The restaurant portion of the inn was bustling. It wasn't quite a full house, but it was close. The sounds of loud conversation and louder laughter filled the room, which was warm and bright from the open windows that let in the summer evening.
The series of handwritten tickets in front of me was almost as long as those from my bartending days back on Earth. I hadn't expanded the menu yet, but already a surprising range of cocktails were in the queue.
True to their stereotypes, sailors and dwarves could really put it away. Tonight, the Breakwater Inn was full of them.
A curvaceous flash of dark purple skin wove its way toward me, deftly navigating tables of patrons. A second later, Shivai sashayed up to me, leaning her elbow on the bar. She flashed me a quick grin and a wink before slapping down another handwritten ticket.
"Three more Seaport mules for you. Gotta go check in with Wynnie. I think I might've just sold her out of the seabass crudo."
I arched an impressed brow. Somehow, the rascally demonkin woman had a knack for serving. Almost every table she took ended up ordering way more than they ever did from me or Wynnie.
"One of these days, you're going to have to teach me how you do this," I said.
"Do what?"
"You know. This." I waved my hand broadly at the busy tables. Most of them had more food and drink stacked in front of them than they could reasonably eat. "You sell people more food and drink than they have any business ordering. Are you just flirting with everybody or something?"
"No! I mean, a little. But it's mostly, um, the other thing."
"What other thing?"
She slapped the countertop twice and checked over her shoulder at the kitchen. "Whoops! Got a run. Maybe we'll talk about it later?"
I rolled my eyes. "Sure."
Whatever it was, it was probably harmless. And we were so busy that I didn't have time for an in-depth conversation anyway. The three mules she'd just put in the queue meant I had fifteen drinks to make. There was no way I was getting through all this in time while also having a deeper discussion about the art of upselling tables.
The shaker we'd had fashioned by the blacksmith felt solid and heavy in my hand. They'd even weighted it, just like my favorite ones back on Earth. I slapped the top shut on one, then another, before double-tapping the seal and beginning my vigorous two-handed shakes.
Frost formed on the outside of the metal, chilling my fingers almost as much as I chilled the contents within. Briefly, I felt like I had just a fraction of Wynnie's power as an ice mage. With a bit of bartending magic, I could quickly turn a handful of ingredients into a frigid cocktail that the people of this world had no hope of putting down until it was completely finished.
I finished shaking and broke the seal on either shaker, straining the contents into four coupe glasses. Almost immediately, I turned to the glass cylinders the glassblower had made for us. In them, I was chilling a few stirred cocktails—just something like a Manhattan and an old-fashioned, but with rum instead of whiskey.
It was great to be back in the swing of regular life again. It had been only a week or so since my showdown with the pirates, but all the familiar rhythms of bartending were making me feel comfortable and at home. I may not have known much about the world I'd been reborn into, but at least I knew this: the sounds of happy patrons, the thin layer of sweat from hustling on my feet for hours, and the satisfying clink of barware in use.
Shivai burst out of the kitchen, leaving the door swinging open wide. Before it closed, I glimpsed Wynnie, hurriedly preparing more dishes from our expanding raw bar. She looked up, catching my eyes for a fraction of a second. Silently, we nodded, sharing a moment of hectic companionship.
Even if Wynnie and I hadn't taken the next step in our romantic relationship, we'd be teammates for life after this. The friendships forged in the service industry were unshakable. Something about high-stress jobs with low respect and low pay brought people close.
"Hey!" I caught Shivai's attention before she could slip past too quickly, plates in hand. "Got four daiquiris and three Manhattans ready to go out."
"Such weird names. What is a Manhattan, anyway?"
"It's the name of a big city. Kind of. Back where I'm from."
"Weird. Is a daiquiri another big city, then?"
"No. Or, maybe? I don't think so, though."
"You're so mysterious," Shivai said, barely biting back a smile. Her tail flicked playfully in my direction like a whip, nearly spanking me on the butt as I worked, but falling just an inch or two short.
"Careful," I warned her.
"No, thanks."
She was already walking off, heading to her table to deliver the food. No doubt she'd be back in a minute after flirtatiously convincing people to buy another round before they'd finished their current one. That girl was trouble. Great news for our business, but definitely trouble in other ways, I was sure.
I worked my way through the stack of little handwritten papers, leaning on years of bartending experience. With the rush came the Zen-like flow state. Everything around me seemed to melt away as I focused on the job at hand, basically on autopilot. Even deep in the weeds, I probably could've handled most of the tickets with my eyes closed.
The only thing we were missing was a good soundtrack. Back on Earth, I used to pick playlists to help me get into a rhythm. During the daytime and early evening, to keep things family-friendly, I played EDM and house. Anything with a steady beat and a good bassline kept me moving. After dark, I switched over to classic boom-bap-era rap. Complex, multisyllabic rhyme schemes and braggadocious lines about guns, gangs, and controlled substances were the exact kinds of tunes I loved the most.
Here, I'd be happy just to hear a bard with a lute, I figured. A singer-songwriter with a harp would be better than nothing.
I added it to the list of improvements I wanted to make.
As my shift dragged on, I kept stealing glances at Wynnie. Though she seemed harried, she also kept her cool. Perhaps the ice magic was helping her with that.
Keeping me on my toes, Shivai continuously attempted tail-spanks, which I did my best to dodge. I don't know where that girl got the idea that her spaded tail belonged firmly on my butt, but she seemed determined to make it happen.
Dodging wasn't enough. My protests weren't enough, either.
Not that I particularly minded. I just didn't want to yelp in surprise or accidentally drop something if she whacked me too hard. A bit of butt-slapping between consenting adult service workers is all part of the experience, after all.
Secretly, I kind of wanted her to finally connect.
When the dinner rush finally slowed, I began wiping down my section of the bar. It was sticky from spilled syrup and splashed citrus juice. A wet rag cleaned the surface, and a dry rag gave it a polished shine. While I cleaned, I watched Shivai a bit more closely.
Something was up.
Wynnie emerged from the kitchen, a thin sheen of sweat sparkling on her brow. She tucked a tangled strand of hair behind her ear and let out a heavy sigh as she settled in next to me.
"What're you looking at?"
"I think Shivai's up to something. I can't quite tell what." My gaze followed her as she practically danced from one table to the next. She flashed a winning smile at a pair of drunken buffoons, and her eyes flashed a bright shade of purple, almost glowing. "She really has a way with the customers, though."
"Uh oh." Wynnie crossed her arms and shook her head. "She shouldn't be doing that."
"Flirting?"
"No. Shivai's a demonkin. Don't you know about demonkin?" She popped a hip against the bar, taking what little rest she could.
I knew a lot about various iterations of demon-type fantasy characters in Earth media. In the role-playing game I played with my friends, they were basically humanoids with resistance to fire damage, better night vision, and sometimes access to a couple of low-level spells.
I was also vaguely aware of more classical lore. Succubi and incubi, for example, fed on the sexual energy of humans, ultimately consuming them. Or something like that. Honestly, I was kind of fuzzy about demons outside of role-playing games.
"I'm Reborn, remember? I've been in this world for like a month."
"Oh. Well, the short version is that demonkin are ruled by their inner desires. They can usually keep those urges in check enough to live alongside polite society, but they can be impulsive and rough around the edges."
"That doesn't sound so bad," I started.
"They also have some minor magical abilities tied to the kind of demonkin they are. Usually, you can't tell what kind of demonkin someone is just by looking, but there are exceptions. Look at Shivai's incredible backside. Her tight waist. Those obnoxiously supple and generous bosoms. The kind you could just bury your face in and… uh, I mean, anatomically speaking, of course.”
“Of course.”
She wasn’t kidding. Nor was she finished. She sighed. “By the gods, she has a face to die for."
I was certainly looking, and I agreed on all counts in no uncertain terms. Shivai was a stunning knockout. An eleven, if you will. Comic book artists drew images like her when they wanted an opportunity to show off their poorly concealed fetishes.
"Yeah, she's, uh, very pretty."
"Otherworldly," Wynnie agreed. "Classic succubus."
Okay, so those did exist here. That made sense. It almost seemed as though all of Earth's fantasy myth was pulled from very real things in this world.
I'd have to learn to trust my role-playing game knowledge more. Being something of a closeted nerd would be an advantage if I ever let myself use it.
"So does that mean she'll suck my soul out or something?"
Wynnie scoffed. "No, nothing like that. What gave you that idea?"
"Um."
"She just has some charm abilities. They can be very manipulative. They make people do what they want them to do. We should be careful around her. Did her eyes flash when she asked for the job, by the way?"
I tried to remember, but I couldn't, really. It had been such a spur-of-the-moment thing. She'd shown up right when we needed her, offering her services at the perfect moment. I'd have hired anyone on the spot. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Unless that was part of it? Making something seem like a convenient coincidence?
"I think it was just a coincidence," I guessed.
I wasn't sure about that, but it felt right, and until Shivai showed a reason not to trust her, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Especially given Lady Talia's dire warning to her when we first met in the jail. This was one of those three-strikes-and-you're-out situations, and even the most roguish people tend to keep things on the up-and-up right after a run-in with the law.
Still, as I watched her move deftly among the tables, offering a flirtatious smile or sly wink to inebriated customers, I had to know more.
"So what's the deal with this charm ability, anyway?"
"I don't know exactly how it works. Usually, I avoid demonkin because they're not very trustworthy." Absentmindedly, Wynnie grabbed an orange slice from my bowl of garnishes and popped it into her mouth. Speaking around the fruit, she continued, "It might be eye contact, or maybe something in her words. All I know is that she can influence people. Make any idea seem like a good one. Lower their inhibitions. If she's good, anyone would do what she wants."
"Huh. And if she's talking with people who've already been drinking…"
"Yeah," Wynnie nodded. "She really shouldn't be doing that."
Apparently, pirates and rushes were the least of our worries. We had a scoundrel on our hands. I could only hope that it wouldn’t attract the wrong kind of attention from Lady Talia.