06/27/2025 Snippet, BRAVING THE MALSTORM.

Doing an experiment this month with the Patreon short story reward.

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Used to be, the underground magical scene in Old Vegas was just that. Obfuscation spells and don’t-see-me runes work better when they’re under a foot or two of earth, so the mages did business out of cellars, all over town. They all moved somewhere brighter when the Universal Dominion got pushed out of easy curse range, though.

But not Zealia’s Den. It’s still in the same place it was founded, all the way back during the Interregnum. Given its clientele, I don’t think any of the owners ever seriously thought about moving. The only concession to the modern age was a newish basking rock now next to the ramp leading down to the shop door, but I privately considered that a little too on-the-tongue, myself. Or just put in for tourist ambiance. There were a few people inside already, gawking at all those Serpent-Folk geegaws. Don’t ask me why; it’s a human thing.

Running the register today was… one of my eighth cousins, once removed, I decided after self-consciously sniffing the air. It was easier because she wasn’t wearing a skin herself at the moment. Judging from the book she was looking at, she was probably a student at the University herself. Ethical calculus isn’t really something you read for fun.

“Good afternoon,” I said, going into Pleasant Academic mode. That usually works with students. “I’m here for a pickup?”

I winced, inside, since that’s potentially a ribald pun in Old American, but luckily the girl didn’t get it. “I’ll look it right up, sir,” she replied. “Name?”

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