Inked

darker than night as I pushed my way through the haze of pungent smoke, trying not to cough. The fragrance of stale wine and decaying lotus blossoms filled the air, cloying and overripe. Noise echoed through the dimly lit room, a cacophony of whispers and laughter, drunken singing and arguments from the gambling tables all rolling into one to give me a supremely bad headache. Yeah, the Collequia was jumping and so were my nerves. I’d had a very long, very bad day, and it wasn’t over yet. Normally, I came here to hang out and play, but tonight was all business.
    The hardcore opium eaters were out in full array. My nose twitched. Not only did they smell—think a week’s unwashed sweat and grime—but they were looking for nookie. Check that. They were looking for money, and they’d earn it by giving a woman—or a man—anything she or he wanted. Considering their habits, they’d probably toss in a few extra gifts for free. Disease, lice, fleas…all lovely little bundles of joy that I wasn’t interested in acquiring.
    The pretty boys crowded around their tables in tight-knit groups, sucking on hookahs, gossiping, eyeing each new person who crossed the door. Oh yeah, they were hungry for money. Opium was a commodity, a pricey one, spurred on by our illustrious queen’s habit, and she set the price point for distributors throughout the city. Selling sex was an easy way to score one more round.
    Sometimes I wondered what drew me back to this club time and again, but to be fair, not everybody here was out for the drugs. I’d met a number of friends and lovers here.
    I scanned the room, looking for any signs of my quarry. Roche, one of the Veiled Fae, was wanted for rape and murder. He also happened to be a member of the Guard Des’Estar. Or at least he’d been a member till he’d gone bad. Very bad.
    When Lathe, my boss at the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency, had assigned the case to me I knew one thing: they didn’t think that I had a chance in Hel’s domain of catching him. They always gave me and my sisters the cases they couldn’t solve. That way, they could blame us for ineptitude and save face. And we’d accrue another notch in a long string of botched jobs. Camille D’Artigo at your service—on the fast track to nowhere.
    I meandered past a table for six, ignoring the bozos eyeing my boobs. Sawberry Fae, all of them—rough and crude. I couldn’t blame them for looking, though. After all, I was dressed to attract. For one thing, Roche responded to curvy women, so I was playing it up to lure him out. For another, I’d been waiting for a chance to wear my new outfit. Tight, sheer magenta tunic, thin skirt with a slit all the way up my thigh, the barest hint of woven silver panties. I made quite an impression, all right.
    So when men stared at my boobs, it was part of the game and I just laughed it off. But the sweaty hand reaching out to cop a feel on my butt crossed the line.
    “That’s one step too far, boy.”
    The man didn’t budge, his fingers firmly fastened on my ass. “Hey girlie, give me a ride. I promise, I can do amazing tricks with my tongue.”
    “I said, back off. I don’t offer pity fucks.” I didn’t pay for it either, and all the opium eaters were looking for was cash for another round.
    “The pity would be if you don’t fuck me.” He snorted and squeezed.
    Realizing I wasn’t going to get out of this without making some sort of scene, I slid my leg through the slit in my skirt to show off the silver dagger strapped around my thigh. “Remove the fingers from my ass or I’ll ram my stiletto through your crotch and you’ll never use that cock of yours again. Understand? ”
    He scowled as his buddies laughed, but he let go.
    I leaned on the table. “Listen, boys, some of you aren’t half bad. Or you wouldn’t be if your eyes weren’t glazed over and your teeth were a couple of shades closer to white. Clean up your act and get a job.”
    Without warning, Mr. Butt-Grabber grabbed my wrist and twisted. Hard. “Bitch. When I want advice from a half-breed, I’ll ask for it.”
    “What did you call me?” I couldn’t reach my stiletto—he had my wrist, but he was standing, pressing against me, so I came down hard on his insole with my heel. He yelped and let go. I whipped out my dagger as he knocked over his chair. The dude was a good six-five and muscled, and it took everything I had to stand my ground. “Touch me again and you’ve touched your last