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I fumbled with my phone as Corva rattled off her number, then sent her a text at her demand so she’d have mine.
“How’s the job going?” she asked, tucking her phone away.
“Oh, really good,” I said eagerly. “I’m enjoying it.”
Which reminded me, I wanted to talk to Greid about contributing to the bills when I got home with our coffee.
“It’s the place across the street, right?”
“Yeah. Abyss.”
Corva pulled her phone back out when it vibrated, frowning at it. “I admit I haven’t checked out the nightlife around here yet,” she said absently, bright yellow painted claws tapping at her screen. “Still traipsing all the way across the city to meet friends at my old haunts. I just don’t think I’d survive if I didn’t eat at least once a week at Le Champignon Noir. Have you been?”
“Uh, no.”
She stuffed her phone back in her bag and clasped my arm. “Oh, you must. Their black truffle and dark chocolate parfait with liquorice foam is to die for.”
That… didn’t sound all that great, but I smiled politely. Note to self: make sure Greid knows not to book somewhere as fancy as Le Champignon Noir for our date. I could already tell it would be hellishly expensive, especially if it was Corva’s favourite restaurant.
“Well, maybe you could invite some of your friends to Abyss one evening,” I offered. “It’s really nice in there. Or brunch,” I added. “We do brunch.”
She seemed like the brunching type.
“I think I will.” She gave me a big smile, deep red-painted lips revealing sharp white teeth. “And you must join us! If you’re not working, that is. No, wait, you won’t want to drink where you work. Don’t shit where you eat, eh? Text me one night when you’re not working and we’ll go to a different bar for a few drinks. I’ll invite some of my girlfriends. They’ll love you.”
“Will they?” I asked nervously, suddenly jittery at the thought of being out with a group of sophisticated, worldly women.
“Of course they will, darling.” Corva nodded at the counter. “Your drinks are ready.”
“Oh.” I stuffed my phone in my coat pocket and reached for the cups.
“You’re always getting two drinks when I see you in here,” Corva said slyly. “Who’s the other one for?”
“Oh, um, my…” My fingers flexed around the cups. “Uh, this guy—We live together but… we’re, um…”
I didn’t really know how to explain what Greid and I were now. Dating? Friends who had recently admitted how ridiculously attracted we were to each other? A new couple who lived together but not in that way? Not in the long-term committed way. Not yet.
“We’re, um, we recently started… It’s new,” I finished awkwardly, feeling heat creep up my cheeks when Corva winked at me.
“Good for you, darling. Oh, here’s mine.” She grabbed a cup off the counter. “Ready?”
As we walked out of the coffee shop together, Corva’s phone started vibrating in her bag. Pulling it out, she made a disgusted sound. “God, this client is a total nightmare. Apparently imported Italian glassware isn’t good enough for his dinner party. I better take this and see what else he has a problem with.” She leaned down for another air kiss. “Text me soon to meet up, yes?”
“Yes, sure,” I said quickly, watching as she held the phone up to her ear and turned, gliding elegantly away, black heels with deadly points tapping over the concrete beneath the swishing hem of her long, stylish grey coat.
I grinned to myself as I turned and started heading home, taking a sip of my steaming black coffee. Excitement fizzed in my gut, and I looked around as I walked down the street to see what other bars Corva and I could go to. She was right—I’d feel a little awkward sitting and relaxing with a drink in Abyss while the people I worked with served us.
There was one that looked just as swanky as Abyss, the trim around the doors and windows a deep burgundy, the sign proclaiming it Carnelians. I crossed the street to get a better look, eyes widening with awe when I saw the huge chandelier above the circular mirrored bar, dripping with blood-red crystals. There was a discreet, framed drinks menu next to the door, in parchment paper designed to look old with elegant cursive listing a huge range of wines. Many of them were nightberry varieties and extortionately priced, but there were a few cheaper options and some spirits. Maybe we could go here. I was pretty sure Corva would like it.
I started to turn to keep heading home, but the store next door caught my eye. The window displays were a mishmash of items, making it hard to tell what they actually sold. Tall demiurgus mannequins towered over the human ones, all of them wearing clothes that looked a little dated. A vintage typewriter sat on a somewhat battered side table next to a vase of dried flowers, a polaroid camera and some hideous china knickknacks.
I glanced up at the shop sign. Mother Mila Foundation. Recognition bloomed as I stood on my tiptoes to peer over the window display into the store, seeing rails of clothing and shelves of random assorted items. I’d read about Mother Mila at the compound. She’d been one of the demiurgus who led the first group to the surface so long ago, negotiating with humans for peaceful co-existence between the species. A charity had been set up in her honour at the beginning of the twentieth century, helping new migrating demiurgus transition to surface life. It was odd to think that there were still demiurgus living far below us, many of them never venturing above ground. I wondered how different they were from people like Greid who’d been born and raised up here.
This must be a thrift store for the charity. I hesitated on the sidewalk, clutching the two coffee cups, then decided to go in. We got paid every two weeks at the bar, so I’d received my first paycheque and had spent hardly any of it, despite how excited I’d been to see it appear in my bank account. Greid had helped me set up contactless payments on my phone, but I wasn’t sure if a thrift store would only take cash.
Not that I was planning on buying anything. I was just interested to look around and see what the well-off residents of the Cimmerian District decided to donate. Maybe this could be where I brought all the stuff Greid didn’t want from his Room of Shame. Although, I had noticed the pile of boxes shoved into the corner of his room when I’d been leaving it yesterday. I was pretty sure he’d snuck more things down since we’d gone through them.
The store was empty when I went in save for an elderly demiurgus lady browsing the bookshelves at the very back, and the young demiurgus with multicoloured hair and several facial piercings behind the cash register.
