TOULOUSE FRANCE, 2022
Le Roissy was an underground club on the outskirts of Toulouse. It took its name from that infamous Chateau in the works of Dominique Aubry. I personally found her heroine insufferably self-sacrificial, almost a snob of martyrdom, but its concepts were of particular attraction to the Serpentines.
Thea poked her head through the door of my workshop after having finished consulting with a rather moist matron who was convinced of her husband’s infidelity and wanted him thoroughly cursed.
“Hey Boz, you got a minute?”
I set down the lyre I was working on. It was a fascinating piece of magical design whose chords could be used to control the emotions of listeners directly. I had been tasked with repairing it for a Corvin associate of Lefevre by the name of Arion, a well-known Piper. That is, people who abduct children by seducing them with music. Like the Pied-Piper of Hamlin, I’m sure you know the story. Of course, they didn’t all use pipes, but other instruments, like guitars or lyres and not a few violins.
In the old days, they mostly ate the children, usually during long famines. In the modern era, they rebranded themselves as kidnappers and ransomers. I didn’t bother to investigate Arion’s gastronomic tendencies. I didn’t exactly want to know.
“Of course, mademoiselle,” I said.
“Thea, Boz, it’s just Thea. You can cut the mademoiselle crap.”
“Of course, Thea.”
Thea tip-toed into the room, holding a wad of what looked like belts. “Um, could you fix this buckle for me?”
I looked it over; it was cheaply made. Like something one buys from a costume shop and can only wear once. Of the many issues with its design and quality was a lack of adequate fasteners on each of the pointlessly numerous buckles.
After I had spread the, whatever one should call it, out on the table, I saw that it at least implied a somewhat womanly shape. It was thinner in the centre and gave the impression of a bathing suit made entirely of leather bands. Each band was folded over the buckle and attached by a simple rivet.
I didn’t have a sufficiently similar rivet to repair it with, so I rummaged in the top drawer of my workbench for a springy wand and set about removing all of them and melting the faux leather into itself, which I felt would be more secure.
“Wow, thank you!” she said and held it up to look it over.
“Going out, I imagine?”
“Yeah, I have to run an errand.”
“In that?” I blinked.
“Eh, there’s a dress code at le Roissy. You can’t go there in normal clothing. It’s against the rules. Besides, Lucian likes straps.”
“Oh, I see. I’ve never been.” I decided to forgo interrogating her on who Lucian was; I suspected he was a gentleman of interest to her. One shouldn’t pry into the affairs of a lady, especially on the topic of her affections.
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“You wanna come? It won’t take long, but — you’d have to have something on the fetish side of things.”
I scowled. “I’m not sure fetish is really my style; besides I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel on your date.” I was insulted, she would ask. It’s very unbecoming of a self-respecting gentleman to sacrifice his time for a lady pursuing another man’s attention. I understand that there are some who are titillated by such practices. I, however, am certainly not among them.
“Date?” Thea laughed. “Oh. Eww. Business, not pleasure. Honestly, if you came, it would give me a good excuse to escape. You can be my backup.”
I rouged to my ears at that and went from feeling insulted to complimented in the blink of an eye. Inviting me on a business excursion was precisely the sort of thing I wanted; besides I could possibly make additional connections or find clients for my work.
“I just assumed by the”, I held up the fetishistic lingerie, “configuration of this that there was something romantic involved.”
“Horny men are usually easier to negotiate with. These guys are hardcore metalheads. I show up in this, and I’m likely to get a better deal.”
“I see; then why need backup?” I asked.
“Because horny metalheads who hang out in S&M clubs are also dangerous; I’d rather not have to flay anyone at le Roissy.”
“I had the impression that flaying was sort of your thing.”
“Yeah, it’s a terrible talent. I hate doing it, but I’m good at it. Never be good at something. If you make the mistake of being good at something, people will keep insisting you do it.”
“I’m very good at making things and quite like continuing in that vein.”
“Yeah, but imagine if you were really good at one type of wand, and no one wanted you to do staffs or curio boxes, or fix swords. They were all just like, look, here comes the wand man. You’d hate it.”
“I take your meaning; that would be tedious.”
“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t mean to flay the guy. It was an accident. It was just a duel. I was fourteen. I was really just trying to make his pants fall down so everyone would laugh. Turns out pants, skin, you’ve gotta be specific with magic. It kinda does what you say and not what you mean. Aramaic is hard to pronounce.”
“Well, I hope he deserved it, at least.”
“Not really. I kinda feel bad about it. He was just creepy. I thought I was being very grown-up. Now that I am older, I think I was being very childish. That’s usually the way it works.”
“For a Serpentine, you sound unusually hesitant about hurting people.”
“I guess. When hurting people is what everyone expects you to do, it’s way less fun. Kinda sucks the joy right out of it, to be honest. Serpentines are kind of trapped in our reputation.”
“Must be terrible — really.”
“Yeah, sob into my pillow nightly about it.”
I laughed. “So what am I going to wear.”
“You’re a guy. You can get away with a lot more. Double black would make you look Vampy; you can skate by on that.”
I lost my sense of respectable colour combination and wore a black jacket and black waistcoat. I had to add some kind of colour, so I folded up a blood-red kerchief.
“That works.” Thea moved towards me. “Now lean forward, and I’ll do your eyes.”
My eyes were normally a very deep brown. After Thea had finished, they were a bright yellow. There’s something ghastly about changing one’s eye colour with magic, but I admit I found it a bit thrilling to dress up.
Thea looked more the fetish part than I, with unbelievably tight PVC pants with a double-breasted waist that ended just below her ribs. She wore the strap onesie over the top with nothing to cover her chest. It was very tight, and its ludicrous groin straps drew an ungentlemanly amount of attention to that area of her form. It was obviously missing an accessory. Her lace-up platform boots made her tall enough for us to see eye to eye.
“How do you walk in those?”
“It’s prolly like having hooves, you get used to it. Just follow my wake.”
I looked around. “Your wake?”
“Yeah, I guess you’ve never been to le Roissy before? I’ll disapparate, and I’ll make my wake really strong. Just jump into it.”
“What should I aim for?”
Thea walked to the doorway of my workshop. “Just try to disapparate into the hall when you feel it.” She folded into a spiral, and I felt like my goatee was being pulled off my face. I blindly disapparated after her.