The Rusty Keg

Here you go handsome,” the waitress says, setting my food onto the chipped table. “Bacon Cheeseburger Deluxe, Chili Double Cheese Fries, and Hot Shot Bites with Dragon Sauce.”

The smell hits me. Makes my mouth water and blurs the sounds of the busy place. Grease. Cheese. Fire-cooked meat. Something spicy.

“Third time in here this week,” she chuckles. “I’m startin’ to think you’re here for the ambiance more than the burgers.”

I flinch, magic crackling in my skin. I almost forgot she’s standing there.

She looks incredible. Tight jeans, hugging hips and thighs, black t-shirt showing more curves. This place’s weird logo of a cracked wine barrel and tin cup with the name ‘Rusty Keg’ in crooked letters underneath is stamped above her heart.

“What if I’m fond of a certain ambiance and hoping she’ll give me her name. Maybe share one of her evenings with me?”

Her lips twitch, her fingers toying with the gold hoop in her ear.

“Well, I’m way more interesting than just ambiance.” She gestures to my food. “I’m not so sure ‘bout those nights because anyone who orders all that is usually running from wifey. I don’t think you’d have the time for me.”

Wife.

The image of my wife trussed up in that insane rope thing the other night, flashes in my head. Fire ignites in my gut.

My fingers drop to the dagger’s bloodstone and trace the handle.

Still here.

Still wedged in my belt where it’s been since I tore out of my realm and crashed into whatever the hell my Wisher was doing.

I breathe. That woman is my Wisher, not my wife. Just happens to resemble Azellia. Memories can’t crack through here.

The cook calls for pick up someone at the counter and swears loudly over some dice while a man in the far corner laughs so hard the whole place can hear it.

“You ok there handsome,” the waitress asks. Her palm gently presses against the black cashmere stretched over my shoulder. “You look like you’re expecting a Warden.

Warden; current era’s law enforcement regime. Easily bribed with substantial currency. The dagger deposits the meaning of the term directly into my mind, as it has for a million other things since that night.

The tension eases from my shoulders. Do I have time? I check the Wisher’s tether, the ribbon of fire winding around my heart. Still molten, no danger. No wish. No summoning. Good. Stay that way, Wisher.

“Trust me gorgeous, I’ve got time for you,” I say, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “There’s no wife or Warden.”

A trail of fire, only I can see, tips the small cup of dragon sauce over my Bites for me.

“Go easy on that. It’s dragon sauce, not ketchup,” she chuckles.

“Sweetheart, not even dragons are too hot for me.”

“Says every man before he’s sweating and cursing the Vine.” She snorts a laugh, shaking her head.

“Sweating and cursing the Vine,” I repeat slowly, eyes roaming over her curves for a heartbeat. “Now that sounds entertaining.”

Her teeth catch on her blood red lip as she shifts the tray to her hip.

“Guess that depends on who’s doing the swearing and who’s doing the sweating,” she counters. She jolts closer to me. “Rude! I’m standing here.”

The mortal I’ve been renting a room from rushes around her, flopping in the booth across from me in an oversized hoodie and dirt-stained jeans.

“Bites to go, doll. Make it quick,” he says holding his Glas slightly away from his ear.

He steals one of my Bites, stuffing it in his mouth like it’s his Sultan-given right!

Magic ignites down my spine.

Did this skinny, jittery mortal really just eat my food? I send a blazing hot ember that only I can see straight into the scrappy little shit’s mouth.

“Ow hot ow!” He coughs and chokes, turning as red as his hoodie. He wipes tears from his eyes with his sleeves.

“Don’t steal my food, mortal.”

My waitress snorts a laugh.

“Chill bro, it’s one Bite set to demon fire apparently.” He coughs again. “Who cooked these?”

“I’ll let you boys talk.” She double-pats my shoulder before leaving.

Damn, her ass looks good in those jeans.

I rotate my shoulder, the ghost of her touch lingering on my sweater and sinking into my skin.

“Hey man, weren’t you just back at the house like five minutes ago? How’d you get here so fast?”

“I have ways,” I shrug, flicking a hand at my food. The dagger’s fire slithers through each plate, reheating my meal until steam rises again.

Hate cold food.

He blinks. Blinks again.

My heart bangs in my chest.

Could he see that?

“Whatever man.” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “I know you’re new in town, but like you know anyone who can fight? Like fight fight?”

Wait, he didn’t care about the magic slip? Must be distracted.

“Maybe. What kind?” I stuff my mouth with the most glorious thing I’ve tasted in at least a hundred Wishers. The Bacon Cheeseburger Deluxe.

“Maaan,” he taps on his Glas. “The kind that gets everyone Vinted because some desperate chump wants Vints more than a face.”

Vinted: to be given currency.

Never mind. I don’t care. Currency is the easiest thing to conjure in every era. I stuff another bite of burger in my mouth.

“Yo T-Rock!” The mortal says to the Glas. “What up man? Listen, I got a gig for ya. It’s at the Luxarium next month, and it’s the biggest Vint-out Kaz ever set. Yeah man it’s legit.”

The Luxarium? There’s that place again. Everywhere I’ve gone, it’s been mentioned at least once. I’m slipping in there, as soon as I’m done eating.

I stuff the last bite of burger in my mouth with three chili-cheese-covered fries and a dragon pepper thing.

Embers burn me, this era’s food could drop a Sultan to his knees. The crispy pepper, melty cheese, warm grease… and the spice! How do they do that? My whole mouth tingles.

I scan the crowded place as I lick the pepper sauce off my thumb.

This place is full of noise and life. Dishes clatter, trays hit tables, food sizzles. Waitresses circulate through the space like a parade of curves, smiles, and tablewine.

The best part is, I don’t have to control any of it.

“It’s a title fight, winner take all,” the food-stealing mortal continues. He shifts the clear communication thing to his other ear. “Yeah man, it’s gonna be on every holo-screen and Glas in the city, you’re gonna be famous. It’s gonna be great. Winner’s looking to take home at least a couple million. Who’s the Op? Oh uh… no like I said, fight of the year man. Look, don’t worry about it, you in?”

My head cocks. What the hell kind of beast is this champ?

I conjure a fork, stab the last sauce-drenched pepper bite and a heap of chili cheese fries, and stuff the entire forkful in my mouth.

“Obviously it’s Tusk,” mortal snaps at the Glas. “No, up yours man!”

He slams it on the table, flops back against the booth—

The tether spikes hard in my chest. I choke. Like a child.

Blaze it Wisher! I cough and cough. My throat burns, and magic explodes like fireworks in my chest. And cough again, drawing the attention of everyone in here.

I down the tablewine. What could the Wisher possibly want that badly?

“Told ya to go easy on the Dragon Sauce,” my waitress interrupts. “Here, this’ll help.”

She sets down a glass, filled to the brim with something smelling of chocolate and cold, topped with a pile of whipped cream. And then drops a white paper bag with grease already staining the bottom in front of… Roommate.

Damn it. I have to get better at remembering names.

I clear my throat. “Thank you gorgeous, but I’m alright. I’m not fond of cold.”

“Just try it, and if you hate it,” she toys with the gold hoop again. “I’ll let you buy me a drink later and if you love it… well, then I’ll let you buy me two.”

“Maaan,” Roommate huffs. “Go find a date somewhere else. Some of us have real life to deal with.”

My attention snaps to him.

“She can stay as long as she wants. But you…” I let the magic flare in my eyes for a heartbeat. “Have about three sparks of patience left.”

He flinches. Eyes widen, glances between us, blinks, then rubs the back of his neck.

She smirks down at him, her body gravitating toward me.

“Chill damn.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, ok? It’s been a trash week and now I gotta tell Kaz there ain’t no Op to fight Tusk. But yeah, you two go ahead and get a room. I’ll wait.”

“Hold up,” Waitress says. “Wasn’t Omari Mercer set to fight?”

“Yeah. And he rolled.”

“Does Belles know?”

“Obviously.” Roommate tears open the bag, stuffing a Bite in his mouth. “Who ya think called me freaking out because Silk drained their account, took her car, and ran out of town last night?”

“Who or what’s a Tusk?” I say around more fries.

They stare at me, words dying on their tongues.

“Bro…” Roommate smacks his hands on the table. He laughs. “Bro! You’re joking. You don’t know who Tusk is?!”

“Tusk’s a legend,” Waitress adds. “And I don’t even follow the Lux Fights that much.”

“The dude’s never gone more than one round!”

“They say he got his name because—”

“The jaw thing!” Roommate interrupts her. “You shoulda seen it—”

“Gross, no. Thank god I didn’t,” she interrupts back.

I eat another forkful of fries, the Wisher tether settling slightly. Why didn’t she summon me?

“Nah man, it was great!” Roommate leans back against the booth. “Dude gets in the ring, as a nobody Warden wanting some extra Vints right, and with one uppercut destroys the Op’s jaw—”

“Like fully exposed bones,” she says, her nose crinkling.

Roommate mimes his lower jaw splitting in two. “Like elephant tusks sticking’ outa his face! Lights out before he even hit the mat.”

The Glas chimes and vibrates, interrupting the tale.

“Yo Kaz.” Roommate slides to the far end of the booth, his voice lowering. “Yeah man, I’m working on it.”

“Guy’s been Tusk ever since,” Waitress finishes with a shrug. “He’s probably buried in fancy Luxarium food and stuff now, though.”

“Is Tusk human?”

“Of course he is silly. What else would he be?”

“You’d be surprised what monsters humans toss in the arena,” I chuckle, tugging on the short hairs covering my chin. “But he’s just a man with a right hook.”

“Stop it right now, you can’t fight Tusk. You got a death wish?” She swats my arm again.

I flash an easy grin, catching her hand. “You worried about me, gorgeous?”

“Treena!” The portly cook shouts from the kitchen window. “Order up!”

Blaze of the realm. Mortals have the worst timing.

“Gimme a sec, I’ll be right back,” she murmurs, before snatching up the empty plates. “Try the milkshake, it’s the best.”

I slide the drink towards me, careful to touch the least frozen bottom and listen to Roommate.

“Kaz listen man, I’ve called every knuckle-breaker we know, called in every favor I got left, and there just ain’t anymore Ops. Not for Tusk anyway.” He pulls his hood up over his head, and drops his voice lower. “No I know man, I didn’t think he’d run through this many either. You’re not gonna like this, but uh it might be time for Tusk to uh… retire.”

Death wish… fancy Luxarium food… only lasts one round… needs to be put down. This fighter may be my key to burning my own path in this era.

I take a cautious sip of the frozen drink.

Cold surges down my throat and races along my spine. My ears pop, then crackle. Every ember of fire magic in my body flares at once, before melting into a fuzzy cloud of warmth in my skull.

I exhale a puff of steam, my eyes drifting close.

Even the tether in my chest quiets.

Where has that been my entire cursed, immortal life? Countless eras of alchemy, poisons, elixirs, toxins, and every other twisted attempt at oblivion humans concocted, and not even a tingle. And this is just handed out with food?

“No way man! I ain’t no merc.” Roommate glances around. “I handle the talent and keep it supplyin’ the crowd, not y’know… retirement.”

“I’ll do it,” I finally say.

“You?” he says. “You wanna get in the ring? With Tusk?” He scoffs and chuckles. “This ain’t no fashion show, man. It’s a Lux Fight. Against Tusk. That’d be like me trying to take you on.”

This mortal insults me one more time… sparks crackle through the ink on my skin.

“So you’ve said,” I state, smoothing the front of my sweater. “Repeatedly. Now, I’m your solution.” I point at his Glas. “Tell your boss.”

He aggressively rubs his hair. “Whatever man, I gotta—”

“Give me that.” I snatch the Glas from him.

“—Finn, I swear to god if there’s no Op by Tuesday, it’s gonna be your scrawny, useless ass in that ring! The solstice fight will be—”

“Enough.” The Glas creaks in my grip. “You’ve got an opponent right here. Today.”

“And just who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man who’s about to fill your pockets with… Vints. We got a deal or not?”

The currency term feels strange on my tongue, but I might as well get used to it.

“Listen buddy,” his tone shifts into a performative chumminess. “It’s great you wanna help out a friend, but I can’t just let any rando off the street in the ring with Tusk. You understand.”

“From where I’m sitting, it sounds like you have a bigger problem than just a Gladiator. What if I could guarantee this problem is handled, and you personally get to present the crowd with a new champ?”

He scoffs. “Ain’t no guarantee in this business, pal. Especially not with Tusk.”

Pal. Buddy. Friend. My toes dig into the beds of my shoes.

“Maybe not,” I say. “But how many more rounds does he have before the crowd turns? There’s only so many single-round knockouts they’ll tolerate.”

“I don’t know,” he says, shuffling something in the background. “But that’s a problem for another day.”

“And what happens if there’s no one to fight? You really think blood thirsty spectators will accept a win by forfeit or worse… a cancellation? On a Solstice battle?”

He rambles to himself.

Roommate wrings his hands like a worried hen.

I wait.

Humans and their inconvenient free will. If only I could send an ember into their skull and bend their minds to reason. But no. Infinite Djinn magic in my veins and the human mind is the one thing I can’t touch.

“Listen Kaz,” I say, ignoring the magic snarling in my body. “You’re in a tough spot, but let me help. Put two-thirds of the house on me. Doesn’t matter the odds. Use your alternate name if you’re worried about suspicion; every arena master worth his salt has one. And Kaz, listen, when I’m the last one standing in that arena—” I pause, letting the words hold weight. “—the house gets half my winnings.”

“Dude are you insane?!” Roommate whispers, jutting forward on his elbows again.

“That’s cocky, man,” Kaz sighs from the Glas. He smacks his teeth. “Damn. That’s a lot of Vints… Nah, I already got the holo-banners coded and the people like their champ… but that’s a lot of Vints.”

I set the Glas on the table between us, tapping the speaking cone to make the sound public.

I stay silent while the chatter of the diner continues around us, and Roommate’s leg bounces under the table.

“What are you doing? Say something man.” Roommate silently mouths.

I glare, shoving a finger to my lips.

This jittery mortal is going to ruin my entire deal if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah…” Kaz drawls. He smacks his teeth again. “Sounds risky… and there’s only three weeks to train… Nah, it’ll just be easier to slip you the same Vint-out I gave Silk and handle Tusk later. What do you say?”

Throw a fight? A wall of fire surges through my entire body. For a handful of useless currency?

“Would you rather have easy,” I say, forcing my tone to stay even. I down the last of the milkshake, letting it do its soothing steam trick. “Or would you rather have an addicted crowd when someone finally puts your one-round chump in the ground?”

He exhales a low whistle from the Glas and then goes silent.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Roommate chews his other thumbnail like he’s trying to reach bone.

Three heartbeats.

“Alright man, it’s your funeral. I better not lose my ass on this.” Kaz finally says. “Listen when—I mean if— if, you hit the mat in round one, your people ain’t getting Vinted on your behalf. This is a win-only deal.”

“Is there any other kind?”

Roommate silently explodes, punching the air and miming hitting the table like he just won a pocketful of currency.

Idiot.

“Perfect,” Kaz says. “What’s the name you want on the promo?”

Name?

Movement and life continue in the diner without me touching any of it.

Once the Wisher burns her wish, this will be my permanent era. No chains. No Wishers. Names hold control, especially mine. I could torch every collar ever forced on me with a single lie, be anyone I choose.

There’s only one choice. My shoulders square and I clear my voice.

“Ruarc Blackwood.”

For a heartbeat, silence sits in the Glas again.

Even Roommate stills.

“Alright Blackwood,” Kaz says. “Let’s make some Vints.”