourite character, a tightly-muscled woman wearing pearly blue armour, hoisting a sword and turning amidst the blazing stream of a lightning fork.
âThatâs Zin-Hara.â
âThatâs right, darling. In the old stories, Zin-Hara was the one who did the saving.â
âCan I be her?â
âYou can be anything you want if youâre strong like Zin-Hara.â
What a shitty lie that had turned out to be.
âYou being served?â Sevi said, appearing as though summoned from the ether. The bartender was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a shaggy mane of salt and pepper hair.
âToni sorted us out,â Ginx replied. âBut Iâve just worked a thousand-hour shift, so fill me up.â She finished the rest of her beer and pushed the empty cup across the bar.
âA thousand hours?â Sevi said as she poured the beer. âAnd I thought my pitiful six-to-four was rough.â
She returned Ginxâs cup, refilled with the dark, pungent liquid that passed for beer in Noctara, and leaned across the bar, one unkempt eyebrow raised.
âYou told that skinny musician you want to rock his boat, yet?â
The club was loud, and Sevi spoke in a theatrical whisper, but Ginx still wanted to slap a hand across the bartenderâs mouth.
âShut up, Sev. Heâs right there.â
They both regarded Luke. He was comparing tattoos with Scartat, who was laughing far too loudly. Riven skulked beside them, preening like a Bhume Valley dilettante as he competed for the womanâs attention.
âNever mind,â Sevi said. âLooks like heâs going home with someone else.â
So, what do we think of Luke? Should Ginx go for it and ârock his boatâ, as Sevi so delicately put it? Or should she forget him? (This poll is just for fun!)
Content Warnings
Alcohol use, swearing.