Arc 1 | Chapter 20: Not My Usual

Payton, at the very least, didn’t even try to hide that he had come to the club because of Emilia and her roommate. He smiled something that actually looked like a real smile down at her, pulling them out of the way of everyone else trying to get in or out of the club. “I asked around, found out where you two went last night. Figured I’d check it out, see if I could find the bartender dosing people.”

“And what were you gonna do if you found him?”

Payton’s smile widened. Ah, that’s what it was—why it looked real. That was the smile of someone who had been quite looking forward to ripping someone to shreds. That was a smile of excitement and anticipation.

“Is this—the situation with the knotters—just an excuse to kill someone?”

she wondered,

“or does he actually care enough to want to deal with it, regardless?”

It was an important distinction under normal circumstances, even more, given if he did actually care…

“I don’t know. What were you going to do, if you found him?” her classmate asked in return. The look in his eyes seemed to suggest he didn’t need her to answer to know what she would do—what she had already done.

“I already did,” Emilia replied, looking around disinterestedly. “I wouldn’t expect to be able to find him yourself.” She suppressed a shudder at the way Payton’s energy changed, something feral rising up, even as nothing about his expression or body language changed. Anyone who said vibes weren’t real was just too in their own head to notice them, as far as she was concerned. The aethernet vibrated with, all you had to do was listen.

Most people did not know how to listen.

“Walk with me?” she asked, smiling up at him, the smile her father had once called her

“I’m about to blow something up”

smile. She had blown a ton of things up in her youth, usually by accident… usually.

If Payton was surprised, he didn’t show it. He stepped back, motioning for her to lead the way, and followed her easily out of the club he had just paid to get into. Ah~ To not have bouncer friends who don’t make you pay the cover charge!

She looked him over when they got outside. He’d probably had to pay extra to get in, too, given one of the club’s less friendly bouncers was now manning the door. She knew the guy favoured letting women in over men and charged based on how hot he thought you were. Payton was attractive enough, but in his simple black pants and loose, grey button-down, he certainly didn’t look like he belonged in one of the most popular clubs.

Realistically, he looked more like he was on his way to book club, and now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him out clubbing. Even when he was trying to become their friend, he’d never tried running into them while they were out partying. His attempts had always been limited to campus and school excursions, as far as she could remember.

She wondered if she should ask about it—fill the silence between them as they walked side-by-side—before shaking off that thought. There was no point forcing awkward small talk, not until she figured out if she could trust him.

The streets were crowded with people still, more and more bottles of pink vapour circulating now. Occasionally, she could see a temporary notice floating against the sides of buildings, informing people about the new drug and its potential dangers… which was basically that you could end up a public nuisance, or become stupid enough to wander out to sea.

They walked on, Payton letting Emilia lead the way. She knew where she was going, after all. They didn’t say anything until she found the place she wanted. She turned, leaned against a wall—one where the OIC System couldn’t see them—and looked up at the man. He gazed nonchalantly back, hands lazily tucked into his pant pockets as though this was something they did all the time. Nothing to see here. Just two people who often hang out together hanging out together.

“Natural, additive or traumatic?”

The only sign her classmate was surprised by her question was the slightest movement of his jaw. Impressive. He watched her for a moment, assessing who knew what, before saying, “Natural.”

“Good.”

“Good?” he asked, blinking like he actually was surprised by that. Fair. Traumatic and additive black knots could be removed, natural could not—not without affecting the rest of a person’s mind and sending them into a psychotic break, anyways. Natural black knots were generally less… apathetic, however. In her experience, at least. They could be creepy as fuck, sure, especially if they came from a long line of black knots, generations of questionable parenting creating sketchy children. She’d still take creepy, natural black knot over traumatic any day.

“Are we being honest with each other?”

“I won’t lie. Won’t necessarily answer any question you have, either,” Payton replied. He glanced around them, frowning slightly, feeling eyes he couldn’t see on him. Emilia could feel them too, the eyes they couldn’t see, off in the alley adjacent to them, but even when her Censor reached out, even when her eyes skimmed over the alley, there was no sign of anything other than dark emptiness.

“Same,” she said, nodding her head overdramatically and making him roll his eyes. Another good sign, the ability to be exasperated with her. “Do you actually care about the knotter?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Knotters drive people insane. I saw enough people on the front not have them removed soon enough. I wouldn’t wish that kind of death on anyone.”

“Good.”

“You believe me?”

“You said you wouldn’t lie.”

“Most people wouldn’t be stupid enough to believe that.”

He wasn’t wrong, and she’d definitely trusted someone with a black knot when she shouldn’t have before. She also knew her judgment was a little… suspect. She also knew Pria had never sensed anything off about him. Her roommate might not actively speak about her empathy to many people, but she did tell Emilia about the random feelings she got about the people they met. Pria had never said anything bad about him—other than that he usually felt a little

flat

—and even if neither of them had taken that as a reason to invite him into their circle, it was enough to give her a little more confidence that this—that trusting him to help her—wasn’t a profoundly awful idea.

Given their lack of friendship, she also wouldn’t feel as bad if he ended up getting hurt, as cold as that was. More than that, he would be able to do what needed to be done, no matter how messy things got, which would be an issue if she brought Elijah. Not Beth—Beth was perfectly capable of doing anything required of her, no matter the cost. As for Sil… Well, Sil was all but impossible to understand. Emilia was sure he would kill, if he had to, but he wouldn’t be happy about it either.

“I’m not most people,” she said instead, throwing him a cruel smile and sending him the same redacted version of what she had learned as she’d given Sasha. “I’ll be back.”

She left him there, reading over the information she had sent him—not memories and images, she wasn’t inclined to let just anyone watch things through her eyes, thanks—and crossed to the alley. The mild current of a barrier rippled over her, before registering that she was a regular customer and letting her see what had previously been hidden.

[Welcome, Silver Miss]

“'ello, Silver Miss.”

Emilia rolled her eyes at the silly nickname one of her regular dealers had for her. “Hello, Silver Mistress,” she replied in turn, giving the old woman a sweeping bow, the kind you only saw in movies from times long gone—or completely made up. For some reason, authors really liked setting their stories in extravagant worlds with balls and daring adventures. She’d been to balls, been on daring adventures—was probably on one right now, unfortunately. Neither were as grand nor as wonderful as authors seemed to want them to be.

The old woman smiled back at her, her silver-grey hair shining in the pale blue of the personal security drones circling overhead. She’d been robbed, more than once, over the years. The drones were a little extra dose of protection, capable of shooting tranquilizers into anyone who got it in their mind that she was an easy target. They had been a gift from Emilia, after she had talked Rafe into giving them to her (Read: Asked and received them via express post the next day without much talking or convincing involved).

“I was hoping you could help me with something a little bit different than my usual,” Emilia said, giving the drones little pats with her Censor, checking that they were functioning properly—they were.

The old lady hummed, taking a long drag from whatever it was she was smoking. She didn’t get high herself, as far as Emilia had ever seen, instead partaking in drugs that would bring her down, her entire demeanour a constant haze of sleepiness that seemed to always be pulling those around her towards slumber as well. More likely, there was probably something in the smoke, softening whoever inhaled in and making them easier marks for upselling. Emilia wasn’t ruling out that the woman was manipulating the aethernet, either. She’d seen some pretty wild abilities over the years. Someone being able to soften their customers via the aethernet while using smoke or a drug to make it a bit easier or obfuscate the skill wouldn’t surprise her much.

“I need an upper. Not one to make me high,” she clarified, when the woman gave her an almost judgmental look. “I just need to be awake and alert for at least a few hours longer. I have to go deal with something. Not something that will compromise my aether reach, either—or something to counter that? Actually, do you have any boosters, too?”

Another drag. She blew the smoke out in a ring. It floated away, expanding, expanding until it popped out of existence… or straight into the aether to manipulate her. Emilia reached out slightly, searching for any sign that was the case, but just like every other time she had tried to feel the aether around the woman out, it felt completely normal, save the gentle vibrations of the illusion barrier.

“Tricky, and potentially more addictive than your usual.”

Emilia smiled confidently at the woman, already digging through her products searching for what she needed despite her comment. “I know, but I’d rather deal with this tonight.”

The old woman hummed, glancing across the way she had come, to Payton.

“Ew, no.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s black knotted.”

“So are the best lovers,” the old lady laughed, nearly white eyes crinkling as she handed two vials over to Emilia. The pale green liquid inside it glowed faintly. Not exactly the most appetizing looking drug, but certainly not the worst. “Never indulged?” she asked, digging around for a few, more normal-looking boosters.

Emilia wasn’t sure if she was referring to sex with someone black knotted—yes, she had, and yes, it had been mind-bending… once they’d both gotten better at it—or the drug—also yes, but not since the war. She told the dealer as much, smiling when the woman laughed and told her that the man who had taken her virginity had had a black knot. Emilia hadn’t lost hers to someone black knotted, but it had been close.

“Once ya go black, ya don’t go back,” the dealer laughed, accepting payment from Emilia for the drugs.

“I did,”

she didn’t reply, instead wishing the woman a prosperous night before hesitating and telling her about the knotters.

“If you see anyone acting too odd—”

“I’ll send ‘em straight to a clinic. Don’t need ‘em thinkin’ it was my wares that had ‘em losing their minds,” she said, her face taking on such a serious expression that Emilia had to suppress a laugh.

“See you later!” Emilia cheered as she slipped out of the barrier and back onto the street, where Payton had been staring at the alley she had disappeared into.

His eyes stayed trained on her as she skipped over to him, popped the top off one of the uppers, and chugged it. “So?” she asked, rubbing an escaped drop from her chin. She split the boosters she’d gotten in half, offering half to Payton. “Wanna go on an adventure?”