Page 117 of Berries and Greed

For the first time, I wasn’t enjoying work. I wanted to go home. I wanted Greid. He made me feel safe. From the very first moment we met, he’d never made me feel judged.

Thinking about him chased away some of the anxiety as I stood at the back bar pouring a line of shots. Fuck anyone who judged me and my relationship with Greid just because he was a demiurgus and I was a human. Fuck Gavin for trying to embarrass me for liking a damn TV show and using a freaking phone that was different to his. He should be embarrassed for being so narrow-minded. Not me.

The thing was, I knew he hadn’t even meant it to be a jab. He’d just been teasing. And if he’d said it to literally anyone else, the words wouldn’t have cut so deeply. He seemed completely unaware of my mood as he worked, cracking a joke with me while he grabbed two beer bottles from the fridge. I managed a brittle smile back, and I tried to tell myself not to hold it against him. I was pretty sure even I’d called us cult members freaks when I met Greid. I already knew everyone thought it.

But this had been a terrifying reminder that my past was right there, always lurking, a hairsbreadth away from being discovered. From tangling with my new life. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t erase it. It was always going to be there, and logically I knew that it would always, always play a part in my future. In how I dealt with unfamiliar situations and new experiences. In how much I opened up to others. In how I found and kept future jobs.

Helpless, bitter anger rose, and I wasn’t even sure who it was directed at. Gavin, for what he’d said? My dad, for leaving me at that compound? Violet, for raising me there? Myself, for staying for years after I could’ve left, just because it was a fairly easy and comfortable life, and I’d been so smug that I was duping everyone around me?

By the time 1 a.m. was approaching—the end of my shift—and the bar began to quieten down a little, I was in a foul mood. My brow felt permanently furrowed, no matter how hard I tried to smooth it out while serving customers. I didn’t join in with the idle chitchat among the staff, except for a brief smile and a nod when Ron asked me if I was alright, his expression concerned.

I kept glancing at the time, counting down the minutes until I could go home. At a quarter to one, I noticed Ron, Mani and Yavi clustering together at the end of the bar while I put an order through on the register. Once I was done and the customer had wandered away, Ron gestured me over.

“Beryl, come try some!” he called.

I dragged my feet over, noticing the big glass bottle in front of them on the bar, filled with a deep green liquid and organically shaped to look like a wobbly teardrop.

“Try what?” I asked apprehensively.

“My parents just got back from a vacation in Lithuania,” Ron told me with a grin. “Decent demiurgus population in Vilnius. They brought me back a bottle of sliekas, the traditional demiurgus drink there. It’s really good.”

“Hold up, Ron, we don’t know if Beryl drinks booze.” Mani glanced over her shoulder at me as she collected several shot glasses from the back bar. “It’s a strong spirit.”

“Um…” I shifted, not sure why they wanted me to try it. “I don’t not drink alcohol. I just… haven’t really drunk much.”

Greid and I had shared a bottle of champagne after I got my job, and that had been fun because I’d felt safe with him. I’d never tried spirits though, and I didn’t know if demiurgus-made alcohol was stronger. Or even safe for humans.

As if he’d read my mind, Yavi nudged my arm and said, “It’s safe for humans, but not many like it.”

Ron chuckled, lining up the glasses and expertly pouring the dark green liquid into each with practised movements. “I think Beryl will like it. She’s open-minded. Right, pipsqueak?” He grinned at me.

I huffed, but my mouth twitched at the nickname he’d given me not long after I started working there. “I’m not short, you’re just a giant.”

“Yes, he is.” Mani leaned over to kiss the side of Ron’s neck.

The big, beefy demiurgus’s ears fluttered as he let out a sheepish chuckle. “Alright, alright. Hey, Gavin,” he added amicably when the other human ducked back behind the bar, having been collecting glasses from tables. “Come have a shot with us.”

“What is it?” he asked with interest as he dumped the tray and made his way over. “Oh shit, sliekas? I’ll pass. My buddy got me a shot of that once for my birthday. It tastes like dirt.”

Mani rolled her eyes in exasperation. “That’s right, Gavin has discerning tastes. Only lite beer in a can for him.”

Everyone else chuckled—including Gavin, not seeming to take offence to the teasing. It cooled my ire just a little, because I didn’t think Gavin had purposefully been mean earlier. He just didn’t seem to think much before opening his mouth.

“I’ll try it,” I said, not sure if it was because I really wanted to or if a small, ugly part of me just wanted to one-up Gavin—to be the human all the demiurgus we worked with preferred and thought was more open-minded. I didn’t particularly like the idea of feeling that way, like I was competing with him, but after the mood Gavin had put me in all evening with his insensitive words, it probably had something to do with it.

“Awesome.” Ron grinned wide and slid a shot toward me.

I eyed the dark green liquid with a hint of apprehension, but gamely lifted it to my mouth and waited for Mani to count down before we all tipped the shots back. The overpowering taste of what I suspected was just alcohol hit me first, but then it mellowed, allowing me to pick up hints of whatever it was actually made with. Still, I could feel my eyes watering, and I did my best not to pull a face.

Yavi was wincing as he shook his head with a shudder, then he nudged me again. “What did you think?”

“I think I like it.” I licked my lips. “It doesn’t taste like dirt. It tastes kind of like grass. Like… fresh.”

“You’ve got good taste, Beryl.” Ron gave me a friendly pat on the back, then reached for the bottle again. “Another?”

“Oh, no, I think one’s enough for me.” I chuckled and glanced toward the windows, trying to find Greid waiting for me.

Gavin laughed as he passed me, making his way back to the tray of dirty glasses. “You’re a good sport, Beryl.”

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