Page 3 of The Duplicity of Thieves

“Bitch, where have you been?” Clo’s words are drawn out and slurred.

“I fell asleep.” It’s sort of true.

She gives the guy she was talking to a seductive smile, and starts dragging me into the pub. “Find me later,” she calls over her shoulder.

The bartender doesn’t ask before giving us a curt nod and setting three shots of clear alcohol in front of each of us.

She clinks her glass against mine. “One for the night.”

“One for our inhibitions,” I respond, picking up the second and draining it.

“And one for The Fates!” we shout in tandem.

It’s something we began saying the first night we met. She marched right up to me where I was fidgeting in the corner, and pronounced us friends for the night. That night extended into the next, the one after that, and then all the subsequent nights we’ve managed to meet up here. Clo is loud and fun, and she can draw quite the crowd with her bubbly personality. She’s such a social butterfly, where I’m withdrawn and always on edge. At least until I’m drunk.

I link my arm with hers, and we go in search of a decent spot. We find an abandoned booth in the corner that’s still dirty. She shoves everything to one side and slides across the worn-out leather with rips and tears exposing crumbling yellow sponge.

She nudges me from across the table. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah.”

“Thinking about being a grown up and finally moving out of the Remnant cult?”

I give her a warning look. Outside of the Republic, being Remnant is frowned upon. People don’t understand us and our customs. I’ve told Clo about how my family is controlling, but she doesn’t know the truth. It’s nice to complain and get validation, even if it’s seemingly misinformed.

“Says the girl who is still stuck living with her ornery sisters.”

“At least they respect me enough to let me make my own decisions,” she shoots back. I bristle at her words. “Here’s some wisdom. You can’t bottle your wishes up forever, or you’ll just make yourself miserable obediently taking everyone else’s directions. One day you’ll wake up and realize how much time you wasted, and it’s really hard to forgive yourself for that.”

I give her a sidelong glance. “Stop it. They’re my family. I can’t just pack up and leave like you.”

It’s the little things that make me stay.

Vivian, with the way she gently braids my hair and coaxes out whatever is bothering me. How she asks me for advice that I clearly have no idea about, but lets me give it anyways. How we have dance parties in the living room, or sleepovers in each other’s bedrooms. Late night talks that turn into early exhausted mornings.

The way Killian reaches for me when we’re at a party and pretends he’s having a terrible time, when, in reality, he’s the life of it. How he manages to sneak around and take me on adventures, like my first night at this pub. The way he soothes me after a nightmare. Well, used to.

I make Kate sound bad, but she’s not. When she sees that I’m in my head, she’ll reach over and quietly clasp my hand. She’s done her best to fill me with all of the knowledge I lost. Sometimes she’ll even tell me about a time when there was Magic, which is a forbidden subject.

When I think about losing them? It’s devastating.

“Fine. We’ll drink our problems away then,” she sighs dramatically.

For all the fun Clo is, she’s not exactly forthcoming. She lives with her two judgmental sisters who disapprove of every move she makes. We’re kindred spirits.

An overworked waitress comes over and takes our order. We people watch and make up conversations. Clo is the first person I think I’ve ever just been friends with. There’s no pressure with her other than peer pressure.

This pub is just outside of the Remnant Republic, where it meets with the rest of the Underworld. I always wanted to see the way everyone else lives, and this is as close as I’ll probably ever get. Outsiders are unwelcome in the Republic, not like they could get there without help, but we only congregate with our own.

I think the only reason Killian doesn’t fight me about my nights out is because this is technically a Remnant establishment. The man that owns it, Stafford, employs him. I’m sure he somehow keeps an eye on me. He might own a pub, but it’s common knowledge in the Republic that this is just a front. Stafford’s real priority is back door business dealings. Killian won’t exactly tell me what that means, but he comes back home with enough black eyes that I have a faint idea.

The tired waitress slams two goblets of mead in front of us. “Drinks from the gentlemen over there.”

Over at another table, two men wave in our direction. They aren’t my type, but they are Clo’s. She flashes a winning smile and holds her drink in the air, toasting them. I gulp mine down and begin to feel that fuzzy warmth. It’s a welcome feeling to offset my running mind.

Off to the side, I notice a man watching us. Watching me. He’s accompanied by two others who are deep in conversation, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. When we make eye contact, I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. Dark blue eyes watch me from behind thick black eyelashes. A thrill travels down my spine.

He has dark brown hair that is short on the sides and tousled on the top. He’s innately attractive. Something his friend says makes him laugh, and he smirks, trying to hide a grin.

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