Cass dragged her blistered scales across the silver tarmac, the smooth, polished surface, as if she stood on a priceless mirror, her dress tucked tight as it would allow.

  “Who thought this was a great idea?” she hissed.

  But problematic, pervert paradise aside, Cass stared at the glittering Silica tablets and the pushy moron’s who sold them.

  She sneered at it all.

  At the array of headlines, etched into plain, untreated glass.

  At the tacky, bold text.

  At the horrible, mass-produced lies,

  At the scribbles carved in the dampest of basements.

  It was a waste of material.

  A stain on literacy.

  And without anyone noticing, she brushed her fingers on the printer’s Neurite socket. Her core whispered—just a flicker, like a second heartbeat. Enough to form a synaptic link. Information bled upward in sparks, filling her pupils with light. Headlines flickered across her retina like an electronic database. Then, in the brief of it all, she spotted one headline. One false gobbled bullshit.

  “Passenger ship destroyed in pirate attack. No survivors.”

  She twisted her palm into a fist and snuffed out the printer’s data, her pace quickening as the salesmen started to shout, their trashy misinformation burning to dust.

  “Serves them right.” She muttered.

  She had seen what was on that ship. Those weren’t pirates.

  Not unless it was a pirate who wore her sister’s skin like a mask.

  Who screamed at her in Cassian’s voice?

  She rejoined the bittering couple, Lucien scanning the area like a hawk, Rosalind already fed up with him, as usual. But Cass’s frown only deepened as Rosalind regarded her. The judgment visible from orbit.

  Rosa’s eyebrows said, “We need to lay low.”

  Cass’s eye roll said, “I covered my tracks.”

  And with her dominoes falling, the salesmen pointed out a large fellow, the blue lines pulsing up his neck as he actively used Neurite.

  “You bastard!” the paper boy shouted, his short crowbar swinging.

  The bulky Minotaur turned, his Avaritia guard uniform halting the boy on the spot.

  “Wait, this must be a misunderstanding.” The boy begged.

  But the new cuffs on his wrists and the arm that dragged him away didn’t care.

  “See”, said Cass. “They never suspected me.”

  The old succubus gave her a flat look. “Did you forget why you’re here?”

  Cass started counting her fingers.

  “Dragged against my will. Integrated a plan that will never work. Had my sister reanimate and try to strangle me. Hmm, not sure.” Cass said.

  Rosalind sighed, her fingers massaging her ever-growing wrinkles, her lips asking why she bothered.

  “Never mind that. Did you get what I asked?” Rosalind said.

  Cass fumbled with her dress for a second, the steaming reflective floor, one twirl from flashing the whole courtyard. Then she pulled out three tickets. Printed on thin, flexible glass, almost as delicate as paper.

  “Why couldn’t Lucien get them?” Cass asked, “He didn’t have trouble fingering my mind.”

  Rosalind swiped the glass, inspecting the validity of the print.

  “Good work.” She said, “And did you—”

  “Yes, yes. I took care of it. Hog tied, and unable to squeak a word.” Cass said. “Should get us into the middle ring, if you two can play your part.”

  Rosalind regarded the tall fairy, her low growl contrasting with her eyes.

  Cass could tell.

  That was not just any look. It reeked of want. Hinted at something her lips would never say.

  “For a demon over three hundred, you sure act my age,” Cass said. “Just kiss and make up already.”

  Rosalind sighed, her constant exasperation reminding her of someone—that broody Inquisitor brother of hers. The one who used Neurite on her and Cassian. Another archdemon with no boundaries.

  Cass growled at the thought. He had bitten Lorelai once. Lorelai bit back. Some Valkar vow thing, Cass wasn’t sure. It was stupid. It was serious. And it made her stomach turn.

  What did Lore see in that brute? Why did she run the other way?

  And if Lore was dead?

  —No, shut up.

  She didn't want to think of that, but that woman indeed hid a treasure of her own. A stockpile of shards, an amount that could buy a big gun, maybe? She never knew what that demoness spent her money on. But Lore would skin her if she snooped too far. Best not to risk it.

  On the flip side, there was a stash up for grabs—Amara’s. It was an iron fortress to break into, but Cass knew the codes to get in. Sure, stealing a dead woman's capital wasn't ethical, but it's not like her corpse would spend it. It was fair game and totally within her rights. Amara brought her and her sister after they were orphaned, and saved her from those trafficking bastards.

  At least she got paid for sex after that.

  Cass shivered; it wasn’t exactly her dream job, that.

  But it was better than being powerless. Better than being sold again. Better than that hell.

  Then, eager to distract her mind, Cass shifted to the white haired woman at her side.

  Lucien adjusted his collar with that too-casual ease, the man finally wearing some pants, all suited up like a gigolo.

  Maybe he thought he could buy charm.

  But she only saw the fake smile, the puppet with no strings.

  “Remember the plan,” he said.

  They neared the checkpoint, the rows and rows of buildings, spread across the port like pinples on an arse. The pus of custom officers, grimy skin and sweaty breath forced to funnel in like suna from hell.

  Cass had to swim in the horde, the sea of bodies churning in waves, the slick ozze painting her pink scales black. She gripped Rosalind, her fingers wrapped tight around the old woman.

  “To think they made me walk within the masses,” Rosalind said.

  Lucien sighed. “Well, if your mother didn’t have a bounty on you, princess. We wouldn’t need to.”

  Rosalind growled, “Don’t call me that. We both know her empress never considered me as such.”

  Lucien shrugged. But Cass stared.

  “Princess? Empress?”

  “Shush, girl,” Rosalind said. “Just focus on not getting washed away.”

  The woman snatched Cass’s arm and pulled, her surprisingly soft skin, dragging her to the counter.

  “Tickets.” Said a voice.

  Rosalind slapped them on the glass. The Rokgar man blinked, his dual eyelids dripping in slime, his gills snorting out the muck that dribbled from his mucus skin.

  Cass shivered, to think they were the same race, she a siren, he some weird sea snail. She felt a little sick just watching the officer. Again, why was he so slimy? She wasn’t slimy. She just had to remember to lather in some oil now and then, and her scales kept their wet, shiny appearance.

  No mucus, no drool.

  “Papers,” the snail said.

  Hell, she even hated his slurpy voice. He wasn’t an Aquatic Rokgar, no, he was too gross to be like her. Maybe blobby spawn. It suited him, a race of iky yucky things she didn’t like.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Lucien handed Blobbly a dark glass tablet, the kind of thing a wealthy pig would own. A top-of-the-line device that could store thousands of volumes of data, a Neurite book if you will.

  She muttered “How— ”

  Rosalind shushed her, letting the process continue. A warm scent of perfume lingered off her.

  Cass fidgeted to say, “I get it, I’ll be quiet, just let me go already.”

  But Rosalind held on, making her wait in silence as Blobbly read, letter by letter. The dam woman was stronger than she seemed, stronger than steel wrapped around her body. A rope built to keep her contained, cuddle her to death.

  Then—

  “It says here,” Blobbly slurred, “that you’re a family of three visiting, a relative in the city of greed.”

  Cass felt Rosalind shift; the woman tensed up, as if to do something, to move like a coiled machine, poised to strike.

  But instead of that, the old lady smiled.

  “Yes, visiting my brother, you see, I wanted him to meet my cute little daughter.”

  She shook Cass as if the words weren’t enough, but Cass flushed anyway, unable to look at the demons taking a peek.

  Oh, hell, was this death by embarrassment instead, shaking, and pinched in her like a stuffed toy, to be poked and prodded, Lucien smothering her like a glittery blanket.

  Cass growled. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t real.

  Family… She no longer had one of those.

  Lorelai was the closest person, but she was more of a reluctant elder sister, too sharp and prickly for a heart-to-heart. But her family nonetheless.

  Cass glared at the two demons, shadowing over her. Who was what here? Rosalind, with a bullet in her leg, wasn't motherly material, and Lucien, well, he was Lucien, a family pet at best.

  “Ah, I see…” Blobby said, “But unfortunately, we aren’t taking visitors today.”

  Lucien spiked, his wings fluttering him forward.

  “What about tomorrow?” he asked.

  And even Cass could hear the panic in his voice, Rosalind still stroking Cass’s hair unbothered, her smelly arms locking her in a petting zoo. Her fingers curled around Cass’s ear. Just enough to tickle.

  Cass wiggled, and Lucien slammed his boot into the officer’s box.

  “I can’t wait a month, I need to get in now!”

  Blobby snorted, his mucus sliming the darkglass tablet.

  “It says here, Leisure is strictly prohibited during the black season. We can’t have outsiders benefit from the city-wide discounts. And if you don’t have any more to say, then I’m going to have to call the guards.”

  Cass could feel Lucien’s backstory stabbing her back, or Rosalind’s now burning hot breath, sorching her neck. She didn’t know what she feared more, a guard or Rosalind. And she didn’t want to find out.

  Officer Blobby remained fixed to his wet chair, his finger right from calling the guards. So Cass cleared her throat. She wasn't going to use her power on this man, at least not so blazingly. But nobody said anything about hiding in plain sight.

  “Just as always,” squeaked Cass, putting on her best, sarcastic teen voice. She was a little older than that, but heck, a role was a role. She’s almost that age anyway, a light pulse could blur the details.

  “Why did you marry him?” Cass continued.

  She leaned in, making sure to show the utter disgust on her face.

  “My mother gets around, if you know what I mean. I don't even know who my real father is.”

  The officer raised an eyebrow,

  “It says here husband, wife and other.”

  Cass scoffed, outraged, “Other!”

  She turned to Lucien, “Other!” she repeated, “ is all I am to you, the daughter of your sex buddy, wife.”

  Lucien hissed under his breath, “Cass, what are you doing? This wasn't in the plan.”

  “Yeah, that's got a name dip shit.” Cass continued, plainly ignoring that stern expression he made.” I'm your daughter, like it or not, so I expect you not to be a waste of space and feed this family. You can’t even get us across the border? How can I expect to care for my mother?”

  For a moment, the air lay silent with accusations, the shifting eyes around the border judging the stupid father a bit too harshly than he had anticipated.

  Then Lucien, the guilty, opened his lips.

  “Don't”, said Rosalind, “you know better to fight with the little siren.” Rosa glared at Cass, then pulled a face, half smile or sneer, it was impossible to tell.

  “Her father was a piece of work, but he charmed like a sledgehammer, but I hoped you get along with your stepdad.”

  Cass growled, “Why would-”

  “Quite! “ Rosa said, “Please don't embarrass me and your father anymore. I’ll get you something later. Ok.”

  Cass gritted her teeth. Why was she the bad guy now? Those two basically kidnapped her, using mind control, and she is the one in the wrong.

  Her scales cracked with her temper; she could have been with Lorelai if they hadn’t dragged her off. And maybe she would know if they survived or not, her only real family. Not this fake.

  Rosalind walked to Officer Blobby with a smile.

  “Let us in, will you? We had a long trip.”

  Cass felt the Neurite buzz in Roselind’s belly, intense, hot, and without a trace of it being used. She almost wanted to ask, but closed her fangs, nodding insistently at Blobby.

  “Please, sir, I just want to see my uncle. We won’t do anything wrong.”

  She tilted her head with a plea. Her foaming fangs, doing her best fake smile.

  And finally, like the dark gods wished it. Blobby stamped the ticket.

  But then, it hit her. Rosalind squeezed Cass’s arm, her words a whisper, smooth and calm.

  “Good acting,” she said, and she even smiled a tad.

  Cass faltered, her lips fluttered to respond, but nothing, like someone had shocked her scales crimson, her cheeks flooding. W-why should she care what this whore says it's not like she cares about praise, or being told well done. Good job. I’m proud of you. It was fake stupid, and ahh!

  But Rosalind finished her smile with a warm tap, and her face quickly squirmed under her pained leg. The wrapping started to fall off now, the glint of solid green stone underneath.

  Despite this, the woman tugged.

  “Come,” she said, “you are going to love your uncle.”

  Cass frowned, “What kind of uncle? I only know the bad kind.”

  Rosalind smiled again; damn it, she must have lost too much blood or something. Rosalind was never nice.

  But dragged as always, and leaving Lucien to collect the Dark Glass tablet, Cass followed the prickly succubus.

  “Mom, stop pulling me,” Cass cried.

  The word stuck in her throat like thorns. It was just a lie. Just camouflage. She was acting; it was all fake. Rosalind would never be her mother, not in a lifetime.

  Lucien followed from behind, and the family trio entered the city of greed.

  It was a daughter dragged by her mother, a father running to catch up. And she just had to use these fools until she got to that stash.

  Then she’d find Lore.