Winged

Chapter Twenty-One

Sabrina

The sun gleams pointedly through the tinted windows, and I cringe away from the newly brightened landscape, examining the space by peeking through my eyelids.

Grant Washner's above ground business space had been drastically transformed since the last time I had seen it, the almost-empty ghost of party slowly filling with others emerging the steep staircase, wincing as they stretch their legs, the large area lit dimly by blue-tinted, large globes of magic, most likely purchased from a lesser noble.

The sweet smells of scented candles tinted with the heavy smoke of not their wicks, but cigars and pipes make Lucy cough.

Above the crowd seeping out, a head of wild bright copper frizz bobs, her impossibly long neck and limbs lifting her high as she takes a spot near the centre of the room and unpacks a violin from a small case she carries, freckles almost glowing as she lifts the instrument and the wire bow, and starts to practice quietly, notes precise and tuned.

A waterfall erupts from the eastern wall, spewing out a shallow river filled with rocks to lounge on, and stepping stones to cross. Sirens and other water Manin alike bask in the cool current, some with their elbows up at a small bar built in-ground, steps leading down to the same level as the pool, seats dry for humans and, as it seems, other lounging Manin too.

Circling vines adorn the carved pillars, more, smaller twinkling globes decorating them. Hanging from the trusses in the high roof, trapeze dangle, swaying gently from the slight breeze. Off to the sides, booths with attached privacy curtains sit, some still closed despite it being early morning.

A woman with deep auburn hair, tan skin, and large, slightly crooked teeth, wearing a button-down top with dress pants claps to gain the attention of everyone in the room, and even the violinist halts her playing to listen. Lucy, still awed by eccentric space, now looks at the strange lady with curiosity.

'Welcome, to yeh all.' she continues. 'Yer shift's from now til' the sun reaches' its zenith, then youse'll swap with the group from lunch, nothing special on todeh.'

'Yer jobs r'e to look pretty, mingle and keep em guests entertained, ya hear me? 'Ey paid good money to be 'ere today. Daytim's a bit less hectic than what somacha have already experienced, don't youse worry yaselves. Once 'em magic lights change blue, meet back here!'

She lips her lips and closes her mouth. Seemingly done talking, she smiles at each of us giddily and wishes us the best waving us off.

'I 'ave more things to do, offya get!' she disappears behind a curtain once more, and we sit, not knowing what to do, just in time for us to see the lights changing from a slightly tinted blue, to a bright white.

'It's like clockwork,' Whispers Jackie, examining the globe with a hand.

The Manin who seem to know what they're doing set up properly, the long-limbed violinist taking out a sheet of inked notes and committing it to memory before tucking it back, placing the case under an awning, out of the way.

Massive dual poles of decorative metal stand by the entrance that everyone turns their head to, watched by unusually buffed greeters, or, more likely- guards.

Yes, without my magic working, this is going to be quite a painful mess to get out of.

Small, slick and agile blue-skinned Manin, covered in white, individual patterns from head to toe take to the rickety ladders; women all wearing the same low-scooped high-legged sparkling gold leotard and men in similar fabric shorts climb to the awnings and pedestals, adjusting their grip and measuring up the distance before leaping into a quick warm-up stretch, thirty feet off the ground. At least.