“Well, maybe you could invite some of your friends to Abyss one evening,” I offered. “It’s really nice in there. Or brunch,” I added. “We do brunch.”
She seemed like the brunching type.
“I think I will.” She gave me a big smile, deep red-painted lips revealing sharp white teeth. “And you must join us! If you’re not working, that is. No, wait, you won’t want to drink where you work. Don’t shit where you eat, eh? Text me one night when you’re not working and we’ll go to a different bar for a few drinks. I’ll invite some of my girlfriends. They’ll love you.”
“Will they?” I asked nervously, suddenly jittery at the thought of being out with a group of sophisticated, worldly women.
“Of course they will, darling.” Corva nodded at the counter. “Your drinks are ready.”
“Oh.” I stuffed my phone in my coat pocket and reached for the cups.
“You’re always getting two drinks when I see you in here,” Corva said slyly. “Who’s the other one for?”
“Oh, um, my…” My fingers flexed around the cups. “Uh, this guy—We live together but… we’re, um…”
I didn’t really know how to explain what Greid and I were now. Dating? Friends who had recently admitted how ridiculously attracted we were to each other? A new couple who lived together but not in that way? Not in the long-term committed way. Not yet.
“We’re, um, we recently started… It’s new,” I finished awkwardly, feeling heat creep up my cheeks when Corva winked at me.
“Good for you, darling. Oh, here’s mine.” She grabbed a cup off the counter. “Ready?”
As we walked out of the coffee shop together, Corva’s phone started vibrating in her bag. Pulling it out, she made a disgusted sound. “God, this client is a total nightmare. Apparently imported Italian glassware isn’t good enough for his dinner party. I better take this and see what else he has a problem with.” She leaned down for another air kiss. “Text me soon to meet up, yes?”
“Yes, sure,” I said quickly, watching as she held the phone up to her ear and turned, gliding elegantly away, black heels with deadly points tapping over the concrete beneath the swishing hem of her long, stylish grey coat.
I grinned to myself as I turned and started heading home, taking a sip of my steaming black coffee. Excitement fizzed in my gut, and I looked around as I walked down the street to see what other bars Corva and I could go to. She was right—I’d feel a little awkward sitting and relaxing with a drink in Abyss while the people I worked with served us.
There was one that looked just as swanky as Abyss, the trim around the doors and windows a deep burgundy, the sign proclaiming it Carnelians. I crossed the street to get a better look, eyes widening with awe when I saw the huge chandelier above the circular mirrored bar, dripping with blood-red crystals. There was a discreet, framed drinks menu next to the door, in parchment paper designed to look old with elegant cursive listing a huge range of wines. Many of them were nightberry varieties and extortionately priced, but there were a few cheaper options and some spirits. Maybe we could go here. I was pretty sure Corva would like it.
I started to turn to keep heading home, but the store next door caught my eye. The window displays were a mishmash of items, making it hard to tell what they actually sold. Tall demiurgus mannequins towered over the human ones, all of them wearing clothes that looked a little dated. A vintage typewriter sat on a somewhat battered side table next to a vase of dried flowers, a polaroid camera and some hideous china knickknacks.
I glanced up at the shop sign. Mother Mila Foundation. Recognition bloomed as I stood on my tiptoes to peer over the window display into the store, seeing rails of clothing and shelves of random assorted items. I’d read about Mother Mila at the compound. She’d been one of the demiurgus who led the first group to the surface so long ago, negotiating with humans for peaceful co-existence between the species. A charity had been set up in her honour at the beginning of the twentieth century, helping new migrating demiurgus transition to surface life. It was odd to think that there were still demiurgus living far below us, many of them never venturing above ground. I wondered how different they were from people like Greid who’d been born and raised up here.
This must be a thrift store for the charity. I hesitated on the sidewalk, clutching the two coffee cups, then decided to go in. We got paid every two weeks at the bar, so I’d received my first paycheque and had spent hardly any of it, despite how excited I’d been to see it appear in my bank account. Greid had helped me set up contactless payments on my phone, but I wasn’t sure if a thrift store would only take cash.
Not that I was planning on buying anything. I was just interested to look around and see what the well-off residents of the Cimmerian District decided to donate. Maybe this could be where I brought all the stuff Greid didn’t want from his Room of Shame. Although, I had noticed the pile of boxes shoved into the corner of his room when I’d been leaving it yesterday. I was pretty sure he’d snuck more things down since we’d gone through them.
The store was empty when I went in save for an elderly demiurgus lady browsing the bookshelves at the very back, and the young demiurgus with multicoloured hair and several facial piercings behind the cash register.
The latter looked up from her phone to give me a beaming smile. “Good morning!”
“Morning.” I smiled back, awkwardly clutching the two coffee cups as I wandered over to the nearest clothing rail.
“Do you want to leave your drinks on the counter while you look around?”
I gave the store attendant another grateful smile as I approached. “That’d be great, thanks.”
“No problem. Let me know if you need any help.”
“I will. Thanks.”
After setting down the cups, I migrated toward the big wall of random items, which had been organised by category. There were piles of dated crockery sets, a selection of brightly coloured kids’ toys, clusters of glass and ceramic vases, neatly stacked vintage records and Mother Mila Foundation-branded candles with scents like ‘honey-drenched dirt’ and ‘night-blooming jasmine and bergamot’.
I walked slowly along the shelves, stopping when I came to a row of demiurgus-made ornaments and knickknacks. Some of them looked like the ones dotted everywhere in the house—small, brightly coloured pieces of glass that had been expertly twisted together to make unusual shapes.
But tucked right at the back were a few things that looked different. Carefully picking one up, I cradled it gently because it seemed delicate and fragile. It was a clump of what looked like pink oyster mushrooms made of opaque glass, with a jagged cluster of pale blue, milky white and lilac crystals around the base.
I stared at it in fascination, peering closer. It was expertly crafted, the petal-like caps organic in shape, each gill delicate and paper-thin. Spotting a tiny white sticker on the base, I blinked at the price. It was only a few dollars.
It was beautiful and looked so well-made. Sure, it was a little kitsch, but I loved it. And I was going to buy it.
A tiny thrill raced through me as I reached back for the other mushroom-looking ornament on the shelf. Maybe it was silly to be so excited about buying knickknacks, but these would be the first tangible items I’d bought myself—things to keep, not just coffee or food. I could put them on the dresser in my room. I could ask Greid if there were any other thrift stores in the area that might have more. Maybe there were all different kinds.