“Oh yeah, there’s something I wanna show you,” Aeshma said as she shifted in her tram seat. She reached to her hip and tugged something from a waistcloth pocket. “Check out the craftsmanship on this puppy!”

  She flipped the object around in her hand, and with a little flourish, presented me with what I could now see was a well-worn dagger. A few other passengers on the tram car, obviously not Monster fans, had been giving us concerned glances ever since we boarded. Now that Aeshma was brandishing a knife, they were openly staring at us and muttering amongst themselves.

  “Are weapons allowed on the tram?” I asked nervously, dropping my voice. “Maybe this should wait until we get to the inn...”

  “What? No dude, it’s fine!” Aeshma said, pointedly ignoring my hushed tones. “No one cares about TRAM rules anyway. It’s not like the conductor’s gonna come kick us off.” She emphasized every word with a wave of her hand, bringing the dagger perilously close to my face in the process – which, though terrifying, at least gave me the opportunity to take a look at the weapon up-close. Its blade was dull and plain, but the dagger’s pommel was curiously intricate: a round, silvery medallion etched with a swirling, spirographic pattern. It was the same type of pattern I had noticed on the face of my Flare Disk.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s magic,” Aeshma continued, punctuating her comment with a lively gesture which nearly sliced my nose off. She flipped the dagger around, caught it by the blade, and offered me the frayed leather grip. “Go on and take it. I can’t use the magic in it anyway, seeing as I’m a Succ… uh, not a Human.”

  I nodded and took the dagger from her, expecting to feel a surge of heat and power like I had when I first took hold of the Flare Disk. But – nothing. All I felt was the smooth texture of the leather under my hand.

  I held it up to get a better view of the strange marks on the pommel. “These, uh, swirly bits here. Are they magical?”

  “Yup, those are runes, no mistaking ‘em,” said Aeshma. She cocked her head at me quizzically. “You picking up any vibes from it? Anything at all? I’ve heard Humans say that they can feel the magic in an item.”

  I shook my head. “I noticed the Flare Disk felt hot, sort of, when I picked it up… but I’m not getting anything from this. It was in the starter kit, right? Did the shopkeeper leave a note, or a tag on it, or something?”

  Aeshma stared at me blankly. Her lips curled slowly into a smirk.

  “What are you… oh, no,” I whispered in horrified realization. “Aeshma, did you steal this?”

  “No, of course not! I found it. In the cellar. On a shelf.”

  “You did steal it!” I said – a little too loudly. One of the other passengers made eye contact with me and shook his head disapprovingly.

  “What’s your problem, anyway?” hissed Aeshma. “If you didn’t notice, the shopkeeper totally shorted us on loot. This helps makes things even.”

  I buried my face in my hands. I had barely started my life here, and I was already ferrying around stolen goods. For a Monster, no less. I’d be gaining levels in Criminal Scum in no time.

  And yet… the starter kit the shopkeeper had given us hardly seemed like an adequate reward. Didn’t we deserve a little extra compensation?

  Aeshma crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Well, what’s the move? You wanna put it back in the cellar?”

  “No. It’s fine,” I sighed. “So… how do we figure out what it does? Do we need to find a Wizard? Someone who can read the… what did you call them, the runes?”

  “I don’t have much of a plan. I figured that you’d be able to tell me what it does. Must be that it’s got some Class requirement or something that you don’t meet.” Aeshma frowned. “Hmph, I guess we’ll need to find a zard if we want to decode it. I’d bet my horns we’ll find one at the Mug.”

  “A zard? What–”

  SEEEEEH ~NEXT STOP~ GEEERAHT ~WAYSIDE~ RUHHHHHHH

  I jumped at the Phantasmal Announcer’s shrill interruption, but Aeshma was totally unfazed. “Yeah, a zard,” she repeated back at me. “A wiz-zard. It’s slang. Get with the times, Roland.”

  “Zard. Wizard. Got it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You know, we had slang in my world, too. Have you heard of memes?

  “I love memes. Maybe you know this one – it’s fresh off the Arcanonet.” Aeshma scrunched up her eyes and grabbed her horns. “A-BOOM-ba!” she roared, grinning at me expectantly.

  “I… I don’t get it.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell as she took her hands off her horns. “I probably should have expected that. Trust me though, that’s a good one. Really funny.” Based on the way the other passengers were rolling their eyes at Aeshma’s antics, I wasn’t sure that I believed her. But I wouldn’t be the one to burst her bubble.

  “Speaking of which – you didn’t get Reborn with your phone on you, did you?” she continued. “‘Cause we’re in luck if you did. Folks love seeing what’s new on your side of reality. We could sell it for a pretty penny.”

  I patted my front pocket to make sure – but it was empty, except for the broken Flare Disk. “Nope,” I said. “Wait – if I did have my phone, would I be able to, like, communicate with people back home? You said you’ve heard of memes – is there, like, internet here?”

  Aeshma laughed. “Of course not. You’d only be able to use a phone to take photographs, take notes, stuff like that. You need an Arcanography-box to commune with the Arcanonet.”

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  “Arcano–”

  HAAAAANN ~NOW ARRIVING~ GYYYAGAAAAH ~WAYSIDE~ NYRREAHH

  “-net?” I asked. This time I managed not to get startled by the screech. “So there’s a kind of internet here.”

  “Yeah, don’t get too excited. You only ever find A-boxes in big cities. And they’re not portable like the cell phones you’re used to. They’re big, like… I dunno, like half the size of the tram?” She shrugged and stood up to leave. “Arcanonet’s a waste of time, anyhow. I just read the memes when they get popular enough to make it to the newspaper.”

  –

  Aeshma had assured me that the Rusty Mug was only a ten minute walk from the platform, but even that felt like too long. After a hard day of adventuring, my stomach was growling like I hadn’t eaten in a week.

  We made our way through the colorfully-canopied streets, pushing through the roaming crowds of revelers of varying degrees of drunkenness. Soon enough the Rusty Mug came into view – a quaint-looking tavern, complete with a hanging sign in the shape of its namesake. Maybe it was just because of the festival, but the place was jam-packed with customers. Its outdoor seating even spilled over into the cobbled road, rows and rows of wooden benches all overflowing with patrons.

  Aeshma waltzed right past them, threw the front door open and mosied on through, bumping a horn on the door frame in the process.

  “I hit my head on that damn door every time,” she groaned as we made our way to the counter. “They really ought to make doors taller, you know?”

  “I guess the carpenter didn’t have your… particular demographic in mind.”

  Aeshma grunted disapprovingly and signaled to the barkeep, a bald, mustachioed man wearing a harried expression. The volume of customers today seemed to be pushing him to his limits. He was constantly moving, switching between wiping down the counter, cleaning used mugs, and stirring a line of sizzling skillets. It was hard to tell what was in them, but the smell was making my mouth water.

  He was so busy that he didn’t even notice Aeshma until she leaned over the counter and shouted, “Hey, Reggie! Make some space for me and my guest!”

  The barkeep stopped tending to the skillets long enough to give Aeshma a sidelong glance. “Wringin’ me for all I’m worth, huh Aeshma?” he grumbled. “We agreed on room and board, as I recall. Not taking seats from my proper payin’ customers.”

  “Just for that sass, I want your two most complicated dishes! Stat!

  “Ye’ll get stew like everyone else, and ye’ll like it,” Reggie growled back, already reaching under the counter to pull out a pair of wooden bowls.

  “I guess that’ll do,” Aeshma said with a grin. “And I’m not eating in my room again!”

  Reggie sighed. “Ye demanded room service last time, ye louse.”

  “I also want… two cocktails! With lemon… no, pomelo slices!”

  “Bring me one, and I’ll slice it up any which way ye please. Otherwise, it’ll be beers fer the both of ye.” He gestured to the row of spigots lining the bar. “Ye oughta know by now what we’ve got on draught.”

  BANG!

  The man seated closest to us slammed his mug down hard on the bar counter. “Why you lettin’ this Monster bitch shake you d-down like this, Reg?” the man slurred, scowling at Aeshma. “You gettin so lost in her sauce that you, you can’t stan’ up to her no more, is that it?”

  Aeshma bristled beside me, but Reggie spoke up first.

  “Easy, lad. I know ye’r havin’ a rough time of it, bu-”

  “I’m only having a rough time of it ‘cause her ilk–” the man said, messily sloshing his mug at Aeshma, “killed Cyril!”

  He staggered off his stool and tried to get in the much-taller Aeshma’s face. “You fuckers are -hic- all the s-same. Dunno why we let– why we let you jus’ prance around town like it’s completely normal–”

  “That’s enough, now,” Reggie said sternly. “I know ye’re a fine chap, but ye’re off your gourd. Best get goin’ now. Don’t make me ban ye for good.”

  “Oh, I’ll… I’ll leave! And the -hic- bitch is leaving with me, too,” he said, sticking a thumb towards Aeshma. “And we’ll see how t-tough– uh, how t-tough… um…”

  The man’s drunken rage seemed to sputter out mid-sentence. When I turned to Aeshma, I understood why. She was glaring at him with seething fury. She leaned forward, just slightly, and her seven feet of bulk loomed over the drunk man.

  Not for the first time, I saw Aeshma for the Monster she really was. Next to the drunk man, she looked inhuman, predatory.

  “What was your friend named again? Cyrus? Cyril?” Aeshma asked quietly. “You sure you want me to come outside with you?”

  The drunk man looked sheepishly towards the barkeep, hoping for support. Seeing none was forthcoming, he slid off his barstool and staggered to the door. “Screw this place. G-gonna be a Monster tavern before ya -hic- know it!” he shouted to the other patrons, he shouted lamely on his way out. Few of them paid him any mind, engrossed as they were in their own brews and conversations.

  Reggie sighed and dabbed shakily at his brow with a mostly-clean dishrag. “Damnit, Aeshma. Ye keep intimidating my customers, I’ll be outta business in a month.”

  “What? You heard him, Reg. He was totally out of line,” Aeshma fumed. “Besides, I reined it in this time, didn’t I? The idiot left in one piece, which is one piece more than he deserved. Or…I don’t know. Point is, I took it easy on him.”

  “Aye, suppose ye did,” Reggie conceded, as he pulled a crate of onions from beneath the bar. “Yer new companion here took it awful well. He didn’t spook at the prospect of a scuffle, anyway.”

  He turned to me, onion in hand. “So how’d Aeshma manage to scoop ye up, son? Ye don’t owe the lass anything, I hope?”

  “Oh, no sir. I mean, uh. I don’t think so?” I stammered out. The question had caught me off-guard. Did I owe Aeshma anything? She had tried, but mostly failed, to save me from a mugging. Then she took my hard-earned level, which I figured put us back on even footing. But then she saved me from the explosion in the cellar. So...

  “Nah Reg, we’re even-steven,” Aeshma said as she dropped herself into the drunkard’s now-vacant seat. “Roland and I are just partied up together, that’s all. Mutually beneficial arrangement, you know? Now how long are we looking on that mushroom soup?”

  Reggie pulled a clean wooden spoon out of his apron pocket and sampled one of the skillets. “Five minutes, give or take. I’ll grab another seat for yer friend, too,” he said before disappearing through a curtain behind the bar.

  I waited to make sure Reggie was out of earshot. “No offense, Aeshma,” I said quietly, “but I thought you kind of sucked at Succubus magic. So what was that back there? How’d you get that guy to leave?”

  “Oh, that was nothing, really. Just a little intimidation Perk is all,” Aeshma replied, trying to sound modest. “Totally keyed off my Strength stat, zero magic involved.”

  “Aha!” a tinny voice piped up from beside us. Its owner, a small, middle-aged woman with long grey hair, spun around in her stool to face us. Her feet barely reached the floor. “I was wondering why I didn’t detect your spellcast! Seeing as you’re a Succubus, I was certain you were using a Charm or Seduction spell, but of course – there was no spell for me to detect! Just a plain ol’ bog-standard intimidation maneuver! Gosh, never would’ve expected it from a Succubus – but I’ll be damned if it didn’t work!”

  “But where are my manners?” the woman continued, barely pausing to take a breath. “Charlotte Squigmire, Arcanist. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”