An Important Conversation in a Smoky Room

I thought it wouldn’t be important. But after last week, I decided otherwise. Fortunately, by now I’ve already found a place. A nice, crappy bar where she couldn’t be watching. Or at least shouldn’t be able to. I lead Elodie into the bar. Before continuing on into the second room, I give the bartender a knowing nod and a questioning look. Hasan smiles and nods back, before saying, “It’s empty.”

I try to muster up a smile. It comes out about halfway formed. “Come on,” I say to Elodie as I head through the bar into the second room.

“What’s going on, Greg?” she asks, but she follows.

The essence of smoke still lingers on the air from whoever was in here last night, just enough that it’s easy to notice. To help people believe the story for why this room is used. But the smoking room isn’t really a smoking room. I mean, it is, but more importantly for my benefit, it’s used by several questionably legitimate organizations to conduct inter-faction meetings. Which means it’s regularly swept for electronic surveillance devices. One of the around seven places in the city I know that’s true. And of the seven, it’s the most private and most easily accessible. I settle down on the couch by one of the tables. “We need to talk,” I say.

“Please tell me I can have a for drink for whatever the hell this is,” she mutters as she sits down on the soft chair across the table from me. “You’ve been acting odd all day.”

I take a moment to look around. Not because I think Hasan lied or hid anything, but just in case. Someone might have snuck in, broken in, or some other shady thing. But nothing seems to stick out, nothing is off. I sigh. “Listen, I wasn’t going to press or say anything, but after the incident last week, I think I need to.”

Her eyes darken as she realizes what I’m asking about. “Whatever do you mean?” she muses, using a false confusion to mask her concern.

I take a breath, breathing in the remnants of smoke and exhaling. “You forget, I’m pretty damned good at what I do. I saw your face last semester, when Yildiz first brought up the whole ‘game’ thing.”

“I know a lot of games,” she jokes.

I shake my head. “I’m serious. I chalked it up to one of your secrets and left it well enough alone, but I don’t think I can afford to anymore.”

“You still haven’t told me what you actually want,” Elodie replies.

I lean in, elbows onto the table. “You know a lot more about these immortal fuckers than you’ve let on. Probably more than anyone else we know. What do you know?”

It’s Elodie’s turn to look around the room. “I might know more than I’m letting on,” she admits, “Maybe. But if I did know, there might be a reason I’m hesitant to share.”

“Beyond you liking your secrets, you mean?” I try to joke.

She shakes her head. “I’m being serious, Greg,” she insists, “You never know when He might be listening in.”

I look at her blankly. It’s kind of shocking to see someone that paranoid, especially a friend. But I suppose everyone has their flaws. “You don’t need to worry about that. Not here, at least,” I inform her.

She furrows her brow at me. “Why? What’s so different about here?”

“Depends on how your ‘he’ listens in. I did an old sacrificial practice to hide this whole building from prying magical eyes,” I offer up. She raises an eyebrow, so I add the simple, “I come here often and there are plenty of people I’d prefer not to know that.”

“And if the method might be more conventional?” she muses aloud.

I nod. “The real use of this room isn’t actually smoking. Or at least, not the important use. To prevent the smoke from leaking out, the room’s well isolated, so some local, let’s call them organizations, come here to meet with one another in private. Four of them, so they regularly come by and sweep for surveillance devices.”

Elodie nods, thinking it over. “Why exactly do you know this?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance.

It’s her turn to lean in, putting her elbows on the table. “You forget, I’m also good at what I do. The locations of a meeting spot and the regular bug sweepings aren’t exactly the sort of things that kind of organization would share openly. Means you had to look for it. Seek it out. So, why did you?”

I sigh. She’s right, I did forget. Shared too much. I think for a moment. I don’t think she’s one of Hers. That wouldn’t make too much sense. If she’s working for anyone, it’s more local. I would say it’s this game, but what I saw alongside the understanding was fear. Fear doesn’t inspire the kind of loyalty that other methods do. I suppose answering honestly is the best of several bad options. Hopefully she isn’t working for someone who will use this against me. “Because I like relaxing, and wanted to have a place where She isn’t watching.”

Elodie takes a moment, looking blankly at me. Eventually, she asks, “Who?”

I look blankly back at her. “You were going to tell me about this whole game thing,” I reply instead of answering.

She shakes her head and smiles. “I suppose I was,” she admits, “Do you really think it’s going to be that important.”

“If that incident is any indication, I think at least one of these factions of immortal things will be our next real threat. Assuming I actually get to become external instead of getting shunted internally.”

“Shit,” Elodie complains. “Well, if we’re actually going to have this talk, I definitely need a drink.”

I chuckle. “Fair enough,” I say, getting up. I gesture towards the small cabinet on one side of the room. “There’s also a pair of hookahs in there, if you’re interested,” I inform her before walking out. Behind me, I can hear her chuckling as well, until I close the door behind me. Then, near silence. I head into the main room. There’s a small group of locals, who look like construction workers, sitting around a table and drinking. The only one of them that I recognize, Petros, looks up at me and nods. I nod right back and walk up to the bar.

“Everything alright?” Hasan asks me.

I shake my head. “Never,” I half-jokingly answer him. Then, raising two fingers as I use my other hand to pull out my wallet, I say, “I’ll have two glasses of the cheap shit.” As I’m pulling out the cash, I add, “Oh and a coffee, if that’s not too much of a hassle.”

He nods and gets to pouring. While the bartender is making my drinks, Petros approaches the bar, sidling up beside me. “You hanging out in the smoking room for a reason?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“Mind if we pop in then?” he follows up.

I look him dead in the eyes. “Very much.”

Hasan returns with the pair of drinks. “Coffee will be ready in a moment,” he says to me.

Petros looks at the pair of drinks, then back at me. “Oh, you’ve got a guest,” he remarks suggestively.

“Of course not,” I lie, intentionally poorly. The lie when done to its fullest is more effective if people don’t believe you. The act of lying poorly can be far more meaningful, especially when people have a story that they want to believe. And I do very much cultivate a story.

Petros chuckles. “Okay, I got you,” he says, seeing through my lie to the story in his head about my life.

After the timer beeps, Hasan brings over my coffee as well. “Need any help, G?” he asks.

I shake my head. Taking the coffee cup by the handle and lifting it, I slide my pinky under it to provide some semblance of support. Then I grab the pair of glasses, one in each hand, keeping a single finger wrapped tightly around the handle. “Until next time,” I say to the pair of them as I turn around and head back towards the door to the smoking room.

Knocking against the door with my head, Elodie opens it. “What took you so long?” she asks as I walk in. She shuts the door behind me.

“Ran into a regular. And wanted a coffee.” I look over at the table. Sure enough, a hookah is out. “You’re really that stressed?” I ask her.

“About this? Yes,” she replies. I place down the three drinks next to the basin. We both sit down on the couch. She takes a deep inhale, breathes the smoke out, then picks up her drink and takes a sip.

“So,” I ask, “What is the deal with your undead friends?” I wonder aloud.

She looks coldly at me. “Not friends. Never friends,” she says, as though instinctively.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She takes a deep drink, sighs, and nods. “I know, just, be careful about jokes sometimes.” Then, shaking her head, she begins her story. “Like you, I wasn’t always a part of the Magisterium. But for most of my life, I have known about the mystical side of the world. Just, not from a conventional direction.”

“Nor was I. I thought you were like some people I knew in America, someone who stumbled into this world when you were a teenager.”

She shakes her head. “No, much much earlier. My mom became indebted to a very wealthy businessman from Poland. To work it off, we moved to France and my older brother and parents started working for their family. At first, I didn’t know what they were doing for the family. But they were working at a building the family owned, at a bar or something like that. They refused to talk about what they did, so I thought it was the logical answer. After all, he was an old, rich white guy. I snuck into their bar to try and get some way to free them, and saw the truth, the three were being drained for blood. It was then that He found me. Offered me a deal. Work for him, follow him, learn from him for eight years, and my family wouldn’t need to suffer through that anymore.” She took a pause to smoke.

“You agreed?” I asked.

She nods. “Yeah, and I learned a lot about this world from Him. Became terrified of many things because He introduced them to me far too soon. Helped Him figure out a lot about the world that I truly hope He doesn’t use to take control of everything. He even taught me some magic. Then, when my eight years of service was up, he made sure I had a high school degree and offered me a place moving forwards. I instead chose this path, to keep a balance to the world. So I know a bit about the Game. What is it you want to know?”

“Everything,” I answer honestly. Then shaking my head, I begin with the obvious question, the one sitting at the top of my head, the tip of my tongue. “Let’s start with the big one: who’s this He you keep talking about?”

She smiles blankly and nods. “A very good question.”

“And the answer?”

“Who is this She you mentioned you were worried about?” she asks, remembering my own words from before.

We stare at one another for a moment, neither budging. Finally, I relent. “Fair enough. The other obvious question is, which of these factions we learned about do you think our infiltrator was working for?”

She nods. “She was a member of the Mythic, no doubt. The weapons, the skilled words, the style, all lines up. But there’s no way the Mythic does that without working with someone else. Don’t have the manpower to risk a direct confrontation with us without either the Restraint backing the move, or enough other factions backing their play to hold the Restraint at bay.”

“So the play: our bosses are probably thinking of sending a harshly worded letter, then moving directly against them if provoked a second time. I’m not sure that’s the right move. That feels like it’d be galvanizing. Is there any way we might be able to turn the factions against this Mythic?”

Elodie laughs a full-throated laugh. “Oh, with ease. They all fucking hate each other.”