Power Trio

They pass through their first Tarounese township by mid-afternoon. Its neon markerboard informs them this is West Fifth Dogwood, Pop. 4231.

The markerboard also notes that in West Fifth Dogwood, the north quadrant’s marketplace is located three blocks east of its usual placement due to “mineral concerns.”

Dalma takes a flurry of photos of the markerboard, and then of the brutalist, daunting architecture of the gates beyond it.

“This is freaky, man,” Kell murmurs. They wait outside the trailer while the gray-jacketed gatestaff perform an inspection of it. “What does that sign mean?”

“Tarouna is three quarters Hobgoblin.” Parag wanders over to Legendary, chewing a stick of jerky. “Hobgoblins are uptight.” One of the gate guards levels an icy stare at him from under his pot helmet. “What? You know you are, man.”

“We additional inspect,” the hobgoblin says.

“So every township’s major markers are in the same place,” Parag explains patiently, as the guard frisks him. “Any township we’d go into, the hospital’s in the same spot, the canteen’s in the same spot, and so’s the market. Except here.” He gestures at the marketplace notice, which is printed in a half-dozen languages besides English.

“You not take this into West Fifth Dogwood.” The hobgoblin comes up with a hunting knife.

“Ah-ah,” Parag wags his finger. “I’m registered with the Voraag River Pack under Schedule H-five of the Orcish Dispensation Compact. Gimme my knife back and go take it up with the seneschal.”

The hobgoblin scowls as he returns Parag’s property.

Anise leans laterally and taps Dalma’s head. “Maybe you oughta not be taking photos.”

Dalma’s flash goes off as she captures one of their inspectors in profile. “I find autocrats so geometrically intriguing.”

“Asakrainasi veserikass,” the guard in Dalma’s viewfinder grunts.

Dalma shakes her head and puts her camera away. “Savrakazi zaraskainai Parag hekaz.”

Anise sidles up to her as the convoy gets moving through the township. “What did he say to you?”

“He asked to buy me a drink,” Dalma says.

Anise’s brow furrows. “Did you say yes?”

“I told him I was dating Parag,” Dalma says.

Parag frowns. “We’re not dating.”

“Yes we are.”

“What? We are not.”

“Yes, we are.”

Evan is silently cracking up. Anise leaves the Kamiyons to it. She’s got paperwork to fill out if they want to pass flyers out here.

The tour winds its way through West Fifth Dogwood’s thoroughfares. Despite the precision uniformity of the residencies, Anise is pleasantly surprised by how lively the place is. She was expecting an authoritarian concrete nightmare, but the apartment buildings are painted cheery colors, their balconies hung with overflowing planters or bedecked in injection-molded knickknacks.

Thekla invites her to the marketplace and they wander the wicker baskets and plastic bins while the little guitarist geeks out excitedly over the creepy crawly ingredients she’s only read about. “These are real argosy ants. Holy shit. I can make legit rzaienskt with this. My great grandma’s gonna lose her shit when I tell her.”

Anise gives the plump insects a wide berth. “They’re very juicy, aren’t they.”

Thekla giggles. “You sound like Evan used to. Y’know, he’s a believer now. I’m bringing you to the next family bug night.”

As they emerge, shopping bags in tow, they nearly bump into an orderly line of hobgoblins assembled by the entrance, organized as if wrapped around an invisible rope.

“Uh, hi?” Anise steps in front of Thekla.

The hob at the front of the line, a thin, pretty housewife in a cotton wrap dress, flushes and darts her eyes to the ground. She holds up a vinyl sleeve of Legendary’s second single, Vampire Facial, a silver marker, and a five crown bill. “Thekla Kamiyon ooto-graff?” she stammers in broken English.

Thekla joyously goes down the line, signing records, snapping pictures, and chattering in hissy goblintongue. As they take their waving leave, she nudges Anise. “Look at those O-Dub fans. That’s your handiwork, Ani. You know that, right?”

Anise scoffs and demurs, but a cinnamon warmth curls in her chest.

* * *

Why, exactly, did Anise pitch her yurt next to Dee’s again? Did she think they wouldn’t be doing what she can hear them doing?

She’s mortified as she plugs her earbuds in and drowns them out with Ship of Fools’ third album. She busies herself by triple-checking their Tarouna budget. She’s heard about how fine-happy the Tarounese are; best set aside some discretionary funds, just in case.

Once that’s finished, she chances the removal of her earbuds, and is relieved to hear the twanging strains of guitar practice from next door, rather than the friction of bodies.

Nick’s voice: “Let’s do a C-shape arpeggio on the fifth string.” Then a hesitant line of notes. Dee’s instincts are keen when they all play together, but she’s insisted on learning all the fiddly theory as well.

She sounds skeptical tonight. “Is this gonna help me on the bass?”

“It’s good to know both. The skills and the shapes, they all transfer. You wanna be a musician. That’s the idea. A preference is fine. But you’re gonna be well-rounded this way.”

“I think you think I’m already pretty well-rounded.” A giggle. A pause in the conversation. A humming sound.

Okay. Maybe she is being a voyeur.

“What if we get a bass amp for the yurt?” Dee asks, eventually.

You’re already making enough noise, Anise thinks.

“Baby, we’re already making enough noise. Anise is gonna hate us. You get an amp in here and we’re fired.”

Anise laughs quietly to herself.

“Okay. But we’re practicing tomorrow.”

“Do you want to invite Ani?”

Anise freezes.

“Course I do, but I don’t know if we’re ready for polite society yet. You gotta stop playing grab-ass in front of the boss, mister.”

“I can’t promise that. Have you seen your ass?”

“Not that often, man. That’s the nature of ass.”

“Maybe let’s offer an invite, and apologize in advance if we can’t keep it together. And I’ll try.” Nick’s voice gets low and scratchy. “But I’m only human, y’know? Half of me, anyway.”

Dee’s giggle turns silky as it trails off. “What about the other half?”

Anise gets away from the wall. Where’s that crossword book when you need it?

A girly yelp makes her jump.

Dee, delighted and scandalized: “You are gonna fuckin’ pay for that, Voraag.”

Nick, low and salacious: “Oh, yeah?”

A hollow thunk as the guitar is put aside. Anise wonders if she should start sleeping with earplugs, maybe. She drags her furry sleeping bag thing over to the central pole of the yurt and props herself up with a pillow. She pulls out her big book of crosswords. She’s just gonna wait it out.

Eventually she hears Dee’s register raising, and her little sobbing, rhythmic breaths get faster and louder. “Yes. Just. Like. That. Oh, fuck. That’s so fucking good.”

Thirty down, dessert drink made from frozen grapes. Seven letters. ICEWINE, probably?

“Wait wait. One sec. I just need a second.”

“Let’s switch. I wanna see your face.”

Twenty-nine across, abandon one’s social plans. The fourth letter’s an I. That would be BAIL.

“Far’vkaina yima. I’m so fucking close. Come with me.”

So ICEWINE is a lock.

“Give it to me. Give it to me—”

With a final shared cry of exhilaration, next door goes silent. Anise heaves a sigh and slips down the pillar into bed.

Ten minutes later there’s another one of Dee’s little squeaks, and then a giggle, and then a low chuckle, and then a gasp, and then it starts all over again.

Okay. Anise cannot be fucking blamed for this. Sleep is not in the cards. Not when they’re this loud, and she’s this… wound up.

She slips her panties off and rolls onto her back and listens. God, the sounds Nick is getting out of Dee. Anise never imagined Dee could sound like this, so high and frantic and feminine.

If he can make the packmistress sound like this, what could he do to someone as small as Anise? How would it feel to be in the middle of them? To be held, and tasted, and opened wide, and she’s getting there, too fast. She forces herself to slow down, to match their pace like she’s playing music with them. One and two and three and four and. And Dee’s climbing again, and Anise climbs with her, and when Dee crests and pours over, Anise is right behind her, breath rattling out in a little whimper that she muffles with her other hand, toes curling into the fur.

She settles back into bed, breathing heavy through her nose and burrowing into the silky fatigue she sought, and that’s the best night’s sleep she’s gotten since she crossed into the Old World.

* * *

The next day they spend on the trade roads, making excellent time. There’s a lane for non-motorized traffic they stick to, and it galls sometimes to see one of the O-Dub’s newfangled automobiles fly by, but the pack’s herd can take them on terrain that cars never could. Anise is used to tour schedules with a show every night, miles devoured by internal combustion. But she finds herself growing used to the slower pace, the meandering conversations people have without phones in their palms.

She really thought she’d miss Earth tech more than she does.

They arrive at their designated campground with time to spare, and Anise hops out of the trailer to get a space at the pump showers before the sunset rush. The Voraags are setting their perimeter as she heads to the caravan where they keep the yurt frames. She’s gotten pretty good at setting these things up with only modest amounts of help.

A Dee-less Nick—what a miracle—sees her from across the unrolling walkways of the central circle and waves her down. She cautiously halts.

“Hi, Anise. You got a second?” He’s fidgeting and distracted-looking in a way that brings to mind Kell when she’s separated from Evan and Thekla.

“What’s up?”

“So me and Dee were thinking of hitting the practice tent again tonight. We want to get working on putting some actual songs together. And we don’t want to start without you, so we thought you could join us on drums.”

Anise tries to act like this is new information. “Oh?”

“Yeah. But, uh. I’m trying to phrase this without it being weird.” He scratches his arm. “We’re still going through it, this imprinting thing. We really want to rehearse with you, and we’re gonna try as hard as we can to be appropriate, but we might get sorta… touchy. With each other.”

“That’s a really nice offer, Nick. But I think I’ll pass. You guys start on half duty tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. The bondies are going back to work.”

“Let’s try it then,” Anise says. “It’s been a big day. And I think I’d feel a little too much like a third wheel.”

Nick’s face falls. Is he actually sad I can’t make it? “That makes sense. Sorry, Ani. I really think we’ll get a grip by then. It’s just… it’s tough to describe.” She can already see him wavering, like there’s a magnetic force pulling him back toward his mate.

“It’s seriously fine, Nicky,” she says. “You deserve time with her. I’m really, really happy for you.” And she means it, finally.

He gives her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Ani. You’re a good boss, you know that?”

“Cause I’m giving you a week to get laid?”

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t make me talk to HR.”

She laughs.

“I’ll probably just use the practice time to teach her, then,” Nick says. “And we can get the songwriting started tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Anise.” Nick rubs his arm. “We’re friends, right?”

Anise’s rolodex of standard replies clacks to a blank page.

“Like I know I’m your employee. Or Dee is and I’m hers, so. You’re my boss, I think. Technically. But I hope you’re okay if I think of you as my friend, too. And not in, like, that lame-ass we’re a family at this company motivational poster way.”

“Sure, of course,” Anise says, and now that she’s thinking about it, that’s obviously her answer. “We didn’t exactly start like it but you didn’t begrudge me biting your head off when we met. And you keep getting me un-lost. Sure we’re friends.”

“Good. His smile lights up those dark eyes again. “All right. Sick. See you around, Ani.”

Anise thinks of telling him about Legendary’s offer but he’s already on the hoof, barely keeping himself from breaking into a jog in his hurry to return to Dee’s side.

Anise watches him go and wonders what it’s like to be loved that hard by someone. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him Nicky, she realizes. And he didn’t stop you.

Somehow that helps her mood.

When it comes time to arrange the yurts, Anise is early. There’s plenty of room for her to choose from, away from the packmistress and her mate.

So why does she set her stakes down next to them anyway?