Samantha looked down the cold, empty street, and steeled herself to enter the bar. The secret venue was located at the bottom of a small staircase beyond the narrow alley at her left. In the window of a closed store, she once more checked her appearance.
The resin horns she'd borrowed from Rowan sat level in her long hair. Her purple and white striped leggings ran smartly into a pair of army boots. Most importantly, her bulky omega medallion hung squarely on the front of the 'Goat of Menses' band shirt she wore beneath her heavy black coat. It hadn't been difficult to call to mind the modes of dress she favored when in high school. She had always been a goth as well as a bookworm, but this was no ordinary club she was about to enter. It was called The Oasis, and it was frequented by fringe elements of the witch world. The very knowledge that would enable her to move among the patrons might doom her if it were discovered she was in the Order. Feeling like a narc, she took a deep breath, and walked to the entrance.
For a place with a wild reputation, the room was surprisingly calm. Two girls and a guy talked in a booth. A man and a young woman were playing pool. One woman drank at the bar. Samantha took a stool a few down from hers, and ordered a ginger beer. She glanced over at the other drinker, a large, dark haired beauty in overalls and a work coat. The stranger studied a compass in her hand intently.
"Torturing herself," came a voice from the opposite direction. "Like she does here every night." The witch turned and found someone she hadn't seen leaning back on the bar with both elbows. Mastering herself, she expressed no surprise that she'd been approached unaware, and looked the speaker over. In black, knee-high boots, tattered gray jeans and a leather jacket, the woman looked like a tough customer. She wore no shirt, only a leather harness that formed an X around her firm breasts with a steel ring at its center. Her tan rested on a body that was hard and well-formed like the phallus jutting from her fly, and her hair was a large sandy mop.
"I suppose she has reasons." The newcomer nodded.
"Lost love. That's easy to figure out. She's even got a memento." Samantha looked back at the compass for a moment. "What I can't get, though, is what you're doing here."
"Perhaps I also have sorrows to drown."
"That's the thing. You're clearly Golden Flower. If you were the ditzy scene girl you pretend to be, you'd have gone to a punk bar. If you'd wandered in here by mistake, you wouldn't be so casual about women who've got dildos sticking out of their pants." Samantha continued to stare through her as she spoke, and the speaker scrutinized her for any reaction. "So why have you chosen this of all places to sulk like you're to blame for all the evil in the world?" The witch looked at herself in the mirror.
"Because I am responsible for it," she said, and removed her horns, which she placed on the bar. "I didn't realize I was so obvious." The other woman shook her head.
"You're not, really. See that girl shooting stick? She's the last Manticore. The way she's hustling Phil, she'll own this place by midnight. What do you think would happen if she knew you were in the Order?"
"An attempt would be made to kill me, I suppose. Are you going to tell her?"
"No," she replied and sat down. "I don't think so. But you haven't answered my question."
"It's none of your business." She laughed.
"That's all I get for not turning you in? I have a right to ask Pandora why she opened her box."
"You're pleased to mock me, and to believe I'm self-important. Turn that lens upon yourself. The women who come here fuck only for pleasure. Like the Renegades who inspire them they're purely selfish, but lacking any sophisticated magical knowledge or affiliation with a Lodge, they're just trash. Their hedonism is completely absent from you. You're as out of place here as I am." The woman bowed her head respectfully.
"Well done."
"So, what are you doing here?" She merely smiled.
"Bartender, two more." The fat man went to fetch their drinks. She held out her hand. "I'm Tara." The witch studied her for a moment.
"Samantha." They shook.
"Two women of intrigue having a night on the town. I wonder how much trouble we can get into."
"I've had more than enough already."
"Hi, excuse me?" A skinny blond young man had addressed them.
"What can we do for you?" Tara asked, as their drinks arrived.
"Um, my name's Henry. I saw you two when I came in, and well, you're not with anyone, are you?"
"We're being picked up," Tara said to Samantha. The witch took a pull off her bottle.
"I'm sorry, I really never do this, but I just had to meet you." He was practically drooling on Tara, eyes fixed on her bare chest.
"I think you two should..."
"What my friend was about to say, is that of course we're happy to meet you, Henry, and we would love to take you home immediately and screw your brains out." Samantha stared at her while the boy brought his fists and knees together, bouncing in celebration. The gaze was returned until the smaller girl rose. "Don't forget your horns." Tara pushed her dick back into her pants before zipping up her jacket. They exited the room.
"That's peace!" the Manticore yelled, sinking her last ball. The former owner of the bar dropped his jaw in horror.
