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No. Stop it.
Feelings towards the mortal she did not want flourished in her heart. Proof they had already rooted. She imagined plucking them free and tossing them out and then channeled her focus onto Avi approaching behind the counter.
Splotches of ketchup stained the front of his apron, the beige piece of material hiding his bright teal tank-top and white shorts. His copper strands lay tousled, like he hadn’t had time to shower before his shift.
Naia sat on a stool beside Violet, watching her eat a sandwich Noah had made in the kitchen. He had surfaced into the taproom once to steal the whole milk kept in the mini fridge beneath the bar, acknowledging Violet with a subtle head nod and a sharp glance towards Naia. She didn’t know how to read Noah, but she respected the clear desire he gave off to ignore each other.
“Two hours, ladies, and we’re done for the day!” Avi pumped one of his massive, tattooed arms in the air to emphasize his excitement while holding onto dirty plates with his other hand.
“Whoop! Whoop!” Violet gave a chipper fist bump in the air as a response, her mouth full of Monte Cristo.
Avi disappeared around the adjacent wall into the kitchen. When he reemerged, a towel was tossed into Naia’s lap.
She looked up.
“Come help me wipe down tables?” His voice was gentle with the request. He was already making his way around the bar to the dining area of the room.
Naia hopped off her stool and slowly followed.
“Did you have fun last night?” Avi casually asked as he sprayed a purple concoction on the glossy surface of a table, littered with crumbs and fingerprints.
Naia held the towel between her knees and worked her long strands up. She took out Wren from her pocket and stuck the sharp hairpin through her bun. “Yes. I love dancing.”
Avi laughed. “I can’t believe you got Ronin to dance. Don’t worry, Damian secured a few good videos to taunt him with, if you want a way to remember the night.”
She picked up the bottle, gave the next table a few good sprays, and mirrored the large circles Avi made with his arm to wipe down the surface. “What did Damian mean when he asked if I was from Roseland Street?”
Avi laughed, a small, awkward sound out. “Oh, uh. Well, he was being an asshole. Roseland is… Um, well…”
Naia straightened and turned to face him, intrigued by his stammering. He moved down a table, spraying and scrubbing.
“Roseland is…?” Naia waited for him to fill in the sentence.
Avi stopped wiping. “Roseland Street is like a red-light district.”
Naia studied him for a beat. “What is a red-light district?”
He fidgeted with his numerous earrings. “It’s where people go to, uh, to like sate their pleasures.”
“Oh, sort of how I like going to bakeries?” Naia beamed.
Avi stared at her with a pained expression, mouth opening and closing.
“Um, no, not really.” He sighed. “It’s more like where people pay money to other people for sexual intercourse.”
Naia blinked at him.
I think you’d find a bit of business there. Damian’s words from the previous night echoed through her mind.
She squeezed the towel, seething. “What a pig!”
Avi chuckled as he continued wiping down tables. “He’s a total dick most days, but he’s a good friend.”
Naia looked over at him. His arms boasting a collage of elaborate tattoos as his muscles flexed while wiping caught her eyes. From this angle, she could only make out the dagger wrapped in briar along the bone of his forearm, the bird in the crook of his elbow, and the portrait of a woman, no bigger than the size of her fist, on the inside of his bicep.
An elegant posing woman with her hands tucked underneath her chin, head slightly positioned back, eyes closed, and blood covering her neck. Naia was sure of it. It was the same as the painting she’d seen outside of the café. The same she swore she had seen on Damian’s arm the previous night.
The blood of our souls drench the city.
