Power Trio

They skip the line in front of the warehouse, to the loud protest of a few of its raven-clad guests.

“Hi, Povini,” Thekla says. “Thekla Kamiyon plus one.”

“Hi, Thekkie.” Povini, who’s either Sion’s cousin or one of his girlfriends, Thekla never remembers, gives her a blissed-out smile from the other side of a black velvet rope. She’s in a lacy mask, a matching corset, and not much else. “Who’s the little morsel with the roadie getup?”

“Evan H. Sion’s expecting him.”

“Welcome to Tvnnel,” coos the ash elf. She slinks a circle around Evan, places a hand on the small of his back, and steers him toward the plastic-sheeted entrance. “Is this your first time?”

“Yeah,” Evan says, uncertain.

“Are you prepared to submerge?”

Evan glances at Thekla as he’s led away. “Uh. Sure.”

“Be nice,” Thekla calls. “And park that bag of his in the upstairs. I’ll see you at the first floor bar, Evan. It’s neon, you can’t miss it.” She steps out into the party, slipping her shoulders out from her fur and letting it hang like a loose half cape from her forearms.

Nubile bodies, clad in leather, lace, and latex, undulate beneath dancing red laser light. A thumping EBM synth slithers from the PA, below a breathy elvish voice. Their language only brushes up against goblin, but the word for “tongue” is a cognate. Thekla can guess what this song’s about.

Normally she’d be shaking her ass at this point and scanning the floor for Sion or one of his coterie. Instead, she goes to the neon trimmed bar, orders a gin fizz, and tries to forget about the curled-up boy with the pale lips. She’s raw and bothered, like there’s grit under her clothes. She rarely minds crowds. She’d hoped she might feel relief to be away from Evan, not whatever this is.

“Who is that blue little green girl?” A tap on her shoulder. She already knows to look in the opposite direction. Sion takes a seat next to her, mesh top crinkling against her as he kisses both cheeks. On his arm is Lucerne, a giggly kobold fashion designer he’s been courting, whose chameleon skin pulsates red and violet along with the music.

“Sion, Lou.” Thekla squeezes the kobold’s wrist; predictably he giggles. “Who’s on the soundtrack tonight?”

“Wellach picked it out,” Sion says. “Does it make you want to move?”

“Tonight? No.”

“Figures. She’s exquisite with the visuals, you know, but her musical taste is off-the-shelf. Such a blind spot.”

“Very sad,” Lou laments.

“It’s not that. It’s not my vibe, but it’s got a beat, at least.” Thekla downs about half of her fizz in one gulp. “We took a detour on the way here and Evan saved a kid’s life.”

“Who’s Evan?” Lou asks, rubbing his snout.

“Bassist,” Sion says.

“Oh! Hobo Evan!”

“That’s right, hon.” Sion takes a sip of Thekla’s backwash. “Thekla, my dear. You don’t mean that little mouse boy we play music with, do you?”

Thekla tells him the whole story. He orders her another gin fizz midway through it.

“Well, fuck me,” he says, evenly. “Lou, did you know we have some kind of sleeper agent eagle scout in the band?”

“It all sounds very sexy,” Lou says. “Especially the part where he kissed the dying vagrant boy.”

“Lou, stahhhp.” Thekla giggles out the tension from reliving the story and slaps the kobold on the knee. “It wasn’t sexy, it just… it was like a switch went off. He went commando mode.”

“Kell really knows how to find them, don’t she?” rumbles a voice from behind Thekla. “I heard you girls were running with a homeless dude these days. No clue he was a round-ear. You two wonder where he learned how to do that?”

“Oh, lord,” murmurs Thekla, and then, louder: “Hello, Ragan.”

“Benefice. Kamiyon.” The orc gives them both a razor grin. Ragan is one of the tallest men in the club—Thekla ought to have spotted him, but the music is loud and these gin fizzes are strong. His plain white shirt catches the blacklight from the bar in a radioactive glow; it’s stretched so tight across his pecs, it might tear down the middle if he sneezed. “Sounds like you’ve been having a fun night.”

“How long have you been back there, Ragan, you poisonous little stonefish?” Sion laughs. “Lou, do you remember the gentleman I was telling you about? Kell’s washout ex, who Thekla replaced?”

The kobold’s skin ripples into a wary shade of indigo. Ragan’s grin only grows. “How’s our girl?”

“Much, much better, thanks for asking,” Thekla says. “What are you doing here, man? How did you get through the line?”

“Masonry’s playing tonight,” Ragan says. “I’m on guitar for them these days.”

Sion puts a hand on his chest. “I really must talk to Wellach about this playlist.”

“Maybe she told you while you were strung out sometime,” Ragan says. “You two still playing together? Feels like I never hear about it anymore.”

“And here I thought we were gaining traction with New Laytham’s truck stop blowjob set,” Thekla says. “But it sounds like we’re still climbing that mountain.”

“Always with the mouth, this one.” Ragan laughs, leans in. “Gotta go. We’re on in 30. Give my love to Kellax. And to the lineup of… what was the name again? Have you still not picked one?” He pushes off from the bar. “Well, we’re all works in progress, after all. Deuces!” And with that, he’s off, sidling through the crowd.

“Goodbye, Ragan!” Thekla calls. “So thrilled they let you out of the enclosure for the evening!”

“That man seems like a prick,” Lou remarks.

“Not quite, hon,” Sion says. “People are sometimes glad to see a prick. Thekla, if you and Evan ever run into that knuckle-dragger on one of your walks, tell our round-ear DNR. Ah! Speak of the devil!”

Evan picks his way over through the dance floor. Somewhere in his initiation tour of Tvnnel, someone changed out his hoodie for an onyx crop top. He clings to the bar like it’s lifesaving driftwood. “Hi.”

“Hi, Evan H,” Sion gives him the double cheek kiss. “Thekla told me there’s a boy somewhere out in the dark with a life debt to you.”

“Very visceral,” Lou says, and also gives him the double cheek kiss.

“It was honestly just luck that we got to him. And Thekla’s the one who called in the paramedics.” Evan drums his palms on the bar, squints at the spirits on display. “Nobody’s going to ask me to do bodyshots over here, are they? Everyone is doing bodyshots upstairs.”

“It’s the national sport of my people, Evan,” Sion says. “Don’t be phobic about the ash elves.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s crazy in here. Good crazy. It’s just, it’s a lot.” Evan peers at the departing back of Ragan, big wide white shoulders like a galleon sail. “Who was the meat man?”

“Absolutely nobody.” Thekla finishes her third drink, clacks it down onto the bar. She gets to her feet, a little unsteady in these bullshit shoes. “Come on, boys. I’m trying to dance before the music goes rotten in this place.”

“Okay, but I gotta warn you I’m not exactly god’s gift,” Evan says.

“It’s easy. Come on.” Thekla grabs his arm, steers him out with her and Sion and Lou. “Just do that hips thing you do with your bass without your bass.”

She lets the music take her away from the evening's panic and the anger at Kell’s shitty ex. She dances with a vengeful intensity that her friends don’t even try to match. She wonders about dancing closer to Evan, about his hand on her, his stabilizing force. But they don’t touch.