Chapter 156 - Back to the Cabaret
"Good afternoon, esteemed customer! Welcome to Roundtable Cabaret!"
A daemonion standing on the other side of the purple-curtained entrance greeted Tristessa as soon as she stepped into the grand hall. Of dark brown skin, she wore a one-piece dress that highlighted her feminine curves. Her lips painted bright blood color, her hair was silky white, and her two horns stood out with exotic beauty. She was so beautiful that Tristessa forgot how to speak and stuttered, a deep shade of red crossing through her face.
"I-I… Y-yes!"
The demonic woman let out a tender giggle that increased her heart rate.
"It is a great pleasure to welcome you to our establishment. Would you like to hire my services?" she proposed, her savage, yellow, demonic eyes shining with an almost supernatural allure, making the sweaty young woman tremble with nerves. "Or perhaps one of my companions would be more to your liking?"
"No, of course I like you…" Suddenly, a smack to the back of her head released Tristessa from that spell, cast without magic, through another kind of sorcery called pain. "Ouch! Astoria!"
The silver-haired knightess appeared between the purple curtains. Unarmed, her armor now shone without a trace of cursed blood, as did her beautiful face, sculpted by the Gods themselves. A face tainted by that sullen, unfriendly expression, and decorated with a murderous glare dedicated only to Tristessa.
"I won't require your services today, Layz'al," she said, addressing the hostess, who trembled with fear at the sight of the knightess' anger. "She comes with me. And in the hall, we'll leave my companion's aracross, if it doesn't bother you."
"I see, Miss Silverthorn," the daemonion said, the gentleness in her voice turning a little sour as she addressed her. "Rest assured, we will care for the beast as if it were one of our clients. Now, which cubicle would you like…?"
"No. We'll go to the suite. We already have two friends waiting for us there," she interrupted, taking a pouch full of soul-jewels from inside one of the pockets of her armored combat trench coat and placing it in the hostess's hands. "And we would appreciate the utmost privacy."
"…understood."
Looking around, Tristessa realized the cabaret was almost empty. A few cubicles with velvet armchairs barely occupied by customers, and far too many hostesses available and waiting, just like Layz'al. Although it was the hour when the gears of nightlife were beginning to turn, the psychological aftereffects of the Evil Dream still lingered. She had seen it on the way there, manifested in empty streets and homes with closed doors. The red-light district of Entrana was clearly no exception to the suffered darkfall.
"It's strange to see this place so…quiet," she thought, beyond the music produced by the violinists and pianist at the other end of the hall. "It's like anywhere but a cabaret."
Only the large table in the middle of the hall, filled with appetizers and cold drinks in ice fountains, was a living copy of what she remembered from the single past loop when she entered that place, hoping to find that same woman who had just passed by her.
"Come on, it's this way." Astoria skirted the table, knowing the place like the back of her hand, heading for the stairs leading to the second floor. "Move! Your aracross will be fine!"
"Alright, alright... Thanks for looking after Vergil, miss," Tristessa said, smiling like a fool at Layz'al, who bowed cordially at her. She walked towards the annoyed Astoria in a hurry. "Calm down a bit, will you? I'm supposed to be the one having an anxiety attack here, with the current situation."
"You say that to an Imperial Guard who forged civil records to let you into the city?" she hissed, a whisper that could almost kill on its own. "Now I'm just as much of a criminal as you. I'd kill you right here, Irandell, with my own hands. Fuck… Fuck! Why in the Abyss am I doing this…?"
"Well, for your dream…" Tristessa matched her stride with hers and leaned closer to whisper in her ear with a mischievous smile, worthy of an intimate partner. "You know that I'm the kind of person who can grant it to you."
In response, Astoria elbowed her in the side, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to lean against the edge of an empty cubicle to keep from falling to the floor.
"GAH! Bitch!"
"Walk!"
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They climbed the stairs—Tristessa with some difficulty, while massaging the side that wasn't the one with her healed ribs— and made their way through partially occupied cubicles to a hallway whose double glass doors were open. A long, flowing red carpet led inside, with four small, evenly spaced, lit candelabras, and the wooden doors of the suites, hand-carved with beautiful, contrasting patterns of leaves and branches.
Theirs was the second one on the right.
As soon as Astoria reached for the handle, it turned on its own accord and the door opened ajar, triggering a magical pulse of non-elemental thaumaturgy that Tristessa had barely been able to detect.
"They sure are taking every precaution," the knightess murmured before opening the door wide, a satisfied smile on her face. "Hey, good work."
"Yes, yes, Severus is fabulous. The best thaumaturge in town, or so the urban myths say… Come in, ladies."
The interior of the suite was just as one would expect from two interconnected luxury rooms and a private setting. With polished brick walls, the room was spacious enough to accommodate a small group of people easily, without feeling stifling and compact. The floor was carpeted with detailed tapestries from the Age of Kings, recounting the struggle between armored men and what appeared to be dark elves. A large iron chandelier with decorative crystal adornments hung in the middle of the room, and there were several shelves filled with antique figurines, vases, books, and more. There was also a cherry-colored bar with a large selection of cocktails spread across a cherry-colored shelf.
And in the center of the room there were four opulent single armchairs and one long, black velvet one. Arranged in a semicircle around a circular coffee table and faced a fireplace where a peaceful fire crackled.
One of those armchairs was occupied by Auron Casimir. Holding his head in his hand with tiredness, the gunslinger had left his revolvers in the hands of his colleague, who was guarding the entrance to the cabaret. He had taken off his hat and left it hanging on the end of the right armrest.
On the other hand, Severus Malak Drakan was leaning against the brick side of the fireplace, oblivious to the heat concentrated on that surface. He had his arms crossed and had left his cane leaning against the wall near him, lacking the catalytic crystal, which he had also temporarily relinquished before entering the establishment.
"Hey, wasn't there a more private place in the city to talk?" Tristessa asked as she closed the door and saw a large ring of glyphs etched into the surface with what appeared to be charcoal. Every few seconds, it emitted an unnatural glow, revealing its activity. "Is this enough to keep anyone from hearing us? Why didn't we go to your workshop, Severus?"
"First, I made sure that no soul other than the four of us could enter or hear what is happening in this room, just as you requested. And second, I'm not going back to that place. I'd rather sleep on the streets."
Clearly exhausted from using non-elemental thaumaturgy without a catalyst, Severus was still very scared. No matter how hard he tried to hide it behind that cold, weary expression so atypical of him, he exuded fear of the purest kind.
"Are you afraid Moebius will visit you again and don't want to be alone?" Auron mocked, receiving in response a glare worthy of the southernmost iceberg on the planet.
"You have no reason to believe my story… Who would believe that the Lord of Forbidden Knowledge appeared like a phantom of doom in my workshop?"
"Well… Witches of the Coven don't rise from the ground, you know. Someone has to recruit them." From the way he leaned forward and frowned, it didn't seem like Auron was looking to joke around any further. Even with his handkerchief covering much of his face, one could see his lips were set in a grimace that was the complete opposite of a smile. "Who else but Moebius himself, personally showing up to tempt them?"
"It's an interesting theory. A centuries old one, but unprovable," Astoria agreed, already sitting at one end of the long armchair. She wanted to go unnoticed, but her red eyes strayed toward the bar, the bottles filled with alcoholic beverages calling to her like demons of temptation. "It could never be proven, not even with captured and interrogated witches. They just hear 'the call' and become faithful devotees, as if they had been their whole life."
"Damn lunatics…" the crimson-haired thaumaturge cursed under his breath, and at that moment his attention focused on Tristessa. Indirectly projecting his distrust onto her, she felt the equivalent of a stab in the heart. "Why don't we address the rhinophant in the room instead, Miss Irandell?"
Severus was right, and the silent passivity of Astoria and Auron evidenced consensus. It was best to get to the heart of the matter and not wait any longer. Especially since night was falling and the Baptism in Ruins heralded the arrival of Nemesis, in the form of a frostbite that slowly spread across Tristessa's chest.
Nodding and running her hand over the leather and belted surface of her trench coat, the black-haired girl walked toward them. She wanted to gain even a glimmer of trust, placing herself at their mercy like a deer before a pride of lions.
"First of all, I thank the three of you for agreeing to this meeting with someone you don't know at all. I'm aware that some of the things I said gave you a pretty good idea of what I'm about to say... I see no reason to continue the mystery much longer."
She met the gazes of the three of them, fixed on her. Waiting to hear the truth come out of her own mouth, to have absolute confirmation of the suspicions she herself had placed in their minds.
"I arrived on Nekrom two days ago, from a planet called Earth. I remember almost nothing of my past life, barely enough to know my name."
Tristessa took a deep breath before continuing. A before and after in that loop. And perhaps, a decision from which there was no going back.
"I am what you call a [Stranger]."