Page 55 of Hellbound

The familiar smell hit her the moment she pushed through the door, making her eyes water.

The scent of sour sweat and even sourer ale mixed with old stew, the kind that had grease floating on top in iridescent pools.

It was a low-ceilinged room with oil lamps hanging on iron hooks. The windows were rusted shut from the catacombs’ dampness and covered in dirt and grime.

None of the tables and chairs matched—some wood, some stone slabs laid across barrels. Benches and stools were of varying heights. Everything was scuffed and stained but sturdy enough to survive several brawls a night.

The bar top consisted of a massive wooden slab that looked like it had been there since the catacombs were above ground. Behind it stood a one-eyed woman named Marta. Her face was scarred and partially hidden beneath an eye patch. She was missing two fingers, but she poured drinks and enforced order like no one else.

The tavern’s clientele was a mix of merchants selling illegal drugs, thieves planning their next heist, refugees looking to stay low, and mercenaries between contracts.

Ksenia felt a pang. Years ago, this had been one of the last locations where bondsmiths still gathered openly. Where she had rested her hands on the bar and wasn’t afraid of who would recognize her.

She sidled up to the bar, her fingers finding the grooves on the surface. Maker’s marks, branded directly into the wood.

Her thumb stopped moving on one she recognized. The Drazan mark, branded on the edge of the bar almost a decade and a half ago because Danika bet she wouldn’t do it.

Danika never dared; she wagered what she could afford.

Ksenia had heated the brand beneath the bar top with a match while Danika sat pressed against her side, her knee jiggling against Ksenia’s. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.

The prize had been Danika’s weekly allowance, and Ksenia spent it all on sweets.

She snapped out of her reverie and was met with a jagged frown.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” Marta’s voice was as rough as her face. At the sound of her words, the patrons closest to Ksenia quieted, and she felt their hands lay upon their weapons.

She retrieved a cigarette from her pocket, then lifted it to her lips.

“You mind?” Gesturing to the lit taper between them on the bar.

Marta glanced at it and back at Ksenia with an imperceptible nod.

“Thanks.” She leaned in, and the tip burned red.

Fsssssssst.

Ksenia let the smoke curl from her mouth and inhaled it back through her nose.

Marta shrugged, placated momentarily. Amongst folk who frequented the Vein, there were just some mannerisms that were undeniably them.

“What’s your poison?”

Ksenia swung her finger at a keg behind Marta: sootback ale. The first sip was always a shock if you weren’t expecting it: bitter, ashy, and acrid, but after a while, your mouth went numb to the taste anyway. And better yet, it was cheap. By the third mug, you barely tasted it at all, which was probably the point.

She had missed its bitterness. It wasn’t classy like the wine and liquor in Varka’s home, but something about it was familiar in its unpretentiousness.

If Danika were here, she’d have chastised Ksenia; she loathed the smell of cheap alcohol.

Ksenia found her usual spot in the back corner of the room, the perfect place to gather intelligence while nursing a drink in the shadows.

There was a little alcove with a round table just big enough for two with a clear view of the door. With her heightened senses, the whole room became a wash of pleasant noise in her mind, and she could eavesdrop without even straining. Most importantly, she could slip out the side exit in under five seconds if she needed to.

The incessant tapping of her foot began to quiet as she settled against the grimy wooden wall and let her mind wander.

Her eyes strayed out the window, and she caught a tall, cloaked figure stride past and slip something into their pocket.

She straightened in her seat.