Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You sort of zone out after “We regret to inform you that, due a number of cuts to our budget, we have to let you go.”

The rest probably isn’t that important, anyways. Blah blah blah, thank you for your *checks computer* six months of service at Valdivian, you’ll receive your final paycheck via mail, oh and don’t mind these security drones, they’re just going to hover near you on your way your desk so that you can pack up your belongings and escort you out to your car.

The thing that has you snapping back into focus is a simple phrase, mindlessly uttered amongst the rest of a sea of platitudes.

“—afraid you’re just not a good fit for this company,” the HR manager continues droning, as though her words have not sent a shock through your system. “So we think it’s best that we part ways—“

A cold feeling washes over you, quickly followed by red hot anger. 

“Not a good fit?” you repeat, part incredulous, part outraged. 

The HR manager blinks momentarily taken aback, like she has never had anyone interrupt her script before. She likely hasn’t.

“Ah—” She stumbles over her words, unprepared in the face of your righteous indignant expression. “Well, you know. We have a very close-knit, hard-working culture here at Valdivian. We’re one big happy family here— a big happy family that needs to keep the gears moving! And so if there are any kinks in the gears, we, ah…” She loses the steam she had built up for herself, faltering when the analogy seems to fall apart.

“Right…” you say, in disbelief. The fury doesn’t quite leave you, but it does simmer behind numb shock. 

“Right,” the HR manager parrots you, more brightly this time. She steeples her fingers together and offers you a too-cheery smile for the occasion. “Well, I wish you luck, um—”

Her eyes dart to the screen to try desperately to search for your name, but you don’t give her a chance. You rise to your feet, turn on your heels, and storm out of the HR office with as much dignity as you can manage. Which, if you’re being entirely honest, isn’t a whole lot

You don’t even have time to say goodbye. Instead, you feel the burning gazes of your co-workers on you as you stride down the aisle between cubicles, trying your best to keep your chin up. There’s a sad wave from the goblin custodian who always smiled at you when he happened to walk by. The absolute worst part is when you hand in your badge to the security golem in the lobby, who stares at you with onyx black eyes, soulless and yet clearly pitying. 

Your drive home is done in absolute, dead silence. No radio, no NPR podcast, nothing. By the time you come out of your daze, you’re pulling into your landlord-assigned parking spot with a half-dead cactus, a cat calendar, and a few college photos stacked in a box on your passenger seat. You have half a mind to slam your forehead into your steering wheel, but your shitty car is so old you’re afraid it might be the horn’s last hurrah. 

You can’t even muster tears, even though you should be crying. It had been such a difficult hiring process, and an even worse time trying to stay afloat once you had the job. And worse, Sam had stuck her neck out to get you this job. 

Oh god, you hadn’t even checked in with Sam yet; you had no idea if she had survived this round of layoffs.

You put the car into park, and grab your phone. It’s about three models out of date and has a massive crack down the middle that you swore you were going to get fixed once you had the money. That, clearly, had just been moved to the back burner again.

Sam

Please don’t tell me…

You’re not one of the affected, are you?

You rub your face tiredly. Still, tears do not come. 

Sam

Please don’t tell me…

You’re not one of the affected, are you?

Is that what they’re calling “escorted off the premises” nowadays?

Oh god. That’s awful.

Are you okay? How are you feeling?

Honestly? I think I’m in shock. I should be miserable.

But I can’t feel anything but relief right now.

Oh, that’s… good? I guess?

Better than weeping. 

I’ll probably cry later when my lights shut off and I can’t pay rent.

But for now…

I’m sorry for getting you this job only for them to fire you almost immediately.

It’s not your fault, Sam. You did your best.

I just got home. I think I’m going to drink an entire bottle of wine by myself and cancel my Valdiviflix subscription before it renews.

Good luck. Let me know if you need anything!

You click your phone shut, and sigh, rubbing your temples. Then, you finally open your car door and climb out with the last contents of your brief stint at Valdivian. You trudge the six flights up to your apartment because the elevator has been broken since you moved in almost half a year ago now. You flick on the lights to your apartment, lock the door behind you, and drop the box onto the ground before flopping face-first onto the couch. Then, you let out a ear-piercing scream into the cushion that doesn’t really muffle anything. There’s a loud pounding from the wall next to you— your neighbors complaining about the noise, like they don’t have wildly loud sex every night. 

You finally roll over to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling. It’s odd to be home in the middle of the work day. Millions of other people right now are at work, making money, moving forward in their careers. And you’re… here.

And yet, no tears. Despite the fact that your last pay check isn’t going to cover the rent that’s due next week. Despite the fact that this is the third job since graduating that you’ve lost, and you’re still at the entry level position in your industry. Despite the fact that you’re not sure what to do next…

There’s only pure, unadulterated relief.

God, how fucked up is that? After all of your efforts and hard work, you were relieved that it was over? It felt cowardly in a way, but that doesn’t change the fact that you feel freer than you’ve felt in years.

Not a good fit.

You’re not even sure why this is what sticks in your mind, but it does. Sure, maybe you weren’t the most social. Or particularly friendly. Or even mildly outgoing. Nor could you even remotely relate to most of your coworkers… but you had been great at your job. In fact, your manager Tom had always had positive feedback to give you alongside a friendly punch to the shoulder while calling you “champ” or “slugger” or some variation of a pet name one would give their pre-teen step-son. Plus, your customer reviews have always been one of the highest on your team and you have never had any serious complaints leveled against you.

So what if you weren’t interested in small talk by the water cooler or taking lunch with everybody? You had a job to do and you did it well. You didn’t get a degree in customer service to spend all your free time with a bunch of nosy, stuck-up corporate ladder climbers. How could that mean you didn’t fit?

Okay, yeah, you’re hearing it now.

But that doesn’t change the fact that you had been a great employee. You’ve seen everyone else’s customer reviews— it didn’t even look like anyone else liked talking to people. You, on the other hand, had chosen customer service because you actually enjoyed working with customers.

You pause suddenly when it occurs to you that this might not even be true anymore. How much had you dreaded going into work every single morning? How much had your eyes ached after hours of staring at the screen? How much had your blood pressure risen while trying to balance customer satisfaction with adhering to the company’s, strict policies and their ever increasing quarterly quotas. 

Now that you are thinking about it, everything you had once enjoyed about the career you had chosen now felt only draining in the way that only soul-sucking jobs could. In fact you couldn’t even remember why you chose customer service in the first place.

Not a good fit, HR had said. Perhaps that had been the only true thing that had been said to you today.

You sit up straight. You can’t keep ruminating like this; at least not without alcohol. Instead, you stand up and make a beeline for your kitchen, only to find your bar cart completely empty of anything alcoholic at all.

A groan of annoyance escapes you— you had completely forgotten to restock. You’d been hemorrhaging your alcohol the last few months while working at Valdivian, because even though you were being paid, it had still been shit pay. The last bottle you had was some tequila that Sam had given you for your birthday, but that had been a few months ago. Now, it looked like you were dry. 

Fine, you decide, grabbing your keys once again. This was fine. This was all going to be fine.

You let the door slam behind you on the way back out of your apartment, and hope viciously that your annoying neighbors heard it. You don’t even know where you’re going, instead letting your feet take you back down the stairs and across the street, until you’re walking down the main road of the city. 

When you had first moved to this city, less than a year ago, you had been starry-eyed and awed. Having grown up in a small town, you hadn’t quite seen the magical wonders and mystical splendors that were— while perhaps not common, exactly, certainly a more frequent sight: a group of school children kicking around a soccer ball in the park, including one particular child with horns and hooves, a troll hefting himself out of a sewer grater wearing a bright, neon orange safety vest, and an apothecary down the street that sold Tylenol and toothpaste as well as witchy herbs and teas. 

Today, the rose tinted glasses have been lifted. 

It’s oddly quiet, or maybe that’s just because you’re not used to seeing it in the middle of the work day. There are packs of baby-faced teenagers still wearing school uniforms and backpacks, a few stay-at-home moms with their babies in strollers, and a handful of retired people enjoying their free time. Worse, are the work from home employees who fill up the outdoor cafe. You can hear the centaur loudly talking on his Zoom meeting about cryptocurrency while sipping his matcha latte before you see him. 

Despite the fact that everyone appears to be minding their own business, you can’t help but feel like they’re all staring at you, like they all somehow know that you just got fired. Even though it’s ridiculous, you feel your face is burning with shame. 

There’s a dive bar around here, you vaguely recall. You’ve never been, but you do remember seeing a neon sign for it when you first moved into town. Sam had pointed it out on her last visit, but you didn’t get out much these days. You had been pulling unpaid overtime at Valdivian to try to prove yourself— for all the good that did you— and hadn’t had the time or energy the last few months to do anything but crash in your bed after a microwaveable frozen dinner. 

The neon sign is off, but you recognize the words hanging in front of tinted windows.

The Breaker Box

You squint, but can’t see much going on inside on account of the sunny day and darkened interior. What you can see, however, is the sign plastered in front of the window in big, bold font.

GRAND REOPENING: NOW HIRING HUMAN BARTENDER

INQUIRE INSIDE

It’s ridiculous, you think. It should be ridiculous. You haven’t bartended since college, and though you had enjoyed it, you have a degree in customer service now. You should be thinking about your career, right?

But a job is a job, and beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers. Besides, the thought of answering another phone with an overly-peppy, “Valdivian Customer Service Representative #6728390 here how can I help you?” makes you want to throw up. You had liked bartending, liked talking to regulars, chatting with students, flirting with customers to try to get a bigger tip. You blink, and suddenly recall that bartending had been the very thing that had gotten you to get your degree in customer service in the first place. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed: a reminder of what actually liked about your chosen career.

Besides, rent was due soon, and it isn’t like you have anything left to lose.

You reach for the door. The knob is unlocked, however, so you push open the door to the inside of the club. 

As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that it isn’t exactly a dive bar. Or at least, it doesn’t look like any dive bar you been to in the past. The room is devoid of any customers, which makes sense since it’s not even three in the afternoon. It’s surprisingly clean, too, with chairs stacked on tables and a squeaky-clean looking bar set-up. The decor makes you think of speakeasies, with red-velvet seats and booths that surround a stage. It certainly looks like they’re preparing for a grand re-opening, on account of the streamers and party balloons that are haphazardly strewn across a few tables and a corner of the floor. 

The room is dimly lit, but there are oddly shaped, dark patterns that litter the wall. They are spatters, like those ink paintings that therapists use. No, you correct yourself, squinting  to try to puzzle out the odd decoration choice, and reach out to touch the wall—

A hand closes around your wrist and spins you around. You stare up to see dark eyes and a scowl. 

“We’re closed, human,” he growls, grip tightening around your wrist. It’s not tight enough to hurt, but you know you wouldn’t be able to break his grip easily. “Who are you? What do you want?”

You pull your arm helplessly. As expected, the man does not let you go. “I’m—” you stammer, heart pounding in your chest from the fright. How had the man snuck up on you so silently? You hadn’t even heard him approach. You take a deep breath, calming yourself. “I— sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed.”

“The neon closed sign didn’t give you any hints?” the man asked, scathingly.

You narrow your eyes at him. This time, when you tug your arm back more forcefully, he lets you go, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

“Well,” you say, a harsh edge lining your tone now, “I came by to ask about the sign in your window, but I guess I have my answer. I’ll just go then—”

“Eddie!”

The second voice startles you, but the scowling man doesn’t even flinch. You turn to see someone else approaching you. He looks like the scowling man’s complete opposite: wide, friendly smile and open body language. His face is bright and beautiful, framed by long, wavy white hair.

“You must be talking about the bartender position,” the man says, warmly. “I’m Volt, one of the owners of the Breaker Box. Please excuse Eddie, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

You straighten a little at his introduction and hold your hand out to greet him. You’re expecting a handshake, which is the only reason you get flustered when his instead turns your hand over, lifts is, and brushes his lips against your knuckles. From anyone else, it might have been off-putting, but Volt moves with such self-assured grace that it looks perfectly natural. He glances up at you from underneath white lashes and his lip curls into a smile when he sees your undoubtedly red face.

“Welcome to our establishment,” Volt says, a purr reaching your ears. 

You stare stupidly at him for a beat too long before you jolt back to your body. “I— um, hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

Volt straightens, letting go of your hand and instead turning to the other man, Eddie, who has now gone from glaring at you suspiciously to outright rolling his eyes. 

“Eddie, remember I put that sign up there?” Volt says, pointedly. “We need another bartender to help Bev.”

Eddie’s arms are still crossed over his chest, but he dips head head slightly in acknowledgement of Volt’s words. He takes a step back, though his piercing stare doesn’t leave you immediately. You take a moment to stare at him right back, taking in his appearance. His shaggy black hair is a mess, like he really did just roll out of bed. He has a square jaw and what one might call a handsome face, if it wasn’t attached to a man who moved like a shadow, grabbed unsuspecting strangers, and snapped at people trying to apply for a job. 

“Whatever,” Eddie finally says, mouth flattening into an unhappy line. “You’re in charge of hiring.”

With that warm welcome, Eddie disappears behind the door next to the bar.

Volt sighs, refocusing his gaze on you. “My apologies for my partner. He’s co-owner, but is decidedly less interested in the people element of the business.”

You bite back a snarky response, because no matter how stupid or rude a Valdivian customer had been to you, you had never acted anything like Eddie just had. Instead, you give a stiff nod. “It’s no trouble. I saw the sign in front of your bar and I thought— well, I did some bartending back in college. And I’m decidedly, blandly human.”

Volt brightens at that. “Wonderful! Why don’t we take a seat, and we can talk?”

You follow Volt to the bar. He gallantly pulls out the chair for you before heading behind the bar.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, already scooping two cups full of ice.

“Just a water, please.”

He fills both cups with a spray nozzle and sets them down on two coasters. While he does so, you take the time to look around the bar, admiring its speakeasy-like aesthetic.

“Is this your first time here?” Volt asks, circling the bar back to your side. “I would remember a face as lovely as yours.”

You sputter in surprise as Volt takes the seat beside you, body angled slightly in your direction. “I— I mean, it is,” you stammer. “I only moved to this city about half a year ago.”

“Ah.” A look of understanding passes across Volt’s face as he nods. “We’ve been closed for renovations for a few months.”

“Hence the grand reopening,” you say, glancing back at the lump of decorations sadly piled up in the corner. “What kind of renovations did you have done?”

Volt’s lips purse, as though you’ve touched a nerve. “Mostly just repairs. An electrical fire broke out a while ago, so we needed to replace all of the building’s wiring and get it all back up to code.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s terrible— I hope everyone was okay.”

The notch between Volt’s brows relaxes. “You’re a sweet one, but there’s no need to worry yourself now,” he assures you.

Your face feels as hot. If this is what the interview is like, you’re not sure you would actually survive actually working under him— With him. 

Oh dear god.

“So tell me all about yourself,” Volt says, jolting you out of your mental spiral. He leans forward with an earnest smile.

To think you’re getting more attention from this job interview than your last three dates from the dating apps. You choose to not evaluate just how sad that sounds.

You start by introducing yourself, briefly explaining your experience bartending at a college bar to put yourself through school.

“What did you like about it?” Volt asks, sounding genuinely interested. Talking to him feels more like a conversation than an interview, like he has some kind of preternatural ability to put you at ease.

“I mean, making drinks is fun, of course,” you joke lightly. “But what I really liked about it was getting to talk to people. People having their best days, their worst days, and everything in between.”

Volt’s eyes shine at that response. “Have you bartended since?”

You wince, and reluctantly shake your head. “No, actually. I got a degree in customer service, but it was… well, it wasn’t really everything that I thought it would be.” You hesitate. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t mention this to any stranger, much less to someone you were trying to beg a job off from, but your mouth seems to move of its own accord. “I actually was laid off today. A few hours ago. Budget cuts, apparently.”

Volt clicks his tongue and makes the appropriate sympathetic noises. “That had to be hard. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Not a good fit, a voice whispers in your ear. You choose to ignore it.

“I’m… coping. One door closes and another one opens, as they say.”

His smile is almost blinding. “Well, that’s encouraging to hear. I think that’s all the questions that I had, but before I make my final decision, I’d like to ask you to make a drink first. Just to make sure you can hold your own behind the bar.”

“Of course,” you agree readily, sliding off the stool to circle around behind the bar. “What did you have in mind?”

Volt taps his chin thoughtfully. “Hm… surprise me.”

You grin at that. “You got it.”

Your eyes scan the contents of the bar, a plan formulating in your mind. “What’s your preference? Sweet, sour, fruity, refreshing?”

Volt hums at that, pausing for a moment to consider his answer. “Spicy,” he finally settles on, his eyes dancing with amusement.

You clap your hands together in excitement, and get right to work. They didn’t have everything that you needed for what you had in mind, but you could make it work. You quickly start mixing tequila, lime juice, and grapefruit soda to mix a quick paloma. Then, you crush a hot pepper and add it to the mix, pouring out the drink into a glass filled with ice. You garnish it with some sprigs of mint and a slice of lime before presenting it to Volt with a proud smile. He’s been watching you with an intensity you aren’t used to, and it makes your stomach swoop when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you this entire time.

“A spicy paloma,” you say, as Volt inspects the drink with interest. “You’re supposed to infuse hot peppers into aperol, but it takes some time to just sit. This should do in a quick pinch.”

Volt takes a sip, and his eyes go wide with delight. “That’s amazing,” he compliments, sounding genuinely impressed. “Did you come up with that?”

You try not to preen, but you can’t help but stand a little taller. “Well, I’m sure someone has come up with it in the entire history of mixology, but it was one of my specialties, and it made the seasonal menu at the bar I used to work with. It was a hit.”

“I can imagine.” Volt smiles, taking another sip with a happy sort of hum. “Well, I’d be remiss to not give you the job.”

Your eyes widen, and your heart leaps in your chest. You hadn’t realized until now just how much you had been hoping for this, even more than you had when you had been interviewing at Valdivian, which had taken no less than five rounds of interviews.

“Really? Just like that?”

Volt nods, but before you can celebrate, he holds a hand up. An uncharacteristically serious expression crosses his face. “Before you accept, I should tell you that our club isn’t exactly…” He pauses, recollects himself, and changes course slightly. “Well, we cater to a very specific demographic.”

You blink. Your first thought is, Oh god, did I just walk into a mob front? But no, that didn’t make much sense. Why would they even bother interviewing you if this was a money laundering scheme? 

But then you think of the sign on the window. The way it has specified human bartender. You hadn’t thought much of it— plenty of businesses wanted humans for customer-facing roles. It was a discriminatory practice, you thought, but technically magical beings weren’t listed as a protected class for employment.

You think of the word “human” snarled from Eddie’s lip, spat out like an insult. Like he isn’t. 

The answer comes to you quickly enough.

“This is a magic club,” you realize, and after you speak it aloud, you know that it must be true. 

Volt’s lips purse. You can see his hands are twitching, even as he’s making a conscious effort of sitting as still as possible. He’s nervous, for the first time in your interview, and you don’t blame him. Strictly speaking, magical clubs aren’t illegal the way they were only a few decades ago. In fact, practicing magic and the existence of magical beings in human society was decriminalized years ago— but you knew that wasn’t enough to simply erase long-held stigmas like that. Your job at Valdivian had been proof enough of that— nearly everyone in the company had been human, with the exception of some of the custodians, the cafeteria workers, and the security contractors.

You look at Volt with a more critical eye. You’re surprised at the admission, but you really shouldn’t be, you realize. Volt just looks too… perfect, to be human, really. He had an otherworldly sort of beauty, with shining, perfectly white hair and eyes that you realize don’t just look like they’re glowing, but are glowing, like a cat’s at night. It should have been obvious, in hindsight. Though, you’re not sure exactly what kind of magical being Volt is, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“I understand,” you say, offering him a reassuring smile. “It won’t be a problem, promise.”

Volt’s eyes widen, like you’ve taken him by surprise this time. 

“Really?” He sounds relieved, and a little disbelieving, echoing your same words and tone from earlier. “Just like that?”

There is something about working with and around magical beings that does make you hesitate, but it’s not for the same reasons most people had. The way Eddie had called you “human” it was a curse word. The way you had felt everyday walking into your cubicle at Valdivian, like you were an outsider and everyone was just waiting doe you to mess up and get fired. The way all of your friends from school have found their dreams jobs and built careers that they loved and could take pride in. 

You didn’t want to feel like the odd one out yet again.

But what did that matter in the grand scope of paying versus not paying your rent?

“Just like that,” you say, firmly. “Don’t really need to know anything that doesn’t have to do with me, right? Nothing that you’re not comfortable with telling me, anyways.”

The smile on Volt’s face softens, becomes a little more real, you realize. It is clear he is relieved, and a bit of that mask he is wearing cracks ever so slightly.

“Right.” Volt clears his throat. “I’ll let everyone else on the team tell you or not as they’d prefer, then.”

You nod encouragingly, before the implication behind his words sink in. “Wait, does that mean…?”

“Yes,” Volt bobs his head, smiling widely. “We’d love to have you join the Breaker Box.”

A squeal of excitement escapes you before you can think better of it. You rush forward, clasping Volt’s hand in yours with a little squeeze. “Thank you so much! When do I begin?”

Volt’s hands are warm in yours. He does not pull away, leveling you with a clearly pleased expression. “Why don’t I show you around and introduce you to the rest of the staff now, and you can begin tomorrow?”

You nod in agreement eagerly, and follow Volt as he heads you to the back room that Eddie had disappeared behind. It’s a little cramped as Volt leads you through the hallway, pointing out each room and door as you pass by.

“This is the storage room,” he explains, “we keep most of our inventory back here. That way’s the dressing rooms, it goes behind the stage.”

“Dressing rooms?” you repeat, puzzled. “Do you have performances?”

Volt grins. “We have a lot of live performances, and Thursdays is our weekly spotlight night. Think of it as a talent show— anyone can sign up and show off their act.”

“Sounds fun.”

Volt continues, pointing out the door that leads to the apartment upstairs. It was the only one that was technically barred against entrance to you, since it led directly to his and Eddie’s apartment. 

“This is my office,” he says, patting a door with his name on it. “This is Eddie’s, though he hardly ever uses it. It’s more of a maintenance room.”

“What does Eddie do?” you ask, curiously. “Other than sneak around darkened club floors.”

Volt laughs at that. “He’s our maintenance man, practically built this club ground up.” Volt’s voice is utterly fond and filled with pride. “Anything and everything that goes wrong he fixes.”

The two of your round a corner and find yourself in a small room with a tiny fridge, a table, and a microwave. Sitting at the table is a young woman with bright orange hair and blue eyes. She looks up from her phone when you enter, curiously.

“This is our break room,” Volt explains, “and this is our other bartender, Beverly.”

The woman jumps to her feet, excited and nervous smile playing on her face. “Just Bev,” she says, taking your hand eagerly. “Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too,” you return her friendliness with a smile of your own. “I’m excited to start.”

“Have you seen Dorian?” Volt asks the excitable woman. “I was hoping to introduce him.”

“I think I saw him go out back for a smoke,” Bev says, jutting her chin out in the direction of the door.

Volt nods, gesturing for you to follow. You give Bev another friendly wave before following Volt back out the break room and to the final door. He pushes it open to reveal a small parking lot with only a handful of cars and several large dumpsters, likely from the other businesses that that share the lot.

A brown-haired man is standing near the exit, smoking a cigarette. He had broad shoulders and stands even taller than Volt does. He’s not exactly built like body-builders, but he looks sturdy enough to take down anyone who got too rowdy after a few drinks. His suit is formal, but his sleeves are rolled up to reveal several tattoos. 

He straightens a bit when he sees Volt and nods politely before turning his curious gaze on you.

“Dorian, this is our newest member of the staff,” Volt says, gesturing to you. 

Dorian nods in understanding. “Nice to meet you.”

“Dorian is our doorman,” Volt explains. A smile tugs at his lips, and he adds, like it’s an inside joke, “He takes his job very seriously.”

Dorian takes another drag of his cigarette, then replies in an even tone, “Just doing my job.”

Volt rolls his eyes and shoots you an amused look. You’ll see, Volt mouths at you, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“We’ll leave you to the rest of your smoke break,” Volt says, clapping Dorian on the shoulder. 

Dorian grunts in acknowledgement, then nods at you politely. “I look forward to working with you,” he says, stiff and formal. 

“Likewise,” you return, with a warm smile. 

You follow Volt back inside. On your way back to the bar, you run into Eddie, who frowns at you, disgruntled.

“Oh.” Eddie’s nose wrinkles and his eyebrows crease. “you’re still here.”

You bite your tongue, because you just got this job, and you really don’t think you can handle being fired twice in one day. Fortunately, Volt steps in for you.

“Eddie,” he chides, “be nice. They pass their interview with flying colors, and can make a pretty good drink on top of it.”

Eddie just grunts. “Yeah okay, whatever.” He gives you a side eye, then brushes past you to keep going wherever he needs to go.

“Don’t mind him,” Volt repeats, continuing to lead you back to the front room. “It’s nothing personal.”

You grimace, but nod reluctantly. It’s not like you’ll be seeing much of Eddie, anyways. He doesn’t strike you as the kind of guy who goes out of his way to interact with his co-workers. 

“Thank you again,” you say, changing the subject. “I’m excited to begin.”

Volt breaks out into another one of his million-watt smiles. “I should be the one thanking you. You’ve made our long hiring process worth it. Come by again tomorrow at three o’clock, and Beverly can show you how she does openings.”

“Sure thing,” you agree, beaming. “I’ll see you then.”

Volt shakes your hand one last time. When you finally have to pull back, your skin is tingling from where he’s touched you.

“See you then.”

Chapter Text

You wake up the next morning to your phone buzzing insistently. Groggily, you snatch it from where it’s charging on the bedside table and squint when the screen’s light nearly blinds you. After a moment, your eyes adjust enough for you to read the messages.

Sam

How’s it going?

Sam

Have you started your job hunt yet?

Yawning, you swipe to unlock your phone and pull up your messages.

Sam

Actually…

I have, technically. But the hunt is over now.

Sam responds almost immediately.

Sam

OMG NO WAY!

That’s great news!

How? Where? I need details!

Is it in customer service?

In a sense, it is.

There’s this bar only a few blocks away from my place. They were hiring a new bartender, and well…

It’s not like I’ve got many other offers at the moment.

That’s amazing!

I’m so proud of you :D

You did always love working at the Shandygaff at school. 

So when do you start?

Tonight, actually. I met some of the staff already. Most of the team seems pretty nice.

Most?

Ugh, don’t even get me started.

One of the co-owners is a piece of work.

But luckily he wasn’t in charge of hiring.

Well, it’s about time you caught a break.

Ugh, my boss is calling me. I’ve got to go.

Good luck on your first day if I don’t get a chance to text you later!

You need to fill me in on all the details later.

Will do!

You smile as you close out of your otherwise barren messages. Sam has always been the optimist in your decades long friendship, but it feels a little like her enthusiasm has traveled through the phone and was filling you with a giddy excitement. You are a little startled to realize that you are actually looking forward to starting at the Breaker Box, and a little more embarrassed to realize just how much you had dreaded going into work at Valdivian. 

You wake up a little later than you used to, so it is already mid-morning by the time you roll out of bed. You fix yourself a quick breakfast and decide to ride out this feeling of excess energy to finish some chores that you’ve been meaning to do but have been putting off. Cleaning, doing the dishes, and even the ever-dreaded laundry are all done by the time you need to start getting ready to leave.

It’s then that you realize that Volt hadn’t given you a dress code, and you also didn’t have his number to check in and ask. Almost certainly the too-tight t-shirts and booty shorts of your college bar days, which you were pretty sure were either stuffed in the back of your dressers or sacrificed to the Goodwill bins, would not suffice. You try to picture what Bev had been wearing yesterday during your brief interaction with her, though most of it had been obscured by her apron and your terrible memory.

In the end, you pick out what you hope is a professional-looking white button-down and black pants. You grab your bag and head out the door, taking the steps two at a time in your excitement. The walk to the bar is short and the streets are about as populated as the other day. It feels different, somehow, despite the fact that there are still teenagers out of school, stay at home moms, and retirees. It’s different because you’re going to work, and that work doesn’t include you being stuffed into your tiny, cramped cubicle surrounded by about a hundred other miserable co-workers who equally hated this job but would still tear you down to make a meaningless promotion.

The front door is unlocked again, so you enter immediately. The interior looks just the same as the other day, the only difference being the presence of Bev at the bar. When you enter, she looks up, her face blooming into a bright smile.

“Hey, you!” Bev chirps, wiping her hands off her apron as she rounds the bar to greet you. “You’re right on time.”

“Right on time for what?” you ask, following Bev to the bar.

She gestures for you to sit, then pulls out the mixer from behind the bar to pour it into two glasses filled with ice. “Right on time to try my newest concoction.”

You cock a brow. “Are we allowed to drink on the job?”

Bev shoots you a mischievous grin. “We are if no one sees.” You both laugh, and Bev adds, “But for real, tasting is a part of our job! Volt encourages trying out new recipes and is always willing to taste-test. And Eddie drinks all the time and no one cares.”

That probably violates some kind of OSHA laws, you decide, but whatever. 

“Good enough for me,” you say with a shrug, accepting the drink and lifting it up to clink with Bev’s. 

You drink the blue concoction and almost choke at the sensation. Bev makes the same face as you.

“Too much tequila,” you wheeze, hacking a little as you swallow.

“A bit,” she agrees, with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to come up with a signature drink for the Breaker Box in time for our grand re-opening in a few days, but it’s like my creative juices have been tapped out.”

“It’s a good drink,” you offer, tapping your glass, “but it doesn’t really say Breaker Box, does it?”

Bev hummed in agreement, looking rather thoughtful. “Yeah. Anyways, thanks for being my taste tester. Honestly, when Volt asked me to train you, I had no idea where to even begin. I’ve never trained anyone before.”

“Oh yeah, when did you start?” you ask.

“About a year ago, right before the— um, renovations.” Bev clears her throat awkwardly. “Anyways, I’ve never trained anyone new and I’ve only had a few months of experience myself, and that was under the training of the last bartender—” She stops short, falling silent. Her eyes flicker across the empty room nervously.

“Last bartender?” you parrot.

Bev winces, and lowers her voice. “Things ended a little messily there. I wouldn’t bring it up, especially to—”

“Spreading rumors are we, Beverly?”

You both jump, spinning around guiltily like you’ve been caught with your hands in the cookie jar. Dorian is standing, as sturdy and stiff-backed as the other day, with a raised brow. 

“Not rumors,” Bev says defensively. “Just… warning.”

Dorian makes a noise like he’s unimpressed before turning on you with a piercing stare. You feel rooted to the spot— the man was much taller than you, built like a brick-wall, and unfairly attractive.

“You seem like the good sort,” Dorian says, finally. “Don’t let this one drag you into mischief. Or those other two miscreants.”

He sounds very serious when he says it, but Bev laughs like Dorian’s made a very funny joke. 

Without any further adieu, Dorian turns and heads out of the main door, taking his post outside.

“We’re not even open today,” Bev tells you, exasperated. “And he insists on coming by and standing watch.”

“Volt did say he takes his job seriously,” you offer, with an amused smile.

“That’s the most friendly I’ve ever seen Dorian greet a stranger,” Bev adds thoughtfully, giving you a little wink. “Maybe you’ll crack open our bouncer.”

You feel a little flustered, waving off Bev’s comment. “Anyways, what were you saying about training?”

Bev brightens. “Right. Since we don’t open until this Friday, we’re spending the next couple days getting ready for our grand re-opening. Which is perfect, it’ll give us time to go over some drinks, plus finalize our menu. How familiar are you with making the most common drinks?”

You consider the question seriously. “I could use a refresher, doesn’t hurt,” you admit. 

Bev grins, like she had been hoping you would say this. “Excellent.”

You spend the rest of the day mixing drinks with Bev and taste testing her experiments. She was getting “closer and closer, I can feel it.”

It’s toward the end of the night, when you finish cleaning the last glass you had used to practice making an espresso martini, that you turn around and find Bev holding her drink up to the light and murmuring softly under her breath. You freeze in your tracks as the quiet incantations of what you recognize as Latin floats up to your ears. Then, the purple liquid inside of the glass begins to glow.

You nearly drop the glass you’re holding, mouth falling open in shock at the sight. You must make some sound of surprise because Bev whirls around to see you. She actually does drop her drink, and it crashes and shatters on top of the counter, spilling the purple contents everywhere.

“Oh shit,” Bev says, eyes wide like she’s just been caught doing something illicit. “Um—”

“That was magic,” you say, gaping like a goldfish. “Holy shit, that was—”

“Wait—” Bev starts, holding her hands up like she’s trying to placate a bucking horse.

“—amazing!” you finish, peering over at the spilled mess of a drink. The liquid is no longer glowing, to your disappointment. “Could you do that this entire time?”

Bev is staring at you wide-eyed. “I— um…”

You flush. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Here, let me help you.”

Grabbing the dust pan from under the counter, you quickly start to gather the bits of glass shards. Bev seems to snap out of her shocked daze, reaching for some dishtowels to wipe up the sopping mess.

While you’re cleaning, Bev speaks up, her voice a little more hesitant and reserved than it was before. “Yeah. It’s… just a trick I’ve picked up.”

“That was some trick,” you say admiringly. “What were you trying to do?”

Bev chews her bottom lip. “Well, we’re the Breaker Box, right? I thought, well to me that means power and electricity. And I thought if I could make our drinks glow—”

“Oh!” You nod eagerly, immediately understanding. “That could be our signature drink.”

“Exactly.” Bev seems relieved. “But I’ve never really… mixed drinks and magic before.”

“Seems like you got it,” you muse, “before I startled you, at least.”

A smile flickers across her face. “Almost. I got the spell down, I think, it’s something I’ve been working on for a while. But there’s still something missing.”

“Why don’t you try again?” you encourage. “So I can try it this time.”

Bev nearly stumbles on her feet. “You want to try it?”

“Well sure,” you say, shrugging, “of course. Why not?”

Bev stares at you, almost bug-eyed, before she snaps out of it. An excited, almost manic gleam enters her eyes, and you suddenly wonder just how much of herself that Bev has been hiding from you all day. 

She whips up the same drink again, each movement smooth and fluid like she’s done this a thousand times before. That same drink is held up, and her incantation is repeated. When the liquid begins to glow, she holds it out to you, proudly.

When you only stare at it in stunned silence, Bev hesitates, retracting her arm slightly. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she adds, cautiously. “A lot of humans don’t want to drink witch’s brews—”

You take the drink, cutting Bev off. “Did you spit in it?” you ask, cocking a brow.

“What? Of course not.” She looks baffled.

“Then good enough for me,” you say, and take a sip of the glowing, purple liquid. 

It’s sweet, and you immediately pin down the use of elderflower liquor and the notes of gin. You’re not immediately sure what the spell that Bev has done was for outside of purely cosmetic purposes, until you swallow your first sip and the effect becomes immediately apparent. The back of your tongue tingles and crackles, reminding you of the time Sam dared you to eat an entire bag of pop rocks and then chug a soda.

“Whoa!” you laugh at the tickling sensation. “That’s incredible!”

Bev brightens. “Really? You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” you agree. “But you’re right, the drink itself doesn’t exactly scream Breaker Box. Can you use the spell on a different drink?”

Bev taps her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve only ever used it on this particular drink, but the spells works by exciting the electrons inside—”

“So that’s a yes?” you ask, amused.

Bev blinks in realization, halting her rambling. “Oh! Yes, it should.”

“Then we only have to worry about the taste profile then,” you suggest. “And maybe color. Does the Breaker Box have a theme?”

She shrugs a little helplessly. “Kind of? There’s our logo.” She points up at the neon sign you see flickering above the bar glowing red, blue, and yellow.

“Oh!” You suddenly clap your hands together in excitement. “What about a layered drink? We can stack the colors and—”

Bev gasps, clutching your hands eagerly as she catches on. “—and as they mix, the drink starts to glow!”

You squeeze her hand back and beam. “Exactly!”

The two of you get right to work, making a rainbow layered cocktail. You start by pouring grenadine at the bottom of the glass while Bev shakes up a mixture of peach schnapps and pineapple juice. She pours carefully so as not disturb the layer of grenadine while you mix the next part, shaking vodka and blue curacao together. You’re careful to not disturb the other layers, pouring the blue on top using a mixing spoon. As the final touch, Bev tops the drink with an orange slice and a cherry. With your masterpiece finished, you both stare admiringly at the tall glass, which perfectly matched the colors of the Breaker Box’s sign.

“Well now, what’s all the commotion?”

You turn to see Volt approaching from the back room, jacket draped over his shoulders and hands stuck in his pockets. 

“Volt, come look!” Bev says excitedly, not taking her eyes off of the glass, like it might disappear if she looks away. 

Volt approaches the bar, bending down a bit to get at eye-level with the drink. He makes an impressed noise. “Is this the signature drink you’ve been working on? That’s quite the sight—” he begins.

“That’s not all,” you add, unable to contain your excitement. “Bev?”

Bev promptly sticks a straw through the drink and gives it a stir, disturbing the layers. You blink and suddenly, the drink begins to glow a soft, radiant red. A gasp escapes Volt, but you can’t tear your gaze away, unable to stop the grin from forming across your face. When the drink is fully mixed, you turn to look at Volt with a proud beam. 

“What do you think?” Bev asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

Volt looks struck speechless for a moment, before he shakes it off. “It’s… perfect.” There’s the slightest tremor to his voice before he clears his throat. “Can you make it again? I’d like to show Eddie.”

He disappears into the back to grab his partner, while you and Bev get to work mixing another few drinks, enough for all of you. You poke your head out of the front door to find Dorian standing stiffly in front of the entrance, hands clasped together and back straight.

“Dorian.” You catch his attention with a sing-songy voice. “Come on, check this out.”

Dorian frowns, eyeing you. “Is it an intruder?”

You bite back a smile. “Not quite. Come on, it’s cool,” you coax. He hesitates again, but follows you back inside to the bar, where Volt and Eddie have settled themselves. Bev has lined up all the glasses you have made in a neat row and is holding a bundle of straws.

“Ready?” she asks you with a wink. You give her a nod, and she dunks a straw into the first glass. With a little flourish of her wrist and a murmured incantation, the swirling liquid begins to glow once again. She does this with the next drink, then the next, and the next, until you have a row of five glowing beverages.

“This here is our signature Breaker Box drink,” Bev presents proudly.

Volt is the first to lift his, the very first one you two made, and takes a sip. His face lights up in delight at the taste.

“Mm, Eddie, you have to try this,” Volt insists, pushing his drink into Eddie’s face even though the man has already picked up his own glass.

Eddie’s face is pinched with doubt. You haven’t seen him since his gruff farewell the other day, but it doesn’t look like much has changed since then. Reluctantly, he picks up the drink and gives it a tentative sniff. Then, as though it has passed his first test, he sips from the straw. Something flickers across his face, too brief for you to pinpoint exactly what it is. He carefully places the glass back down on the counter and nods once.

“Not bad,” he admits.

“This is…” You turn to see Dorian is already halfway through his own drink, staring at it in wonder. He seems to feel your eyes on him, because he straightens, dropping the drink back onto the bar and clearing his throat. “Good. It’s good.”

You have to bite back a smile. 

“What do you think, Eddie?” Volt asks, in a teasing sort of tone that makes you think he is alluding to some kind of inside joke.

“It’s a bit sweet for my preference—” Eddie says, stony-faced as usual. 

Volt snorts aloud, but doesn’t say anything. There’s a fondly amused smile curling at his lips.

“—but it’s a good choice for our signature drink,” Eddie finishes, blatantly ignoring Volt as he gives Bev a short, approving nod. “Good work, Bev.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Bev insists, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving you an excited little shake. “They had the idea for using the Breaker Box colors.”

You feel your face flush as every other pair of eyes turn to you with various expressions. Dorian looks impressed while Volt turns his million kilowatt smile on you. Even Eddie’s brows are raised with mild surprise and something that you might even call begrudgingly impressed.

“My,” Volt muses, his eyes twinkling as he places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and leans over him to peer down at you, “what a little treasure that has walked into our club.”

His words have your stomach flipping and your face going red.

“Well, Bev does the important bit,” you say, wiggling your fingers to emphasize your point, with a nervous little laugh.

Volt’s smile warms into something that’s no less bright, but something a little more real. 

“Thanks to the both of you,” he says, nodding at Bev as well, “this will be a hit during the grand re-opening.”

You feel Bev’s fingers squeeze your arm in excitement, and you can’t help but beam right back, like her own joy is infectious.

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights, the cold atmosphere, and the miserable little cubicle of the Valdivian customer service center feels like a million miles away.

Later that night, Bev is showing you how she closes the bar. Since there were no actual customers, it feels more like a long string of rambles and funny stories as she explains her usual checklist of duties before the Breaker Box closes for the night. That’s when Eddie stumbles toward the bar from the backroom, halting you and Bev mid-conversation. Somehow, he looks more exhausted than usual. He slouches against one of the barstools, running a hand through dark strands of hair.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bev says, sympathetically. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Eddie scowls. “I’ve got it, don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Bev clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Sit down, will you? That shipment of your favorite whiskey actually just came in— let me grab that for you.”

Before you realize it, Bev has disappeared into the back room, leaving you alone with Eddie at the bar.

You shift your weight between both feet awkwardly. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with Eddie since he scared the ever loving daylights out of you the previous day. Right now, however, he’s looking much worse for wear. His eyes are bloodshot with exhaustion and his hands are covered in bruises and grease.

“You look tired,” you say, trying for sympathetic.

Eddie grunts, rubbing his temples. “Great observation skills.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well, excuse me for being concerned. I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

Eddie squints at you in the dim lights, like he’s trying to see what kind of angle you might be playing. “It’s none of your concern,” he says, flatly.

“It is if you keel over in front of me,” you retort. “I’m completely human, as you so observantly pointed out. So there’s not much I can do but call 9-1-1 if you collapse on the spot— which is looking more and more likely that you do.”

Eddie heaves a sigh. “Are you always this oblivious?”

A spark of anger ignites your veins. You were trying to be nice, if not for his sake, then for Volt’s. You can tell just how much Volt cares for Eddie, even if it is clear that Eddie couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you. He might technically also be your boss, but that doesn’t give him a hall pass to be a huge dick.

“Are you always this much of an asshole?” you snap back.

You expect another blow-up, or maybe to set the world record for the fastest employment-to-firing speed run.

Instead, Eddie actually looks amused. It’s still too dim to see properly, but you think you see Eddie’s mouth twitch. “Huh, cute.”

You sputter, face heating up until you’re sure the redness shows even under the flickering neon Breaker Box sign.

“Cute?” you repeat, aghast. “I’m cute now? I wasn’t cute when you wanted to throw me out of the club. Or maybe I’m only cute until you remember I’m human again.”

“I don’t care that you’re human.” Eddie scoffs dismissively, his earlier amusement gone. His eyes seem to look past you, like you’re not even important enough to acknowledge. His statement only confuses you more, because if it isn’t that, then why does he seem to dislike you so much? “Just don’t bother me when I’m drinking and don’t start any electrical fires, and I won’t throw you out. Or have Dorian do it for me.”

You recoil slightly in surprise at the implication. A human had started that electrical fire? Volt hadn’t said that the incident had been purposeful— but then again, you hadn’t asked. And perhaps he simply hadn’t wanted to hash that all out with an interviewee quite yet. You open your mouth to ask Eddie more questions, but Bev returns triumphantly, holding up an enormous bottle of whiskey.

“Found it!” Bev chirps, before pausing. Her eyes dart between you and Eddie, and she suddenly looks like a deer in headlights. “Um, did I interrupt something?”

“No,” you and Eddie say simultaneously, and glance at each other.

It seems that, for once, you’re in agreement about something.

Chapter Text

Sam

Oooo that menu looks scrumptious!

I’m so jealous.

It’s a little less “scrumptious” when you’re the one who has to make all the drinks.

Still! Ugh, I wish I could be there.

I’d totally be first in line. 

I know, I appreciate it.

Seriously, I need to come visit you.

I want to meet all your co-workers! They sound so fun!

Sam!

What?! You make it sound so interesting!

I would watch a mockumentary style show based around your job.

My workplace is just filled with petty drama and extramarital affairs. Dull! Your co-workers sound like actual fun. And hot.

Sam…

So have you made any leeway with your sexy boss yet?

You feel your face grow hot, and you surreptitiously look around. The break room is empty, however, so you return your attention back to your phone.

Sam

Oh well would you look at the time.

My break is over.

Bye Sam!

Wait no! Don’t go!

I need to know more!

I need details!

I live vicariously through you and your sexy colleagues!

GOODBYE SAM!

You lock your phone and rub your temples, exasperated but fond. You missed your best friend. Texting Sam was almost exactly like talking to her, but still. She used to live with you before accepting that job with Valdivian, at which point she had to move to the other side of the country. She hasn’t exactly said is aloud yet, but you’re pretty sure she’s looking for a new job on account of all the layoffs. Hopefully, you think to yourself, on this side of the coast.

It really is the end of your break, so you slip your phone back into your pocket and return to the bar out front. To your surprise, you find Bev is chatting with Dorian, who is not at his usual post at the front door. Instead, he is standing by the bar, hunched over what appears to be some kind of blueprint. He and Bev are deep in conversation, pointing at the paper and nodding seriously.

“Hey.” You draw their attentions as you tie your apron back around your waist. “What’s going on?”

Dorian clears his throat. “Just reviewing our security with Beverly,” he says, voice as gruff as ever. “In fact, it’s about time I review our security protocols with you too.”

You shoot Bev a polite if confused look. She looks back at you apologetically, but nods.

“Dorian is our bouncer, but he’s also head security,” she explains. “So what he says goes.”

Dorian takes the lead, spreading his hands out across the blueprint to flatten it out again. You realize that it is the blueprints of the Breaker Box’s building. He starts explaining to you the security and safety measures he’s recently implemented. “The main points of exits are here, here, and here.” He taps on the blueprint, indicating the front entrance that leads out into the street, the back entrance that leads out to the lot, and a side entrance that leads into an alley. “Guests are only permitted through the main entrance. While the other exits will be under watch and are technically accessible according to fire codes, they are otherwise strictly forbidden to anyone not a part of staff.”

He goes on to explain the different security policies. It’s an incredibly thorough overview, ranging from their policy on security cameras, the alarm system, and about eight different contingencies for various emergencies. By the end, your head is spinning, barely able to keep up with the no less than a dozen security codes he has drilled into your head.

“Is all this really necessary?” you ask, hesitantly. “I thought this was a club, not Fort Knox.”

“Has anyone ever broken into Fort Knox?” Dorian asks, very seriously.

“I… don’t think so?”

“Then we are not Fort Knox.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as the implication of his words sets in. “Wait, did you guys have a break-in?”

Bev clears her throat pointedly, and you look between her and Dorian in confusion. Dorian’s face is as stony as ever.

“We…” Bev trails off, fingers twitching and fiddling with the tie of her apron nervously. “Did. Yeah.”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?” you ask, eyes widening with concern. “What happened?”

Bev bit her bottom lip. “It— um—”

“It was my fault,” Dorian says, bluntly.

Both you and Bev snapped yours heads to look at him, you in disbelief and Bev in protest.

“It was not!” Bev argues, like it’s an old argument. “You couldn’t have known—”

Dorian ignores her, turning to you instead. He’s still aloof as ever, but you can see the slight tensing of his jaw and the way his hands clench into fists.

“It was the bartender before you,” Dorian explains, stiffly. “Keith.”

Your mouth falls open. “An employee broke in?”

“I should have seen it,” Dorian continues, and he lowers his gaze, like he’s ashamed. “Not only was it my responsibility to keep everyone safe and protect the club’s assets, but Keith and I were… close. Or at least I thought we were.”

There’s an implication behind his words that has your heart clenching.

“Oh, Dorian…” you say, sympathetically.

“Keith was an asshole. It’s not your fault, Dorian. He tricked all of us,” Bev interjects. She then turns to you with a sigh. “Eddie caught him skimming from the safe one night. Lost it— and rightfully so. Made a scene right in the middle of the club while we were open, and Volt got involved. I’ve never seen him get so angry before...” She trails off, lips thinning at the memory.

“I should have been the one to handle it,” Dorian growls. “But I was… so shocked. I couldn’t believe it. Because I trusted him. I’m surprised Eddie and Volt kept me around after that.”

“You were probably more hurt by it than all of us,” Bev says, patting his hand sympathetically. “They wouldn’t fault you for that. You’re an excellent bouncer, Dorian, we couldn’t find a better head security.”

What an odd title, a tiny part of your mind thinks. Head security? Not Head of Security?

You brush if off, turning instead to smile reassuringly at Dorian. “And it’s clear you’ve put a lot of time and effort into all of this. I’ll make sure to review all your security protocols, promise.”

Dorian actually softens at that, glancing away from you like he’s embarrassed. “Good,” he grunts. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He disappears back to the front door, leaving you and Bev alone.

“Well, what’s next on the agenda then?” you ask, as Bev rolls up the blueprints of the club. “The menu is all set, the security protocols have been reviewed, we’ve checked the stock room twice already, and I think if I have to make another practice drink my hands are going to fall off.”

Bev laughs a little. “Nothing else, I think. At least until we have real customers banging down our door. For now, you can help me finish up the decorations for opening night tomorrow.”

You slide off of the barstool, nodding in agreement. Together, you spend the rest of the evening adding the finishing touches to the decorations. You even spy Eddie coming in and out of the back rooms, grabbing tools and working on the stage lights. He weaves in and out of the curtains and the backstage area, but patently ignores you and Bev. 

By the time you’re finished, the club does indeed look transformed, with balloons, party streamers, and a massive banner that hangs over the stage.

Bev steps down from her step ladder, angling herself several feet back to squint at the banner. You’re still standing on one side of the step ladder and holding one end of the banner up. Though the ladder helps boost you to the ceiling, you’re still much shorter than Bev, and have to stand on your tippy toes to get the banner as high as you want it.

“Is this good?” you call down to Bev, who is frowning with her head cocked to the side. She takes several steps back again, but still seems unhappy looking at the banner.

“It’s still a bit crooked!” she shouts back, her voice echoing across the empty club. “Maybe lift it up a little higher.”

You’re stretched as high as you could possibly go, your feet perched precariously on the highest rung while leaning forward on your tip-toes.

“Wait, no, maybe a little to the left!” Bev calls.

You lean to the left and stretch as much as you can— which is your first mistake. Your second mistake is not realizing how much you’ve fucked up until you hear Bev’s panicked yelp of, “Wait no, be careful—!”

It’s so fast you barely have time to register what even went wrong. One moment your feet are firmly placed on the ladder rung, and the next, it’s gone. You tip off over the side of the ladder until you’re in free fall. The air rushes past you, and you don’t even have enough time to scream. 

You squeeze your eyes shut when you make impact, but it’s a much softer landing than you are anticipating. Well, not soft, exactly. Whatever you’ve landed on is certainly firm and toned, but it isn’t the ground.

Daring to crack an eye open, you look up at the person who caught you. You half expect to see Dorian— he’s firm and well built— or even Volt, with his worried, doe-like eyes and broad shoulders. So you are surprised to come face-to-face with Eddie of all people.

He’s staring down at you with wide eyes. The icy exterior you’ve only ever seen has thawed somewhat, leaving behind only concern. His cheeks are flushed from the adrenaline and exertion, but he does not drop you. In fact, there is not even a tremor from holding your weight in his surprisingly strong arms.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. All of his earlier gruffness is gone, leaving you dumbstruck. 

You open and close your mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. The shock and fear hits you all at once, leaving you shaken and non-verbal. All you can manage is a single, jerky nod.

Eddie lets out a breath, sounding actually relieved.

“Oh my god!” Bev’s voice snaps you out of your momentary state of shock. She’s suddenly at your side, bright eyes wide and filled with fear. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry—”

You blink, look back up at Eddie, and suddenly realize that he’s still holding you. Eddie seems to realize this at the same moment, because his cheeks go red. He sets you down on your feet and shuffles back, putting a decent amount of space between the two of you. As soon as you find your footing, Eddie finds his mask once more, and his face returns to his usual state of annoyed-and-scowling. Bev draws your attention immediately, fretting over you and checking you up and down for any bumps or scrapes.

“I’m alright, Bev, it’s not your fault,” you manage, the first words since the air had rushed out of your lungs. “I can be kind of clumsy.”

Bev bites her lip. “Maybe you should go home early. That was quite the scare— I’ll tell Volt what happened, he’ll understand.”

You shake your head. “No way, I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit shaken up. Plus, tomorrow’s the opening.”

“We’re almost done here anyways,” Bev insists, and you can see from the stubborn set in her jaw that she’s not going to let this go. “Or I can go get Volt, and he’ll probably tell you the same thing I am.”

You sigh— you know Bev is probably right. “Alright, alright. Are you sure—”

“Yes.” Bev fixes you with a stern glare. 

Raising your arms in defense, you can’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine. I’m really alright, though, thanks to—” You turn to where Eddie had been standing only a moment ago to thank him properly, but already he’s gone. You look around in confusion, but there is not even a trace that Eddie was ever there. 

“—Eddie,” you finish, lamely. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed by his disappearance; he was a grouch and a grump, but he had saved you. 

“He does that,” Bev offers, chuckling a bit. “I’ll pass on the message.”

You duck into the break room to grab your bag. When you return, Bev and Dorian are talking in low voices just outside the exit. You have a strong feeling that Bev is telling Dorian exactly what just happened. This feeling is proven correct when you approach the exit and both pairs of eyes swivel toward you.

Dorian’s eyes narrow, assessing you carefully. When he sees you don’t look any worse for wear, he relaxes minutely. “Maybe I should write up a ladder safety protocol next,” he says, dryly.

You shoot Bev an exasperated look, which she returns with an innocent smile.

“I’m alright, Dorian,” you assure him.

He grunts. “Right. Come on then, I’ll drive you home.”

Your eyes widen. “Your shift doesn’t end for another two hours! And I live close by, I’ll be alright.”

“It’s late.” Dorian levels you with an unimpressed glare as your protests fall on deaf ears. You hazard a look outside— it is dark out, and Bev has been nice enough to drive you home the last couple days since your shifts have ended at the same time.

“Alright, alright.”

He nods, satisfied. “Go around the back, I’ll meet you in the lot.”

Bev gives your shoulder a little pat. “Rest up, it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You sigh, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. You’ve never worked at a place where you felt close to your co-workers like this, like they were real friends. Even Eddie, who doesn’t even like you, had saved you. It made your throat tighten with emotion and your heart clench.

You head out to the back, stopped only by Volt halfway through the cramped back room as he emerges from his office with a concerned face. He relaxes when he sees you, however.

“I heard what happened,” Volt says, with a worried frown. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him, gesturing with your bag. “Bev told me to head home, and Dorian insisted on driving me, but if you still need me tonight—”

“No, no,” Volt quickly cuts you off. “Beverly will be fine on her own. You should get some rest, I’m sure that was quite the scare.”

You smile shyly. Admittedly, now that the immediate danger had passed, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. The memory of being in free-fall, bracing for pain, makes your hands clammy and your skull lightheaded.

“Thanks,” you say. Volt gives your arm a little squeeze before he disappears back into the club. 

You’re halfway out the back door before you think to wonder exactly who Volt had heard about the incident from. Bev and Dorian had been in the club and at the door, so he must have heard about it from Eddie. You wonder what Eddie had told him exactly. Probably something along the lines of “The human nearly got themself killed,” or “I sure hope we don’t have to pay workers comp.” Though, maybe that was a bit uncharitable toward the guy who was the reason you weren’t a spatter mark on the ground. 

With a little shake of your head, you push open the back door. You’re prepared to wait for Dorian to catch up— perhaps he needs to lock up and grab his keys first— but when you step outside into the lot, you’re startled to see Dorian already waiting for you. You would have seen him pass by while you were in the back room, and the alleyway out the side entrance was a dead end. Had your conversation with Volt been that long that Dorian had been able to circle the entire block and still manage to beat you here?

“Thanks again,” you say, as you circle around the car to the passenger seat. Dorian unlocks the car doors, and the two of you slide into the front seats.

“Not a problem,” Dorian says, and the way he says it, it really sounds like it isn’t a problem.

“From how serious you take security, I’m surprised you’re okay with leaving in the middle of your shift,” you tease, but there is gratitude in your tone. You’re touched that Dorian would stop what he was doing just to drive you a few streets over.

“I never leave the club unsecured.” Dorian pulls out of the parking lot, circling the block until you’re back on the main street.

You’re about to ask Dorian what he means by that when the light turns green and the car starts again. You pass by the front entrance of the Breaker Box, and the words die on your lips. You’re not driving very fast, so you’re positive it is neither a phantom nor a figment of your imagination when you look out at the club to see Dorian standing at the entrance, exactly as he always stood, with his arms folded in front of him and expression as stony as ever.

Your mouth falls open, and your head snaps back to look at the Dorian driving you, as though you’ve somehow gotten into a car with a stranger. Dorian doesn’t bat an eye, but he does give you a side-long look.

For a long moment, you can’t find the words to speak. Maybe you hit your head on the way down after all. Maybe this entire night had been a dream. 

Then, you remember Volt’s words at the end of your interview, about this being a place for magical beings. Your insistence that no one needed to tell you anything unless they wanted to.

You don’t exactly have encyclopedic knowledge of all magical beings, but you can’t help but run through several theories. You weren’t sure of anything that could be in two places at once.

Bev’s words floated into your mind, suddenly.

Head security.

Not head of security. Head security.

You nearly laugh.

“Cerberus,” Dorian finally speaks, as you stop at another red light. Despite this, he doesn’t look at you. “That’s what I am.”

“Cerberus,” you repeat slowly, sounding out each unfamiliar syllable. Then, the familiar sound sticks. “Oh!”

The three-headed dog, you realize. Three heads, for three doors at the Breaker Box. It felt obvious in hindsight.

“Yes.” Dorian’s answer is short. “Guess you can say guarding has always been in me. Never wanted to do anything else.”

You let out a breathy kind of laugh. “Must make things easier, having three sets of eyes to see everything.”

He still has his head turned, but you can see the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It helps,” he says, and the light turns green.

The rest of the short drive is spent in comfortable, companionable silence. When he finally pulls up to the front of your building, he turns to face you. There’s a vulnerable expression on his face, one that you’ve never seen on him before.

You smile at him. “Thanks, Dorian. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Something in his face relaxes, as if you’ve eased all of his concerns at once.

“‘Course,” Dorian says, like it’s obvious. “Get some rest. No more falling down ladders, you hear?”

You let out a groan. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Dorian just smirks, which is really answer enough. He doesn’t drive off until after you are safely inside your building, at which point you climb your way up the six flights of stairs while checking your phone.

Sam

You said you wanted to hear all the details of my work?

Yes, omg! Did something happen?

Buckle in, Sam, you’re gonna love this.

So I may or may not have fallen off a ladder today…

Chapter Text

In the end, the grand re-opening is exactly what you expected, and also nothing like you expected.

Everything goes off without a hitch. The Breaker Box is filled to the brim with excited guests, many of whom must have been regulars, because they greet Dorian, Volt, and Bev like old friends. Most are very polite to you, if rather curious, but you can’t blame the ones who seem downright wary of your presence. You hadn’t really processed exactly what Volt had meant by diverse clientele until now, given that the rest of the staff were relatively human-passing. At its peak, the Breaker Box is filled with more magical beings than you’ve ever even seen. A group of pixies have taken over a round booth, a vampire and his werewolf partner are sharing a drink at the corner of the bar, and a yeti has taken up half of the dance floor to show off his moves, which shakes the foundations of the building and makes all the bottles at the bar tremble. You know that most magical beings try to go about their lives appearing as human as possible, so this is the first time you’ve seen such a large gathering of them not actively trying to blend in with human society.

You can’t help but stare at it all with a look of awe and wonder, but you don’t have much of an opportunity to gawk. The signature drinks are an instant hit, and you and Bev are swamped with requests for more. Eventually you work out a system where you make the drinks while Bev works her magic. 

Fortunately, however, the rush of orders decreases once Volt takes the stage. The guests on the dance floor momentarily halt their jumping to the beat of the music and those who have claimed tables and booths begin hooting and hollering as the stage lights come up.

“Welcome back to the Breaker Box my friends and esteemed guests!” Volt’s smile is wide and charming, like he was born for the stage and he knew it. “Thank you so much for joining us for this celebration of our grand re-opening!”

The crowd roars their approval again. Drinks— still glowing from Bev’s spell— are raised into the air in cheers.

“We have a very special treat for you tonight,” Volt continues, once the cheering dies down a bit. “I’m sure many of you are fans of our Spotlight Nights—”

There are a few scattered whoops.

“—and I am pleased to announce we have every intention of bringing Spotlight Night back in the near future!” Volt pauses, seeming to breathe in the excited cheers as he delivers the news. Then, he gestures to the side of the stage in dramatic fashion. “For now, please give a warm welcome to one of our favorite old spotlight acts: Miranda and her band, La Migas!”

More spotlights appear on stage as a woman with brown skin, curly hair dyed bright red, with a guitar strapped around her torso takes the stage. Volt disappears behind a curtain as the band is greeted by a raucous applause.

“Thanks so much Volt for letting us perform tonight, we’re all so excited to see the Breaker Box is back up and running!” Miranda’s voice is soothing, drawing in everyone’s attention until you feel like you can’t take your eyes off of her. “I hope you all enjoy, have a great night everyone!”

And then, she strums her guitar.

You feel an unnerving calm wash over you. Suddenly, all you can focus on is the stage, at the music. The bar, the people, the strobe lights, all of it disappears until there is only you and the music. It feels like you are no longer made of flesh and blood, filled only by the sound of Miranda’s singing, the chords of her guitar, and the pounding of the bass that makes your very bones rattle.

A hand closes around your wrist. You ignore it, surging forward, because you need to get closer, you need to. The hand tugs harder, and you pull away in turn. Someone takes you by the shoulders and forcefully spins you around, until you’re face-to-face with Bev, her expression pinched with confusion and concern. As soon as she sees your expression, however, her eyes widen. She mouths something— or maybe she speaks, you just can’t hear over the sound of the music. You don’t understand, you need her to let you go. You try to spin around to approach the stage again, but her grip tightens on you. Before you even realize what is happening, she’s pulling you back. Bev must be aa lot stronger than you realized, because despite fighting her every tooth and nail, she manages to drag you bodily into the back room. The door clicks shut with some finality, muffling the sound of the music. As soon as the sound disappears, so does the fog that has overtaken your brain.

You look around in confusion, your skull already beginning to pound. What had just happened? You turn to see that it hadn’t just been Bev who had been pulling you back, but Volt as well.

“Are you alright?” Bev asks, eyes wide.

“What—” Your voice comes out as a croak, so you forcefully clear it. “What just happened?”

Volt looks regretful, biting his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I should have realized. Miranda and her band are sirens. I forgot how susceptible humans are to enchantment.”

You rub your head, still trying to wrap your mind around what just happened. “Was I…” A cold feeling washes through you, followed by the burn of embarrassment. “Oh god, was I charmed?”

Both Bev and Volt wince, looking guilty.

“Here,” Bev offers, holding out her hand to reveal a pair of earplugs. “This should help.”

You take it gratefully, but you can’t help the sting of humiliation. The ear plugs help to drown out the muffled music from behind the door, but does little to stifle your own spiraling thoughts. This was twice now in the same number of days that you had to be saved. Even worse, this time it was caused by something that could only happen to you. Yet another reminder that despite how much you liked this job and enjoyed the people you found yourself surrounded by, you were fundamentally different.

“Thanks,” you say, and are surprised to realize you can hear yourself perfectly. 

The surprise must show on your face because Bev explains, “They’re enchanted.”

“Beverly, can you mind the bar?” Volt asks. Bev nods, shooting you one last look of concern before she disappears back into the club. Volt turns to you with a frown, and for a moment, you brace yourself. You’re terrified that Volt is going to finally realize that hiring you had been a mistake, that this wasn’t working out, that you just weren’t a very good fit, all those other niceties that people used when they were firing you. Instead, to your surprise, he says, “I’m sorry. I will be more mindful in the future.”

You blink, completely taken aback. “Huh?”

“I forget you’re human sometimes,” Volt admits, sounding a little sheepish. 

A laugh bubbles out of you, incredulous. “Me?” you say, snorting. “I’m afraid I’m the most painfully ordinary human you could ever meet.”

“It’s not that.” Volt chuckles lightly. His eyes go a little sad. “I’m sure you’re aware that most magical beings have… bad experiences with some humans.”

You taste something bitter in the back of your throat. “Yeah. I can believe that.”

Volt sighs. “A lot of us have gotten used to expecting the worst. But you’re… not. It’s easy to forget you are not one of us, because of that. But that’s no excuse.”

“It’s okay,” you say, softly. His words have eased the sting of embarrassment, like a balm to a wound. Your earlier fears of not fitting in don’t vanish, exactly, but Volt’s words alleviate some of them and warm you to the core. “Really. I appreciate it, Volt.”

His smile isn’t quite as bright as his usual one is, but your words affect him. Volt’s entire body relaxes, like he’s been holding himself taut as a bowstring.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says, uncharacteristically serious. “Anything at all.”

You want to wrap his words around your heart and hold them there. Instead, you just nod. “Of course. Thanks.”

When you return to the bar with Bev, there are still no more customers. They all seem too invested in the performance to try to order another drink.

“How are you feeling?” Bev asks, nervously.

You shoot her a thumbs up and a wide smile. “Better. Thanks for the earplugs, they work like a charm.”

Bev lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s great. It’s a good thing I keep them here— normally, I only ever use them for karaoke night.”

“Good thing,” you agree.

Even though you can’t hear the siren song, you can feel the beating pulse of the music. The crowd jumps and dances in time to the pounding of the bass, which has enough reverberation that you can feel it in your bones. It seems that most people are still distracted— or maybe even enchanted— by the music, so you busy yourself with cleaning up some of the abandoned, empty cups still scattered across the bar. Bev helps you by mopping up spilled drinks and slowly melting ice cube from the counter.

The song finishes, and the band is greeted with rapturous applause. When the next song plays, you can immediately tell that it must be a slower one, because the bass is gone and people have begun swaying instead of jumping.

A small part of you twists with something akin to jealousy. From what little you had heard, Miranda’s music had been beautiful. It almost didn’t feel fair that you couldn’t listen to it, even though you knew better than to try to take the ear buds out. Still, it was just another thing that reminded you that you didn’t really belong here, surrounded by people who could listen to music without going into a trance.

That line of thinking has the memory of Volt’s words floating to the forefront of your mind, however. You glance up at Bev as she tosses a dirty dishrag into a basket. “Hey Bev, can I ask you a question?”

Bev does a quick scan of the bar. No one is paying the two of you any mind, and no one seems in need of a refill anytime soon. “Shoot.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, wondering how to phrase such a question. “Volt said… he said that sometimes he forgets that I’m human.”

Bev blinks a bit at that, and a laugh startles out of her. “I guess… I guess I can see where he’s coming from with that.”

“How so?”

Bev raises a brow. “What do you mean, how so?”

“I mean,” you wave your hand at the club in general. “I don’t exactly… fit in here, right? Just take one look at me. So why did Volt specifically look to hire a human?”

Bev’s eyebrows knit together and she bites her lip, giving your question serious consideration. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you are a great bartender. And your idea for our signature drink was brilliant. And not to mention we had plenty of human applicants that got turned down long before you ever walked into the bar. But… sometimes we do get some human customers. We don’t ban them, of course, ‘cause you know, sometimes they come in with a magical friend, or they don’t even realize where they are, and it’s hard to tell sometimes if they’re really human-passing. But sometimes… sometimes humans don’t really feel comfortable accepting drinks from a witch.”

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t even considered that before, but you think about Bev’s surprise when you had so eagerly asked to taste the drink she had made. Some people’s only exposure to witches, after all, were of the evil step-mother variety in stories and fairy tales.

“I see,” you say, frowning. “That’s… fucked up.”

A laugh escapes her. “Yeah, it is. So I can kinda see where Volt is coming from when he says he forgets you’re human sometimes. I don’t really know his story— and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell— but he’s run the Breaker Box for a long time. And if Keith is anything to go off of, then I can’t blame him for associating humans with trouble.”

“Wait, Keith was human?” you blurt out, a little surprised. Given Volt, Bev, and Dorian, you realize you had assumed Keith had been another magical being.

Bev shoots you a sad, grim look, and nods. “Yeah. He was really nice too, at first. Kind, a good mentor to me when I first started bartending. It broke all of our hearts when we realized his betrayal.”

“That’s horrible,” you say, anger rising up in you. “I hope he rots in jail.”

“Oh, he’s not in prison,” Bev says casually. You blink in confusion at her, so she elaborates. “We don’t involve the police if we can help it.”

“So he just… got away with it?” you protest. “I mean, I can understand not wanting to involve the police. Historically— well, yikes.”

“Yikes,” Bev agrees. “And I wouldn’t say he got away with anything. Or even got away in general. Last I heard he’s still in the hospital.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Bev winks, and doesn’t say anything else. Perhaps that was for the best.

“Well, I suppose karma gets us all in the end,” you finally say, with a little shrug.

Bev’s smile is positively wicked. For a moment, with the shadows of the bar crossing her features, she really does look like the evil witch that some people believe them to all be. It passes when the strobe lights dance across her features, casting her in bright, pulsing colors.

“Karma,” Bev repeats, in something not quite agreement, and not quite disagreement either.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. Miranda and La Migas play several more songs from their set, though you don’t hear any of it. It’s a little disappointing, to be honest, but it’s better than you trying to dive head-first into the stage. You pour several more drinks as customers come up to order third, fourth, and even fifth rounds. You chat with a few regulars who introduce themselves, including the vampire and werewolf couple.

“We used to come here every night, darling,” the vampire, Drysdale, croons, placing a hand over his husband’s chest. “Back in the day, it was not quite well-established. Now, it’s full of these young bloods who are more eager to show off like a bunch of peacocks.”

“I do think that is such the nature of time,” Washford muses, patting Drysdale’s hand absentmindedly. “As well as Volt’s sharp mind for business. I must say, ever since he became the face of the club, they’ve had more and more customers.”

“I do miss the days dear Eddie used to be the one behind the bar,” Drysdale adds mournfully, and shoots you a sly wink. “He used to make the best Bloody Marys.”

Perhaps you should be wondering whether the vampire was trying to spook you, or just making a bad pun. What your mind latches onto, however, is the mention of Eddie.

“Eddie used to bartend?” you ask, pausing you shaking for just a moment. 

“Oh yes,” Drysdale agrees, smiling in such a way that shows off his fangs. “He used to be way more fun back in the day.”

It’s hard to gauge what “back in the day” might mean for a vampire, but it would probably be rude to ask anyone’s age, much less an immortal being.

“What kind of fun?” you ask, leaning forward curiously as you pour the mix into a clean glass. You push it toward Washford, who had ordered a Manhattan and makes an approving noise when he tastes the sweet vermouth and whiskey.

“Back before he met Volt,” Drysdale explains. “He used to run this place all on his own.”

A jolt runs through you at the reveal. You knew logically that Eddie and Volt were co-owners, but Volt so clearly made himself the face of the business that it was hard to picture Eddie as having once been the sole proprietor.

“Huh,” you muse, shaking your head. “Interesting. Anyways, let me guess: a Bloody Mary?”

Drysdale’s grin is sharp. “You catch on quick, cherub.”

“Don’t say that near Lux,” you say, pointing discretely at the angel who had marched right up to you in the beginning of the night, demanding a “ramos gin fizz, hold the gin.” Which was certainly a choice. “Seriously, don’t grab their attention. I don’t want to have to re-make the same drink three times because it was quote, too frothy.”

Eventually, the night ends after last call. A few of the guests who you’ve chatted with wave good night to you and Bev, markedly more friendly than they had been at the beginning of the evening.

“See?” Bev says, nudging you a little playfully. “Human or not, you fit right in.”

A warm feeling rushes through you. You’re tired, your feet are sore, and you still have a couple more hours of clean-up and closing before you would get to go home, but you suddenly can’t care less. You are happy to wipe down tables and mop up sticky floors until you drop.

Not a good fit.

You fit right in.

The opposing words rattle against your skull, echoing and bouncing around your mind for the rest of your shift. When Bev drops you off at your apartment, you nearly collapse from exhaustion on your bed. Despite the giddiness in your chest and the feeling of warmth that still lingers from your time at the Breaker Box, you can’t help the question that lingers at the back of your mind. The question that you hadn’t been able to find the courage to ask either Bev or Volt.

Why me?

With the Breaker Box officially re-opened for business, You fall into a comfortable routine over the next week along with the club’s new (old) weekly schedule.

A live band or artist performs on Fridays and Saturdays. The bar closes early on Sunday night, and closes completely on Monday. You spend the day relaxing, chatting on the phone with Sam in the evening, and catching up on her work drama. Tuesday is quiet, with only a few people stopping in for happy hour after work. Wednesday is just as quiet at least until the clock strikes nine o’clock and Karaoke night officially begins.

“Can I have those earplugs back?” you joke to Bev, when a dryad takes the stage and regales you all with an operatic rendition of Blow by Ke$ha. 

Bev, whose ears have been plugged all night, shakes her head. “Not unless another siren takes the stage,” she tells you, solemnly. “I recommend you get your own set before the next Karaoke night, though. Enchanted or otherwise.”

“She’s not so bad quite yet,” you say with a polite smile that feels more like a grimace.

Bev jerks her head a little in Prissy’s direction. The dryad has reached an octave that threatens all the glassware in the building.

“Trust me, a few more weeks of that, and it gets old really quickly,” Bev deadpans.

The night goes relatively well. Karaoke night brings out a younger crowd— freshly turned vampires from the same grad school program, a scowling gargoyle who turns his nose up at the house drink but proceeds to order a prairie oyster shot, and a banshee who tries hogging the machine to play only Elvis.

Unfortunately, you are not prepared for karaoke night to attract a completely different sort of crowd: a bachelorette party.

They snag the largest booth around the corner. Even though you’re preoccupied making drinks for the sweet merlion girl who has asked for an espresso martini, you can tell from a distance that this is not the first bar the group has stopped at. They’re clearly already drunk, and are loudly ooh-ing and aah-ing at everything.

No, you realize, with a flip of your stomach and the feeling of dread hanging in the air, they’re ogling the other guests.

You’ve gotten better at spotting the few decidedly human guests who come to the Breaker Box. Just as Bev had explained, most of them were fine. Some came with magical friends, some didn’t even realize what they were stumbling into until they came in and looked at the menu. But you’ve never seen such a big group of exclusively human customers before. And you’ve never felt such a wave of second-hand embarrassment wash over you like this quite like it does now, watching your fellow humans stare at the other customers like they’re in some kind of exotic petting zoo.

You try to finish making the drink quickly, but Bev gets to them before you do, and technically, it is her table. She has a pen and notepad out and ready, polite smile fixed in place.

“Hi, how are we all doing tonight?” Bev asks, drawing in all of their attentions. “What can I get for you?”

The women begin talking all at once. Bev does her best to jot down the others as you pour the drink into the martini glass, placing it in front of Kopi, whose warm brown eyes seem to match her drink of choice.

“Thanks, love!” Kopi chirps, so excited that her braid bounce along with her. Then, her eyes flick to the side where Bev is trying her best to wrangle the bachelorette party, and her smile wanes slightly. “I’ll leave you to it, I think.”

You offer Kopi a small smile, and scuttle over to Bev just as she finishes jotting down her last order and turns. She catches your eye and gives you a thumbs up reassuringly. 

Let me know, you mouth, and she nods in understanding. But Bev was an expert at this point, and was used to dealing with larger groups of guests.

You turn your attention to a couple instead who have sat down at the bar. They seem to be in the thick of an argument.

“—just know you’re cheating!” The harpy fumes, her voice rising in pitch with every word and her feathered wings rustling. “Just come clean, and I will forgive you.”

The man sitting next to her let out a growl, running a hand through his messy hair until you can make out two horns poking out from his head. “You crazy bitch how many times do we have to go through this? We’re in public can we please not do this here?”

You didn’t want to touch that mess with a ten foot pole, but it didn’t seem like you had much of a choice. 

The woman hisses in frustration, but as you approach their table, she turns to you, plastering on a fake, cheery smile. 

“Hi!” she croons, grabbing the man by the elbow and forcing him to lean into her. “You must be new! I’m Harper, this is my boyfriend Dirky! We used to come here all the time.”

“Just Dirk,” the boyfriend mutters, only to wince when Harper elbows him.

“Don’t mind him,” Harper says, a little too loudly. “Dirky loves coming here. This is actually where we met, you know. I thought we could come here to rekindle our spark.”

Dirk is staring up at you with a pleading in his eyes, and doesn’t say anything.

“Um,” you say, intelligently, “can I get you guys anything?”

They rattle off their orders— an amaretto sour for Harper, and a vodka cran for Dirk.

By the time you’re done with that, Bev has already finished making an entire tray full of the house drink. She carries the tray carefully over to the awaiting bachelorette party, who all stare at the drinks with excitement. You relax a bit, your worries alleviated. Bev could certainly handle herself— she had whipped up those drinks faster than you could even imagine.

“Alright, thats seven Breaker Box signatures,” Bev says with forced cheer, lowering the tray onto the table. She whips out straws and dunks them into each drink, incanting the spell to make them glow with a flourish and a smile. 

You had turned your back for only a moment, you think in hindsight. Reassured that Bev had the bachelorette party handled, you had turned for only a second to grab the bitters behind the bar.

That is all it takes for the screaming to begin.

It pierces the air, loud enough that it somehow overpowered the karaoke. You might have thought they were the banshees, instead of the put-out looking Johnny, if you didn’t know any better.

“Witch!” one of the women shrieks, and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest.

“You’ve enchanted our drinks!” the bride, who was wearing a bright pink sash and a garish headdress, accuses, pointing a long manicured finger at Bev. Her smile is strained, like she was fighting to stay polite.

“It’s not enchanted,” Bev explains, with a calmness and patience you don’t think you could manage in a hundred years. “It’s just a cosmetic spell. See, it’s on the menu right here—”

But her words are lost amongst the panic of the already very drunk women. The commotion is enough to draw the attention of every other magical being in the room, all of whom are eyeing the bachelorette party with varying levels of contempt. If things kept going on like this, the ladies in the party were going to actually have a reason to fear for their safety.

Dorian must have caught wind as to what was happening by now, you think. Even Volt will have heard the screaming from his office.

None of that matters, because you reach the booth first. Your face is smiling, but you’re pretty sure it comes out as more of a snarl.

“Is there a problem here?” you ask, icily.

Your presence seems to calm them, like a bunch of babies being soothed by a lullaby. The woman with a maid of honor sash sighs with audible relief when she sees you.

“You’re human,” she says, clutching her chest as though she was warding off a heart attack. 

“I am,” you grit out.

“Oh thank goodness. You must be the manager here. This witch is trying to poison us—”

“Actually,” you interrupt, feeling a cold fury starting to overtake you, “Bev is my boss.”

It’s not strictly true, but they don’t need to know that. Besides, Bev has been here much longer than you have.

That alone seems like enough to scandalize the bachelorette party. 

“W— well,” the maid of honor stammers before she collects herself once more, “regardless, we’d like to request a different server. And comped drinks, for the emotional damages.”

Only a decade of experience in customer service makes it so you don’t lose your temper right here and now. You feel like your entire body is shaking with rage. It would be so satisfying to simply go off on these people, to spew your anger and disgust at them, but it’s not really your place, no matter how justifiably furious you were. Besides, these people were simply not worth it.

It’s a Herculean effort, but you manage to turn to Bev and ask, politely, “Do you mind taking care of the two at the bar for me? Amaretto sour and a vodka cran.”

Bev’s eyes flick between you and the group of humans, clearly hesitating. But you smile reassuringly at her, a silent reassurance of I’ve got this. Finally, the crease in her brow disappears, and relief relaxes the tension in her jaw.

“Sure,” Bev says, and then returns to the bar, a safe distance away, with her tray full of untouched cocktails. 

You fix your attention back on the bachelorette party with a sickly sweet smile. “Now,” you say, with a deceptive patience. “I’m afraid you’ve all overstayed your welcome.”

It takes a moment for your words to register. Mouths fall open in shock and pearls are clutched.

“Excuse me?” one of the women sputter, outraged.

“You heard me,” you say, simply. “You can either leave on your own now, or you can be escorted out.”

“But you’re—” the bride protests, face red and blotchy. “You’re not one of them.”

You expect her words to trigger your usual wave of self-doubt and anxieties. It was obvious to anyone paying attention that you didn’t belong here. Instead, the recognition only sparks a flash of anger. Because how dare she expect you to side with her and her friends just because you were human, when they were the ones acting so horribly? Bev was your friend, these people were your customers, and the idea that you were any different from any of them just because of your lack of magic seemed to fall by the wayside in the light of your fury.

“No,” you agree, a flash a cold smile with teeth. From your side, you can sense a dark, growling presence. You step back, letting Dorian loom threateningly over the table. “But he is.”

The bachelorette party are far more agreeable after that. They scurry out, seeming to notice the fact that they are deeply outnumbered and deeply hated by the rest of the club’s patrons. Dorian gives you a short nod of silent approval as he leads the women out, as professional and stoic as ever. You watch them exit one-by-one, each either muttering angrily, flinching away from the glares of other customers, or crying crocodile tears. 

Dorian doesn’t budge as he reclaims his post outside the front entrance. A few of the women try to get in his face, to complain or scream, but Dorian is too sturdy, and stonewalls them until eventually, they disappear from sight. 

It’s like you can finally breathe. You exhale, letting out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding. As you turn away from the front and make your way to the bar, you catch a glimpse of white hair, but by the time you look to the back room, Volt is nowhere to be seen. 

Slowly, the ambient noise of the bar returns. You hadn’t realized how silent it had become until now, your ears ringing with your own seething fury. Johnny returns to singing, this time electing an ABBA song instead of Elvis. Chatter and conversation picks back up as you sidle up to Bev’s side. She’s only halfway through making the vodka cranberry, so you start on the amaretto sour.

“Sorry you had to get involved,” Bev mutters. She looks shaken, still, fingers twitching and eyes glancing nervously back and forth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get involved sooner,” you return. When she finishes making the drink, you take it with your free hand. “Why don’t you go home early?”

Bev looks like she’s going to protest, but her face has gone white as a ghost, and she still looks a little dewy-eyed, like she might cry at any moment.

“Yeah,” Bev says, finally, after a long pause. “Yeah, I think I will.”

You smile, then nearly spill the drinks in your hands when Bev suddenly wraps you in a tight hug.

“Thanks,” Bev whispers in your ear, before pulling back. She unties her apron and heads for the back room, shooting you one last smile before it closes behind her.

You deliver Harper and Dirk’s drinks. It seems whatever passive aggressive argument they had been in the middle of has been completely forgotten in the midst of the drama. In fact, they’re both staring at you in a completely different light. There’s no other way to describe it other than… hungry.

“That was…” Dirk trails off, like he isn’t sure how to finish his sentence.

“Hot,” Harper finishes. She’s eyeing you with hawk-like eyes, making you feel a little like an innocent fish about to be snatched up out of the water by talons.

“Hot,” Dirk repeats, sounding a little surprised, like it’s the first time he and Harper have agreed about anything.

“Say,” Harper says, her voice turning cloyingly sweet and suggestive, “what are you doing after this?”

“Uh,” you squeak out. 

You politely decline Harper and Dirk’s invitation to join them after your shift. Both seem disappointed, but don’t push the matter outside of a “Well, we’ll be back soon,” from Harper and a “Offer’s always open,” from Dirk.

The rest of the night passes quickly. It’s not too busy tonight, so Bev’s absence doesn’t actually increase your workload by much. Dorian even comes in after the customers have filtered out to help clean up the bar, which is normally your and Bev’s responsibility. You’re just finishing up when Volt seems to materialize out of nowhere.

“Before you head out,” he says, “can you stop by my office?”

A lump forms in your throat. “Um, sure,” you mumble, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Volt offers you a tired, tight-lipped smile before he disappears back through the door. You glance nervously at Dorian, wondering if you’re about to get fired. The knot of anxiety uncoils when he gives you an approving nod. 

“Good work today,” Dorian says, and there’s a surprising lack of edge to his usual gruffness. “Though, next time remember I’m head security for a reason. It’s your job to make drinks for stupid drunks— it’s my job to kick them out.”

Your lips quirk up. “Thanks, Dorian. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

Dorian looks disbelieving at that, but he steals the broom from your hands and shoos you away. “Go on, then, don’t keep the boss man waiting.”

You give Dorian one last grateful smile before following Volt behind the back door and tracing his path back to his office. The lights behind Eddie’s office door are off, which means he’s probably gone for the night already, as was usually the case. Eddie seemed to be an early riser and early sleeper, doing most of the maintenance when the Breaker Box was closed. 

Volt gestures at the seat in front of his desk. You take a moment to peek around the room, curious, since you haven’t actually been inside since you came in on your first day to fill out paperwork. The office is surprisingly neat and well-organized, papers neatly stacked in little piles and his files carefully lined across his shelves.

“Am I being fired?” The words come tumbling out. You’re suddenly unable to keep the nervous babble at bay. “I wish I could say ‘you can’t fire me, I quit!’ or something like that, but I probably need the unemployment so if I am fired then please—“

Volt’s semi-serious expression melts into one of pure amusement. He holds up a hand, halting your nonsensical rambling.

“You’re not being fired,” he says, quickly and firmly. “Why would you think that?”

You gesture helplessly. “I mean, I did kick out a big group of your customers and make a scene in front of everyone else.”

“You removed a group of incredibly rude people that Dorian was going to escort out anyways,” Volt points out mildly. “And you did so with no fists being thrown and no property damage. Which is a win, in my book.”

Finally, you relax. You had figured Volt wouldn’t be upset with you, but with your anxieties laid to rest, you could feel the tightness in your stomach finally loosen.

“So you’re not mad?” you clarify, feeling a little childish for the question.

Volt laughs, bright and airy. “Mad? Of course not. Not at you, at least. I think you handled the situation rather well, all things considered. You stopped things from escalating and you removed Beverly from the situation.” He pauses, and adds, “Thank you, for helping Beverly. She usually despises confrontation like that. I’m glad you were there to help her.”

You feel a hot flush rising up your face. “I… it was nothing. Honestly, I should have intervened sooner. Bev’s mentioned before how bad some human guests can be, but I just… I didn’t want to believe it, at first. I should have realized exactly why you wanted to hire a human in the first place.”

That has Volt tilting his head to the side while he watches you with bright, piercing eyes. You’ve never noticed before, but you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen him blink before. It might be unnerving if not for the sadness-tinged smile that graces his lips. “Oh?”

You have to press your lips together to suppress— you’re not quite sure. A sob? A scream? Violent swearing?

“Are people really that—“ You struggle to find a word. “—awful? Bev was only doing her job, and if we weren’t surrounded by other beings, if Dorian didn’t take his job so seriously—“

“If you hadn’t been there,” Volt adds, wryly. 

“I’m sure Bev can deal with them herself.” You sigh. “But she shouldn’t have to. No one should have to. I knew some people were bad, but I didn’t realize…” You shake your head. 

“We’re fortunate that this group was mostly harmless,” Volt agrees, grimly.

“That’s part of the problem.” Your words come out bitter. “I wish that’s the worst there was. But I know that isn’t the case.”

Volt just nods, resigned. “I know.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, rubbing your face tiredly. “I’m preaching to the choir here. If only I’d just gotten to their table first… Bev shouldn’t have had to deal with it at all.”

“It’s not your job to be the babysitter of any potentially bigoted human who walks through our doors,” Volt assures you. “I imagine every bar in the world has to deal with terrible customers in some capacity.”

You huff out a laugh. “That’s true enough. I used to work at this bar in my college town— the kind of place where the uniform was purposely a size smaller than necessary and they hired based on chest size and attractiveness. I’m sure I don’t have to describe the kind of customers we got.”

Volt wrinkles his nose. “I can imagine. Still, you should know that we didn’t hire you just because we needed some kind of human shield. We could have hired anyone for that. We hired you because you’ve proven yourself to be experienced, innovative, and, most importantly, unequivocally kind.”

Warmth floods through you, making your heart swell with affection and appreciation. Before you can stop yourself, you wrap your arms around Volt’s body in a tight hug. He’s taller than you, but you don’t let that stop you. Under your touch, he freezes, clearly taken by surprise by the abrupt embrace.

You pull away, blushing. “Sorry,” you say, gaze falling to the floor as you let out a nervous laugh. “I just— thank you. For taking a chance on me.”

When you glance back up again, you can see Volt’s cheeks are pink, but he’s smiling too. 

“Well, thank you,” he says, warmly, “for being you.”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” you admit, sheepishly.

Volt’s smile only grows. “I know. That’s good.” He pauses, then, and his face lights up, as though he’s just remembered something. “Actually, this is good timing. I have something for you.”

He circles back behind his desk and opens up a drawer, withdrawing a little box no bigger than the size of your palm. When he holds it out to you, you hesitate to take it.

“You got me something?” you ask, shocked. “It’s not my birthday or anything—”

“Consider it a part of workplace safety, and an apology gift,” Volt explains, practically shoving the box into your hands. He’s beaming now, eyes fixed on your face, like he’s more excited about giving you the gift that you are to accept it.

Carefully, you undo the ribbon wrapped around the little brown box and remove the top. Inside is a simple yet beautiful necklace— a string of what appears to be red beads, both ends connected by a golden clasp. When you look a little closer, you realize the red beads are actually berries. There as no way they were real, you think logically, but they certainly look real. They’re as bright and shiny as though they were only just plucked. 

When you look up at Volt with an astonished look, his face lights up, like your reaction alone has pleased him.

“What’s this for?” you ask, a little breathless from the gift.

Volt puffs his chest out proudly, looking downright smug. “These, my dear sweet spark, are rowan berries. They are particularly useful for a number of things— one of those things is blocking out enchantments, glamours, and thralls.”

You lift the necklace out of the box as carefully as you could manage, as if you were handling an explosive device, and hold it up to the light to admire it more closely. It’s certainly beautiful, but that is not necessarily what has your heart twisting itself into knots in your chest.

Volt had gotten you a gift. A gift that would help you bridge that chasm you often couldn’t help but feel between your own human weakness and the magical beings you’ve found yourself surrounded by. It was Volt saying that even if you didn’t fit in, you were still more than welcome, that he wanted you here.

The unbearable kindness of the gesture took your breath away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Volt preen at your obvious astonishment. You manage to shake off the shock, finally placing the necklace back into the box and closing the lid on top. With the gift safely tucked away, you turn to beam at Volt.

“Thank you,” you say, the words coming out a little choked up. “I— this is unbelievably kind. I can’t even imagine what this kind of enchantment might have cost.”

His cheeks darken even more. “None at all, actually. It’s a trinket I’ve been holding onto— nearly forgot about it until the other day.”

“Still,” you insist, clutching the box to your heart. “I really appreciate it. I can’t thank you enough.”

Volt’s eyes slide to the side bashfully, like he’s a little embarrassed by your gratitude. Volt is many things— charming, captivating, enchanting— but this is the first time you might describe him as being… sweet. 

He clears his throat and swallows. “Right, well… hopefully, we won’t have to worry about another accidental siren song incident again.” He shoots you a small, mischievous smile that you return.

“I’ll have to wear it as part of my uniform then,” you tease right back, smile broadening so wide that your cheeks begin to hurt. “Thank you, Volt. Really.” 

You reach for his hands, and give them a little squeeze. They’re surprisingly soft, his nails manicured, well maintained, and painted blue. Volt gives you a little squeeze back.

“Anything for you, treasure.”

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass by relatively smoothly. You fall into a rhythm with the Breaker Box’s weekly schedule, rotating opening and closing shifts with Bev. 

For the regulars, at least, any trepidation they might have had with the only human staff member of the Breaker Box dissipates immediately after the incident with the bachelorette party. You’re getting to know familiar faces— there’s Washford and Drysdale, who come in every Friday night for a date night and who always have time to chat with you, and Harper and Dirk, who seem to accept your polite rejection of falling into bed with them, but always remind you that the invitation is open at any time if you change your mind. There’s also Cam, the gargoyle, who comes in every Karaoke Night exclusively to heckle the singers, especially Johnny, who always greets you sweetly and tips well despite only ever ordering a ginger ale. 

The only thing that kind of changes is… Volt.

Well, you’re not sure if “change” is the right word, because the man is the same charming, sweet self he’s always been. What does change is how often you see him.

Before, you only got to chat with Volt in passing. He was always working before you arrived, and his office light was on even as you left. Perhaps now that the club has found its footing, he has more time on his hands. And recently, he’s been spending that time with you.

Oh sure, he plays host during Karaoke Night or when he needs to emcee for live performances, but you notice he’s been spending a lot more time on the bar floor. When your shift begins, he’ll emerge from his office and even help you open or close the bar. On slower, quieter nights, he sits at the bar or one of your tables, telling you funny stories about the Breaker Box before you were hired, or listening to your crazy college stories featuring your best friend, Sam. When you and Bev find the time to work on new concoctions and test some of her spells, Volt is always the first volunteering to taste-test.

It should be odd, because Volt is nothing like any boss you’ve ever had before. Not like Tom, who was nice enough but would call you “sport” every other sentence despite the fact that he was only three years your senior. And certainly not anything like your old boss from the college bar, who spent every possible moment with his eyes glued to your ass. 

It is odd, because you think you might even be able to call Volt… a friend. The thought simultaneously makes your stomach swoop with giddiness and your heart clench.

“Hey there,” Bev greets you, bumping hips with you while she ties her apron on. “How was opening?”

You shrug, gesturing to the mostly empty club. “Quiet as usual, for now at least.”

Bev nods in understanding, glancing around. “No Volt yet?”

You blink in surprise, but realize that Bev is right. You had been so lost in your own thoughts about Volt that you hadn’t even noticed that the man himself was nowhere in sight. Only now do you realize just how used to his presence you had become over the last few weeks.

“Oh, I guess not,” you say, trying, and probably failing, to mask your disappointment.

Bev is in the middle of picking up a bottle of rum when she pauses, turning to you with narrowed eyes. She points at you with the bottle accusingly. “What’s with that tone?”

“What tone?” you demand, a little too defensively.

“Oh my god,” Bev says, eyes widening as big as saucers. She looks like you’ve just confessed the most raunchy secret to her. “You like him!”

“Bev!” you hiss, feeling your face go as red as the jar of maraschino cherries that you’re currently contemplating chucking at your friend. “I do not—”

“This makes so much sense!” Bev continues marveling to herself. She clutches the bottle of rum to her chest to sigh dreamily. “No wonder he’s been hanging out here more often! He totally likes you too.”

You falter. Something dangerously akin to hope blooms in your chest.

“I— wait, really?” you ask, suspiciously. It’s not that you don’t trust Bev, but she does sort of get ahead of herself when she gets excited about something. Like the time she came up with a new idea for the seasonal menu and ended up accidentally spraying half the Breaker Box in color-changing whipped cream.

Bev nods furiously, her face filled with triumphant realization, like she’s Nancy Drew and she’s just solved her biggest case yet. “Volt would always help when I need it, especially if I asked, but you—” She waves at you excitedly. “He spends as much time as possible with you. He doesn’t even ask if you need help— he just does!”

“This is his bar too,” you remind her. “He probably just wants things to run smoothly and let everyone leave as quickly as possible at the end of the night.”

Bev looks exasperated, then taps at her own neck. “Yeah? Well, he doesn’t give everyone else jewelry.”

“This is practical,” you squawk, and instinctively reach up to touch your necklace. It’s neatly tucked under the collar of your shirt, however, so you drop your hand. “It’s so I don’t go throwing myself into rocky waters and following dumb, newly-turned vampires home.”

“Mm hmm.” Bev still looks doubtful. “And remember when you nearly broke your neck?”

“Yeah,” you say, dryly, “I recall.”

“You should’ve seen him after that,” she continues as though you hadn’t spoken. “He was so worried. He was trying to play it off, but after you left, he and Eddie walked through every square inch of the club checking for potential hazards. I thought Eddie was going to snap at him after the third walk through of the stage.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t known that, actually.

Bev seizes the opportunity when you don’t immediately refute her argument.

“See!” Bev crows. “I knew it!”

You flick your dirty dish towel at her, making her squeak and dodge it. “You are a horrible gossip. Remind me to never introduce you to Sam.” Just the idea had you shuddering. “Anyways, Volt is just a good manager and owner. If I could get hurt, so could anyone else, or even his customers.”

Bev groans, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “I’m telling you. I’ve never seen Volt get that protective over someone other than Eddie.”

The mention of Eddie has you frowning. You’ve been seeing more and more of Volt recently, but Eddie, in contrast, seems to have completely disappeared. You wonder if he’s actually a ghost, because you’ve barely seen hide or hair of the man since the ladder incident. 

“Eddie?” you repeat, skeptically. You haven’t actually seen Eddie and Volt interact very much, you suddenly realize, but they were supposedly co-owners of the Breaker Box. And if Drysdale was to be believed— however reliable of a source that was— the bar had once solely belonged to Eddie. “Is he and Volt…?”

“Dating?” Bev supplies knowingly, and shrugs. “No clue. They’ve never said anything. But I do know they’re— well, I wouldn’t call it co-dependent or anything, but… they’re really close. I know that. Whether that’s marriage or sex or platonic soulmates or something in between, I have no idea.”

You nod thoughtfully, though your stomach squirms at the thought. No matter their relationship status, you knew that they were incredibly close, and you didn’t want to come between that, especially considering Eddie’s clear dislike of you. 

After seeing Eddie’s gruff mask be replaced with obvious concern following the ladder incident, you had been hopeful that you might be able to strike up a friendship with the mysterious maintenance man. If you had been able to crack Dorian’s aloof, professional exterior, surely this was a great first step to breaking the ice with Eddie. Instead, in the very limited interactions you’ve had with Eddie since then, he’s just as prickly as he’s always been. You’ve wondered aloud if you had done something to offend him, but Volt has assured you that Eddie simply didn’t take to new people very quickly. You’re starting to wonder if that was the whole story, however.

Eddie’s attitude also makes you wonder how exactly his and Volt’s partnership had come to be. He and Volt couldn’t be anymore different, and yet, they’ve clearly worked together for years without incident. They work seamlessly together to create a thriving business and curate a wonderful community. Clearly, you are missing a piece to the puzzle that is Eddie and Volt.

You open your mouth to respond to Bev, but the back door opens to reveal Volt. He’s dressed impeccably as usual, with not a strand of shiny white hair out of place. When he sees you, he beams, and you feel a little like melting into a puddle.

“Treasure,” he greets, his voice as smooth as butter. “Beverly.”

Volt glides across the floor and leans languidly against the bar across from where you two are standing. You try very hard to not think about everything Bev had just told you, and probably would have failed had she not pointedly stepped on your foot. You grunt, smothering it with a cough and a forced smile. 

“Are you ready for a packed house tonight?” Volt continues, seeming to not notice you glaring at Bev out of the corner of your eye.

“‘Course, boss,” Bev answers cheerfully, pointedly ignoring your death stare. “Our bar is fully stocked and we’re going to finish double-checking our inventory before call-time.”

You shift a little nervously. The last time the Breaker Box had been as packed as Volt seems to be anticipating you had fallen under a siren song, but the weight of the necklace that Volt gifted you is a comfort. So you nod and give Volt a thumbs up. “We’re all set,” you say. “Who’s performing tonight?”

Volt hums, pulling his phone out of his pocket and pulling up his notes. “Well, our opening act is going to be Curt and Rod with their stand-up routine,” he began. It takes a moment for you to connect the names to the memory of the pair of best friends who got a kick out of changing their faces and pretending to be other people. You’re starting to get better at recognizing the shape-shifting pucas for what they are, but they do tend to succeed in tricking you more times than not still.

“That’ll be a riot,” Bev grumbles. She is another favorite victim of Curt and Rod’s tricks.

“Then Amir will be doing his knife throwing,” Volt says, like Bev hadn’t even spoken. “And we will end on the Elemental Three.”

“Elemental Three?” you repeat, curiously. “What’s that?”

Bev clasps her hands together excitedly. “Oh you’ll love them! They’re a group of elementals who met in college and formed a band. Their music has gotten pretty popular though lately so they don’t have as much time to do small gigs like this.”

“And that’s just this week,” Volt adds, eagerly. “I had to schedule other people who signed up for other weeks. We’ll be fully booked for the next month if we keep doing weekly shows like we used to.”

You let out a low, impressed whistle. “Wow, I didn’t realize Spotlight Night was that popular.”

“It’s a community favorite,” Volt explains, with a proud smile. 

“Yeah,” Bev pipes up. “Everyone gets a chance to show off their talents— it’s rare for us to show off skills that aren’t directly tied to our identities, especially in human society.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Is there anyone you didn’t say yes to?”

“Yes,” Volt answer, with a wry smile. “Parker. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet.”

You scrunch up your face in confusion, but you can’t conjure a memory of a customer named Parker. “I’m not sure?”

“You would know if you did,” Bev deadpans. “He’s a three foot tall goblin who hasn’t ever shifted into a human form in the time I’ve known him. He also never orders anything because, quote, weed is the future.”

“So why does he come to a bar then?” you ask, confused.

“Because his boyfriend likes our beer selection,” Bev explains, with a shrug. “And what Chance says goes, I guess.”

“Hard to argue with a man who was raised by sphinxes,” Volt offers reasonably.

Bev leans in conspiratorially, saying in a stage-whisper, “Once, I heard Chance offer to make dinner for a full week if Parker could solve his riddles three. He got stuck on the last one and had a meltdown.”

“The answer was seven!” Dorian’s shout from the front door has the three of you all jumping in surprise. “Dear god I was going to strangle him.”

“What was his act supposed to be?” you ask, veering the subject away from homicide.

Volt grimaces. “I can tell you it involves two swords and a felony amount of shrooms. And was accompanied by a text from Chance begging me not to let him get on that stage. Other than that? You don’t want to know.”

Fair enough, you decide.

The Breaker Box starts filling up about an hour before the show begins. By the time the show is about to start, you have a nearly packed house.

Volt is chatting with guests, leading people to their seats while you stop by each table to take their drink orders. Bev is managing the bar by herself, making drinks for a few of the stragglers who manage to snag a spot in the back of the room. 

“If Spotlight Night is this popular,” you say to Volt in passing, hefting a tray of five drinks onto one hand, “you’re going to have to start thinking about hiring extra help.”

Volt chuckles, but his brow does crease thoughtfully. Even he seems surprise by the turn-out tonight, which exceeds even the crowd from the grand re-opening. 

“Hm, I’ll take it under consideration,” he muses.

“Don’t you have a show to put on?” you remind him, jerking your chin toward the stage. “Go on, I’ve got the orders from here.”

Volt flashes you another one of his beaming smiles before he climbs up onto the stage and disappears behind the curtain, likely to give the performers backstage their five minute curtains call. 

You finish making Drysdale and Washford their usual. Washford nods at you politely in gratitude, while Drysdale throws on his usual, flirtatious smile.

“You’ve delivered perfection once again!” Drysdale gasps, placing a delicate hand over his chest. “How might I ever repay you, cherub?”

“Your tab might be a good place to start,” you remind him wryly, holding out your hand expectantly.

Drysdale pouts, before a mischievous glint fills his ruby-red eyes. When he speaks next, his words are sugary-sweet and filled with suggestion, “Perhaps we might have the next round for free?”

You snort. The force of Drysdale’s pitiful attempt at thralling bounces off of you easily, thanks to the rowan necklace. You had first asked him to test if for you the day after Volt first gifted it to you— and Drysdale seems to have taken it as the highest of compliments that you would trust him with such a task, because he has taken to testing the necklace’s efficacy every time he comes to the Breaker Box.

“Were you even trying?” you tease. “I ought to charge you double if your thrall is that shoddy.”

Drysdale squawks out a protest while Washford sips his drink, content to watch you and his lover banter as usual. 

“Keep an eye on this one,” you tell Washford, “he’s a troublemaker.”

Washford snorts into his whiskey. “Don’t I know it already.”

Later, you make your way to the large corner booth currently occupied by the Hanks. They all whoop and cheer when you arrive, placing each drink in front of them one by one.

“That’s a strawberry daiquiri for Hank One,” you list off, “an Alabama slammer for Hank Two, a corona for Hank Three, an angry orchards for Hank Four, and a shirley temple for Hank Five.”

“Awesome!” Five faces grinned up at you. 

“Duuude,” Hank One gasps, after taking a sip of his drink, “are you sure you’re not a wizard?”

“Fairly certain,” you inform him gravely. “Just a bartender.”

“Damn, ‘cause these drinks are magical!” Hank Four cheers. His drink is already halfway gone after only one swig. “I’m gonna have to get another one!”

“Me too!” Hank Two pipes up.

“Me three!” Hank Three adds.

“Sorry to make you go back, homie.” Hank Five rubs that back of his neck sheepishly.

You chuckle. “Don’t apologize, it’s part of the job. Just do me a favor and don’t lose a head, alright? If you guys start duplicating you’re going to run the Breaker Box dry.”

All five parts of the hydra laugh. You chuckle along with them, even if you’re mostly not joking, and disappear through the gathering crowd to head back to the bar. 

You get the Hanks their second round of drinks quickly. By the time you make it back to their table once more, it’s time for the show to begin.

The crowd bursts into applause as a spotlight falls upon the stage and Volt walks out. Even though he looks really no different than he had only a few minutes ago, the sight of him has you stopping in your tracks and all of the air rushing out of your lungs.

You’ve seen Volt be the center of attention before, seen the way he’s commanded a room and charmed his customers just by being himself. But it’s clear now more than ever that Volt was born for the spotlight, was made to be watched, admired, and adored. 

Volt takes the microphone and holds his arms out in greeting to his enraptured audience. “Good evening, fellow mythos and magicians,” he projects, his voice traveling throughout the entire club. “Welcome to our very first Spotlight Night since our grand return!”

Again, the audience bursts into cheers and applause so loud that your ears ring. Yet, you can’t take your eyes off of the man beaming across the crowd, his white hair glittering under the stage lights like a halo.

“We have a very special show for you tonight,” Volt continues once the crowd settles down enough. “Hold onto your tails and feathers, because our first act is the hilarious comedy duo: Curt and Rod!”

Volt slips off stage as the two men appear behind the curtain— this time as themselves. They launch into their set, which mostly consists of light jabs and digs at one another that has the audience in stitches. You flitter around the floor checking on people, taking orders of second and third rounds, while Curt and Rod move onto crowd work. The performance is a hit. Volt comes on in between each act to introduce the next performer, re-invigorating the audience with his suave charm and winning smile. 

When it’s Amir’s turn to take the stage, he appears with a poof of purple smoke and shows off his knife collection with an elegant flourish. The jinn shows off his skills by throwing the knives at targets that he has audience members hold up throughout the room. He finishes his act with a deep bow in response to an amazed applause, and you can’t help but join in.

The final act, the Elemental Three, are just as Bev described. They do look vaguely familiar, like you might have seen them on the cover of a magazine or something. Dante, the fire elemental, has a deep voice filled with an exuberant energy that spreads through the club like— well, like a wildfire. The air elemental, Airyn, provides an upbeat drum that has everyone on their feet, and the water elemental, River, captures everyone’s attention with an electrifying bass solo.

The end of their performance is met with cheers of “Encore!” and disappointed groans when they eventually have to leave. Volt retakes the stage, his energy not flagging for even a moment.

“I’m afraid that that is the end of the show, my friends,” Volt declares, genuinely looking sad. “But I hope you’ll all join us for the afterparty!”

This makes the crowd erupt in even more cheers. The stage lights fade, replaced instead by the lights of the dance floor turning on just in time for the speakers to begin playing the Breaker Box’s usual playlist. Some stay in their seats, excitedly chatting about the Spotlight Acts. Others jump at the chance to join the dance floor, likely already on their fifth or sixth drinks by now, if your count is anything to go off of. A few make a beeline for the bar, eager to get another drink now that they know that the night was far from over.

You busy yourself with serving more drinks. Now that guests aren’t distracted by the show, you find yourself running around back and forth between taking orders and making them at the bar. You had been joking earlier with Volt, but it might not be a bad idea to hire a bar-back or two soon.

Speaking of Volt, you can’t help but notice that he’s nowhere in sight. Even when Curt, Rod, Amir, and the Elemental Three join the guests partying and dancing on the main floor, you can’t spot the club owner anywhere. You’re pulled away from your thoughts, however, when you hear the clashing of glass and a familiar shout of, “ANOTHER!”

You sigh, turning to where you know Kristof is entertaining a few of his draugr friends. “Kristof, buddy, we talked about this— oof!”

Someone rushes past you, nearly knocking you off your feet. Your head collides with a shoulder and your hip smacks right into the corner of a table. Pain blossoms and you see spots for a moment. When you finally recover your wits, you whirl around to try to catch a glimpse of who had so rudely shoved past you, but it’s no use. The crowd is too thick, and whoever it was has already melted into the dance floor.

You huff, but turn back to the mess of glass instead.

Kristof is appropriately apologetic and even helps you clean up the mess. “Force of habit,” he says sheepishly.

By the time you get a second to breathe, it’s about an hour after the show, and there’s still no sign of Volt. You sidle up to the bar where Bev is making what must be her millionth house drink of the night.

“Remember when we thought the layers were cool?” Bev asks, not taking her eyes off of the glass she was trying to pour steadily into. “Yeah, that might be a mistake for busy nights.”

You wince sympathetically. “We might have to find a secondary signature drink,” you agree. “By the way, have you seen Volt?”

Bev glances up at you, a little wild-eyed. “I’m not even sure I can see anyone anymore,” she informs you, seriously. “Everyone is just a blur of mouths and alcohol.”

“Okayyy,” you say, slowly. “Why don’t you take fifteen, Bev? I can hold down the fort for now.”

Bev looks relieved, but bites her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Go on.” You laugh, and playfully tug at the string of her apron. The club is still pretty crowded, but it’s not as packed as it was only an hour ago. “I’ve got it.”

Bev beams at you. “You’re a life saver.” She disappears into the back room to collect herself. You’re glad to see her go; Bev is probably the most high-strung bartender you’ve ever met.

You make a few more drinks for Prissy, another Karaoke Night regular, and her friends. The taste of your mojito has the dryad squealing and wiggling with joy, her leafy hair shivering at the movement. A goblin, who must be Parker based on the description you received from Bev (multicolored hair, crazy eyes, she had told you, and looks like he was a backpack leash kid) and the fact that a human man had an arm wrapped around his shoulders, orders six mai tais. You talk him down to just one.

“Fine,” Parker says, pouting as he crosses his arms over his chest, “but I get to eat the glass.”

You glance at Chance, who looks resigned. He won’t, he mouths, but there’s doubt on his face.

You make him the mai tai and, judging by the wicked gleam in Parker’s eyes, you don’t expect to get the glass back.

“Hey, sugar.”

You whip around and beam at the sight of Betty, who’s leaning against the bar and batting her eyelashes at you. A mischievous smile curls at her pink lips as she lightly swirls a half-finished drink. 

“Betty, isn’t it a little early for you?” you tease. 

Betty’s laugh is low and melodic, making your skin prickle. “I set an alarm to be here tonight. I wouldn’t miss it for the world” She winks at you in a way that by “it” she means “you,” which has you blushing to your roots. “Though, I can practically feel my bed calling my name. You should try it sometime.”

Your mouth goes a little dry. “Your bed?”

“Calling my name.” Betty’s grin is downright lascivious.

You let out an embarrassed squeak, which only makes Betty laugh. God, even her laugh sounds sultry. “You are a menace.” Your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to tease.” Betty’s laugh turns into a giggle. “I actually like the Breaker Box— I don’t feel like getting banned.”

Your brows knit together in confusion at what she’s referencing. “Banned? What would you be banned for?”

“Stealing the owner’s beau, for one thing,” Betty says, wrapping her lips around a straw and finishing off the rest of her drink while you sputter.

“What?” Your face feels hotter than ever before. You glance around nervously, but no one seems to be paying you much attention except for Betty. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh honey,” Betty says, sympathetically. “You can’t tell? Our dear host is down bad.”

You squint at Betty suspiciously. “Did Bev set you up to this?”

Betty’s smile is serene and innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But a little birdie told me he got you a gift.” Her eyes roam you up and down, like she’s looking for it.

You sigh, a little mournfully. “It’s not like that. He got it for me, but it’s to protect me from—” Your hands trail up your neck, but when you try to pull out the necklace to show Betty the string of rowan berries, all you feel is bare skin instead.

Dread pools in your stomach and your heart twists with guilt. You had lost your only protection against enchantment— more importantly, you had lost Volt’s gift to you.

“Oh no,” you moan, looking around frantically. You can’t spot it anywhere near the bar. “It must have fallen off or something.”

“Are you sure you put it on tonight?” Betty asks, frowning.

“Positive,” you insist, your head swiveling like an owl. “Oh god, I can’t believe it’s just gone!”

“Don’t worry,” Betty reassures you sympathetically. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. When was the last time you remember wearing it?”

You don’t remember, honestly. You’ve gotten so used to the comfortable weight that you barely notice it anymore. No, wait, you remember you must have been wearing it when Drysdale tried thralling you— but that had been near the beginning of the night, before the show had even begun. Your face must say it all, because Betty’s face softens. She reaches out to pat your hand.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” she promises. “Plus, it will be easier to search for it once everyone is out and you can turn on the lights.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your eyes are stinging, tears threatening to fall. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” You force a fixed, customer-service smile onto your face. “Can I get you something else?”

Betty must take pity on you, because she just orders a lemon-drop shot instead of another cocktail. Then, she returns to the dance floor, with one last promise to ask around for the necklace.

The music fades out and is replaced with a popular dance song that has even the few stragglers at the bar gasping and dragging their friends to the dance floor. You’re grateful for the momentary reprieve, taking the time to sigh in relief and try to do a second check for the necklace. Even with the bar clear of any guests, the necklace is still nowhere in sight.

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Betty is probably right; the best thing to do is to simply wait until clean up to look for them. Hell, maybe someone’s already found them and will turn them in to the lost and found. Only a few minutes ago you were hoping to see Volt— now, you hoped he stayed away, at least until you found the necklace again. You would be horrified if he found out you had lost the gift he had gotten you.

Trying to distract yourself, you start to clean up the bar. You pick up a few of the dirty glasses, throw out dirty napkins, straws, and coasters, and wipe down the counter. You’re so focused on your task that you don’t notice when a new presence sits in front of you.

“Hello.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. You look up to see an unfamiliar figure— which is really not strange, considering just how jam-packed the Breaker Box is tonight. 

“Oh! Sorry, hi, what can I get you?” Your response is immediate and automatic, like you’re running on auto-pilot. You look at the figure, and blink a few times. For a moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing exactly what Bev was, because you can’t quite see their face. You try to focus your eyes, but can’t seem to distinguish any particular features of this stranger. It isn’t the shadows that are obscuring their face, but like someone has taken a marker and scribbled out and smudged any distinguishing characteristics.

Their face shifts into what you’re pretty sure is supposed to be a smile. “Just your name will do, my dear.”

Your mouth opens, your response on the tip of your tongue. You tell people all the time. It’s not an uncommon question as a bartender. And yet… your skin prickles with goosebumps, your heart begins pounding in your chest, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. Your head is spinning, and the room is tilting. It feels as though you are one of the many drunk revelers, intoxicated and barely able to see straight. The fog that blankets your mind is similar to that of Miranda’s siren song, but this is different. There is no urge to follow, to move. Instead, you feel like your feet are glued to the ground and you are frozen as still as a statue. 

“I—” Your tongue feels too heavy all of a sudden. “I don’t…”

“Is something wrong?” Their voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming from them anymore. It’s coming from everywhere, it’s coming from nowhere, it’s coming from inside you, rattling your bones and rumbling out of your ear drums instead of in. “Do you not know your name?”

“I…” It feels like you’re trying to drag your brain through molasses, and failing. 

“Go on. It’s just us, little human.” They croon, as sweet as honey. And yet, you can taste something sour, like curdled milk, on your tongue. “May I have your name?”

My name, you think blearily, that was awfully easy. You have one of those, you’re pretty sure. It would be so easy to just—

A hand closes around your arm, breaking the spell that this stranger has on you. It’s like being doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. You gasp for air, as though you hadn’t even realized you were drowning. Your vision stops spinning, but it still takes a moment to realize what is happening, because all you see is darkness. No, not darkness, you realize. It’s the back of Volt’s coat. Because he has stepped in front of you, placing himself between you and this stranger. 

“Unseelie,” Volt hisses, venom in his voice.

You want to step out, want to grab Volt’s arm and tug him back. You open your mouth to speak, but again, nothing comes out. Although the spell has broken, fear has gotten its claws into you, and all you can do is stare, too paralyzed to move. You’re afraid that if you even twitch, you will lock eyes with that stranger again, and lose complete control of yourself.

“Ah.” There was that voice again, inhuman and unearthly, with a note of genuine annoyance there. “You are disturbing my hunt.”

A sound so low you barely register it comes out of Volt’s throat. At first, you think you might be hearing things. Your mind is fractured enough tonight as it is, it’s a strong possibility. But then you place the sound— it’s a growl. And not the way you grunt in frustration when your computer crashes or the cash register freezes. It’s an honest to god animalistic growl, the kind that dogs make when their owners are being threatened, the kind that predators made when they came face to face with a competitor at the watering hole.

It’s enough to break you out of whatever paralysis you’re in. You step to the side, mindful to keep your head turned away from the stranger, and train your eyes on Volt’s face.

Volt is… unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Your mouth goes dry and your hands feel clammy. He’s still holding your arm, and his nails are digging sharp, painful pricks into your flesh, but it is clear he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. The feeling of his skin against yours is hot— almost burning like a brand against your skin. When you look down, you see that his hands aren’t quite right. His pale, manicured hands are gone, replaced instead with scaled, talon-like claws. Volt’s hair is glowing a bright white that matches the dangerous flash in his slitted pupils. You expect his face to be red with anger— but you’re wrong. His face is nearly blue, with patchy, rough patterns growing on his cheeks that takes you a moment to realize are scales. 

Nonsensically, you think at first that it is a trick of the light, but it’s impossible to ignore the truth when it is laid out before you. Your mind threatens to crack under the pressure of everything that is happening, but Volt’s voice pulls you back to reality. You shove the sudden realization into the back of your mind to be dealt with later.

He begins speaking, but it takes you a long time to parse out his words because his voice has dropped and completely changed. The accent is still there, of course, but the tone is so completely un-Volt-like you wonder if he has been possessed. If the stranger’s voice has shaken you, Volt’s voice makes you want to drop to the floor and quiver with fear. You feel his voice more so with your mind than your ears, his words rattling around your skull. 

“How dare you?” Volt seethes. “Who do you think you are?”

Your sluggish mind accelerates all of a sudden, as though finally, finally emerging from the icy lake it had been trapped underneath. Your brain works in fast-forward, and you become aware of several things all at once.

Unseelie, Volt had called this stranger. One of two main fey courts, and more importantly, the much more dangerous one of the two. 

You cannot call yourself an expert on the fey. No one can, really. But everyone knows that one of the main rules of the fey is do not offend them. 

Well, maybe Volt did know, but it certainly did not look like he cared very much at this moment. 

You shove down your terror and lock away the ancient lizard part of your hindbrain that is screaming at you to run, run, run as far away and as fast as you can. You tear your gaze away from Volt and turn to face the fey stranger. 

“You are impeding upon our hospitality,” you say, calmly and carefully. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave on account of your rudeness. You are no longer welcome here.”

You can’t really tell, but you feel that the fey is staring at you. Piercing through you. Pinning you into the spot. You don’t back down, and you don’t budge an inch. 

“How have I been rude?” they ask, curious.

The lack of weight around your neck is suddenly impossible to ignore. You hold out your hand, expectantly. “You can return what you’ve stolen,” you say, pleasantly, “and you won’t be banned from the Breaker Box permanently.”

The silent is palpable. You can feel your heart rattling against your ribcage. If they do not accept the deal, you’re not sure what you’re going to do—

A small weight falls into the palm of your hand. The rowan berry necklace stares back at you.

You have to bite down on your tongue to refrain from thanking the fey. “Your cooperation is appreciated,” you say, simply. “You may return to the Breaker Box after tonight, with better manners.”

A shiver runs down your spine. Something about the fey’s gaze has changed, but you’re not sure what. It’s not bad, exactly, just different. Like they’re no longer looking at you like you’re the mouse they are trying to snare, but instead a particularly interesting circus rat who can juggle. So long as you keep their interest, you are safe. Probably.

“How interesting,” their voice croons. It’s less like nails on a chalkboard, but it still makes your hair stand on end. “But a deal is a deal.”

And with that, they simply turn, and begin to move toward the door. 

“Wait,” you call out, not sure what compels you to do so. 

They stop.

“What shall I call you?” you ask. 

Their back is turned. You cannot distinguish their expression even if you could see their face. And yet, you know instinctively they smile. 

“You may call me Daemon.”

And with that, between one blink and another, the fey is gone.

Chapter Text

Reality rushes past you like you’re in free fall again. You feel like you are waking from a dream— or a nightmare. 

You turn around, and you realize you have the weight of the entire bar’s eyes on you. You shrink, wanting nothing more than to just sink into the floor and scream. The room is still spinning, and you have to dizzily lean against the back wall to steady yourself. 

“Alright, show’s over!” Dorian barks. The sound of his voice is jarring, but it is like an anchor that helps you ground yourself in what is real. “Close out your tabs if you haven’t already and get out.”

No one seems to protest. The party is over, clearly.

You blink hard, trying to ground yourself back into reality. The spot where Volt’s hand had gripped your arm feels uncomfortably cold without his presence. Wait, where did he go?

You look around in a panic and catch a glimpse of blue and white. Your eyes lock onto the sight of Eddie pushing Volt behind the door— not aggressive, but the way one sometimes has to scruff an out-of-control dog. In between one blink and the next, they’re both gone.

Instinctively, you make an aborted move to follow them, as though tugged forward by a lead. Your brain kicks in and you freeze in your tracks when you remember the bar. You’re working, after all, and a crowd is beginning to form. You should help Bev close people’s tabs, should help clean up and close out the night, should—

Bev takes you gently by the shoulders and guides you to the back door.

“Sit,” she says, quietly. She looks oddly demure for once. “I can take care of this. Just go get your head on straight.”

You don’t have it in you to fight. 

You leave Dorian and Bev at the bar to go to the break room. Your feet move on autopilot, but instead of the tiny room with a mini fridge and a microwave, you find yourself standing outside of Volt’s office. The door is open just a crack, so you can’t see inside, but you can hear a hushed voice.

“—just breathe.” That’s Eddie’s voice. You’d recognize it anywhere, except for here. It takes a moment for you to connect the dots because of how soft his tone is. You’ve never heard him speak so gently before. Even when he had saved you from that nasty fall, his tone had been more concerned than particularly soothing. When he speaks to Volt, however, there’s a raw edge of emotion that has your heart clenching in sympathy. “That’s it… keep breathing. No sparks, no fires, you’re fine.”

You can hear deep, ragged breaths, surprisingly loud considering the nearly shut door. The sound of Volt’s breathing occupies the space for several minutes, until he speaks again.

“Sorry, Eddie,” he murmurs, sounding contrite. Your ears strain to hear him properly. “I thought— I thought I could control myself after last time—“

“Nothing to apologize for,” Eddie tells him. Some of his usual growl has re-entered his voice, but it’s more purposeful than aggravated. “It was a great night. A huge success.” He sounds… genuine, you realize, his voice lacking its usual sarcastic edge.

“Until the end.” Volt sighs, sounding a little like a kicked puppy. “I ruined it again.”

“Don’t say that,” Eddie snaps, clearly annoyed. “You haven’t ruined anything.”

“Everyone saw.”

“Who the fuck cares, Volt? Most of them have seen you way worse. You might be the face of the Breaker Box, but you’re not a god. You can’t be everywhere at once, protecting me and the club and a human who keeps acting like catnip to our customers.”

A jolt of electricity runs down your spine as you realize they’re talking about you.

“I know that,” Volt says, stubbornly. “But I— I made it worse. And then they didn’t even need me in the end. I’ve probably scared them off, and I have no one to blame but myself for losing my temper in front of them.”

“If that’s a crime, I’d have a criminal record the size of the city.” Eddie snorts. 

“Eddie.”

“I’m being serious, Volt. The human was vulnerable, and Daemon took advantage of that. You know how the Unseelie can be. They’re opportunists— scavengers. You did your best.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Volt whispers, barely audible.

“If what you did wasn’t enough—” Eddie’s voice raises with irritation. “—then I’m downright negligent. This club isn’t your sole responsibility. It’s mine as well. I should’ve been there too, instead of swooping in at the last second.”

“That’s not—“ Volt protests.

“The same thing?” Eddie challenges. “Come on, Volt, if I had been there, Daemon would have never tried that. So we both failed to protect the human— fine, that’s on us. But from the sound of things, they didn’t need our help anyways.”

You feel yourself flush; Eddie sounds impressed, but a little like he hates to admit it.

“That doesn’t make things right,” Volt sulks.

“Then make it right,” Eddie says, simply. 

Volt pauses. Even from where you’re eavesdropping, you can feel the air grow thick with tension. You hold your breath as Volt finally responds.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.” Eddie huffs. “You know I can’t lie.”

“I know you tell half-truths,” Volt counters, but you can hear the growing smile in his voice. “I thought you didn’t care for our resident human.”

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately. “They’re a useful addition to the Breaker Box,” he says, as though each word has to be forcibly dragged out. “Much as I hate to admit it, the customers seem to like them.”

“Mmmm,” Volt hums. “The customers.”

Eddie groans. You hear a shuffling sound, like he’s just shoved at Volt, followed by soft laughter.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles. “And go check on your little treasure already, will you?”

The use of Volt’s nickname for you on Eddie’s tongue has you shivering, goosebumps prickling up the backs of your arms.

“Are they okay?” Volt asks, alarmed. “I couldn’t tell—”

“Seemed fine from what I saw,” Eddie soothes him. “I’m just saying. They held their own against one of the Unseelie. Fuck, give ‘em the day off tomorrow or something.”

“You’re the boss,” Volt purrs, sounding so much more like his usual self that you relax.

The sound of shuffling bodies and scraping chairs has you scurrying back to the break room before either man can leave the office. Only a few heartbeats after you sit down, you see Eddie pass by the open doorway. As he does so, your gazes meet.

For a brief moment, you think Eddie knows that you were eavesdropping. You brace yourself for a dressing down, or at least one of his signature glares. And maybe he does know, but he doesn’t look upset. Instead, you feel his eyes burning through you with a curious sort of intensity, making you feel a little like a bug under a magnifying glass. His lips are pursed, but not in anger, more like he’s holding something back. Eddie gives you a short, single nod of acknowledgement before he disappears from sight.

You don’t have time to process what any of that might mean before Volt takes Eddie’s place, broad shoulders blocking the view through the doorway. For a long pause, you and Volt only stare at one another.

“Are you—”

“How are you—”

You both fall silent once again.

Finally, Volt exhales. “Do you feel up for a quick talk?”

Your heart picks up speed, and a lump forms in your throat. You’re not exactly surprised by the question, but you do have a feeling it isn’t what Volt had wanted to ask initially.

“Yeah,” you say, softly, and start to rise, but Volt doesn’t back off from the doorway.

“Are you sure?” he asks, gently. “It can wait. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

The traitorous thing in your chest does a flip.

“I’m alright,” you promise. “Are you?”

Volt looks surprised by your question. “I’m… better. Come on, then.”

He leads you to his office. Eddie’s office light is out, you notice, as Volt holds the door open for you. You step inside and sit down at your usual seat.

Volt sheds his jacket, tossing it onto his own desk chair. To your surprise, he doesn’t go to sit behind the desk like he usually does. Instead, he perches on the edge of his desk so that he is much closer to you. There’s an empty bottle of whiskey next to a pile of paperwork that’s been haphazardly pushed aside to make room for him to sit. His inner shirt is unbuttoned as usual, but he looks so rumpled that it makes him look more haphazard than his usual carefully-crafted-sex-appeal.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before Volt can speak.

His white eyebrows lift. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

“The necklace,” you mumble, too shame-faced to look him in the eyes. Instead, you stare determinedly into your own lap. “If I had noticed it was missing sooner…”

“Oh, treasure.” Volt’s voice is so breathy that you instinctively look up, and are transfixed upon his beautifully sad face. “It’s not your fault. None of it was. This is my club, and you’re my responsibility. I should have been keeping a closer eye on you.”

“You did, though,” you say, softly. “You saved me.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “I rather think you saved yourself,” he said with a sigh. “You handled yourself admirably, if I do say so myself. I, meanwhile, just lost my temper.”

“I probably would have been angry too if the roles were reversed,” you reason, thinking about Eddie’s conversation with Volt. You’re grateful that Eddie has already managed to sand down the worst of Volt’s rough, guilty edges. Instead of re-hashing his guilt spiral with Eddie, Volt actually softens.

“I suppose you would,” Volt teases, “you’re far more of a spitfire than I would have thought. All you needed was a little spark.”

A jolt runs through you. Something in your stomach squirms.

“And thank you for stepping in when you did. If you hadn’t…” You trail off, shivering at the thought. “You snapped me out of it. I didn’t realize until I was clear-headed that it was way too much of a coincidence to have lost my only protection against thralls just for Daemon to sweep in.”

“Glamours,” Volt says, almost absentmindedly.

“Huh?”

“They’re called glamours,” Volt explains. “Magic used by the fey. It’s similar to siren songs and vampire thralls, but they’re particularly powerful. The fact that you were able to resist for so long is a testament to your will.”

You realize you’re still holding the necklace clutched in the fist of one hand. You force your grip to relax and stare down at it. The nauseous feeling from earlier is beginning to return, so you reach up to clasp it back around your neck.

“Let me,” Volt offers, and you hand him the necklace. He takes it, but before you can drop your arms, his entire demeanor changes. His eyes go wide then lock onto your arm. A warm hand captures your wrist, turning it over to inspect it more carefully.

“You’re hurt,” Volt says, face twisting into one of realization and anguish.

You focus on your left forearm, blinking in confusion when you realize just what has caught his attention. There are deep, red marks dug into your skin, angry scratch marks that are just deep enough to let a bit of blood begin to bead, though not enough for even a trickle. It must have been from when Volt had pulled you away from Daemon, nails digging in more deeply than he had realized. Perhaps the pain had been what had helped snap you out of it in the first place.

“I’m—” Volt’s words choke off, and your head snaps up to stare into his horrified expression. There is deep shame and misery etched into every line of his face.

“Hey,” you’re quick to say, trying to keep your voice gentle, like you’re soothing a frightened animal, “it’s not a big deal, I promise. You didn’t do it on purpose, after all, and I know you were just trying to protect me.”

Your words finally get Volt to tear his gaze away from your injury, thankfully, but it has the side effect of Volt also yanking back his arm and letting go of you, like he’s afraid his mere touch might burn. He stares up at you with the most contrite expression you’ve ever seen. You would have thought he had run over your dog, not left you with a few scratches, from the way he’s acting.

“I’m sorry,” Volt breathes. “Oh, treasure, I’m so, so sorry.”

He reaches out on instinct, but aborts the mission almost immediately, hands floundering. It’s— well, it’s almost adorable, if it weren’t for the very real distress that is clearly written across Volt’s face.

“It’s alright, Volt,” you assure him. “I’m fine. I know it was just an accident, but I accept your apology.”

He looks conflicted. “But—”

“No buts.” You’re quick to rebut his attempt at a guilt spiral. “You’ve apologized, and I’ve accepted. That’s how it works. You made a mistake, you just have to be careful in the future. No more apologies necessary.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Volt looks unsure, chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes flick down to your arms before returning to meet your gaze. “At least let me bandage it up.”

It was probably overkill. If you had accidentally scratched yourself, you probably would have just wiped it off with a tissue and called it a day. But Volt looks so hopeful that you can’t refuse him. 

“Alright,” you finally agree. If it will make Volt feel a little better, what was the harm?

Volt gestures for you to turn, first, holding up your necklace. You rotate your upper body, feeling the weight of the necklace against your chest once more as he drapes the string of rowan berries over you and clasps it behind your neck. By the time you turn around again, he has pushed off from his desk and disappeared from the office. When Volt returns, he is holding a white plastic box with a red cross on the front. He unlatches the first aid kit and begins pulling out a few supplies— disinfecting wipes, bandages, and medical tape. Again, it’s a little overkill, but you’ve already decided to be a good patient for him.

You are about to stand, because Volt is so tall that there is no way he can comfortably clean the scratches on your arms while towering over you. Before you can, however, Volt drops to his knees before you, without even a moment’s hesitation. Your breath hitches and a tiny squeak escapes from you without any permission from your higher functioning brain, which promptly blue screens when Volt shuffles even closer to you.

“Let me see,” he says, and you really don’t have enough brain cells left to do anything but dumbly follow his instructions. You hold your arm out for Volt to inspect the scratches. The first swipe of the alcohol pad stings, the pain shocking you back into the present. An automatic hiss escapes you through clenched teeth, but Volt is incredibly gentle and brushes a thumb across the back of your hand soothingly. With only a few short, quick swipes, he finishes cleaning the cuts, giving your hand one last reassuring squeeze.

“The worst is over,” he tells you, a fond smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. It’s almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You swallow, and shake yourself a little until you regain your wits.

“Give it to me straight, doc,” you say, with faux-solemnity, “how long do I have?”

Volt barks out a laugh. “You’re stronger than you look, I believe you will pull through.”

You pretend to sigh in relief. “Thank god.”

“Unless infection has set in,” Volt adds, slyly. “Then you may lose the arm.”

You gasp, pretending to swoon. The act only lasts for so long before you’re both dissolving into a fit of giggles, exhausted from the long day and the stress of the evening’s incident.

When you finish laughing, Volt reaches for the roll of bandages. You don’t really think before you speak next, the words coming out of you like they’re coming from a completely different person.

“It’s a good thing your claws aren’t tipped with poison,” you say. “Otherwise I’m not sure those alcohol wipes would do much for me.”

At the word “claws,” Volt’s head snaps to you and he freezes, going utterly still. He looks a little like a rabbit caught in a trap, a prey animal that has been cornered and knows it has no other means of escape.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” You bite your lip, cursing yourself silently for your own bluntness. “I mean, well, you don’t have to say anything. But you… also don’t have to hide, either. Not from me. I just wanted to let you know that I know. And is seemed rude not to tell you that I know. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

For some reason, that’s what has Volt barking out a laugh. It’s not a particularly humorous laugh, but a more incredulous one.

“You didn’t mean to scare me?” he repeats, mystified. “Are you not frightened? Look what I’ve already done to you. I could have done much, much worse.” He stares down at his hands— normal, human looking hands, instead of claws.

You take them in yours, tracing your fingers against soft, supple skin. With your proximity, you can hear Volt’s breath catch as he goes perfectly still under your touch.

“Hmmm…” You look up at him from under your eyelashes with a mischievous sort of smile. “Doesn’t look too scary from here.”

Volt swallows. You can see the muscles of his neck move wit the action. His hand twitches, like his instincts tell him to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“Give me some credit.” Your voice softens. “I don’t scare easy.”

“I know.” He sounds hoarse now. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you—”

“I meant what I said,” you insist, cutting him off quickly before he could follow it up with even more unnecessary apologies. “I’m not mad, or upset, or scared. It’s not really any of my business anyways. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

Your words seem to have struck Volt silent for the first time. His gaze pierces you, as though searching for some trick or deeper meaning behind your words. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but he seems to have gone completely quiet. Volt is still close enough that you can see his silvery eyes have gone wide and his pupils slitted in a very feline manner— no, a very draconic manner.

You wait patiently. When Volt speaks again, his voice trembles, sounding more like a door mouse than the creature you know him to be.

“I want to.” Volt swallows thickly, takes your hand, and looks you right in the eyes. “I’m a dragon.”

A thrill runs through you at his honesty. His face is open and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen from him before, like you’ve cracked his porcelain mask to reveal his true self.

“I’m a human,” you offer, as though it were not abundantly obvious, and it surprises a laugh out of Volt. The corners of his mouth curve up.

“You certainly are,” he says, sounding utterly fond. With that, he finishes bandaging the scrapes with a final pat of his hand before withdrawing. You miss the feeling of his touch immediately when he pulls away, but he is still watching you carefully. You make a show of flexing and relaxing your arm muscles to make sure the bandages won’t budge, and nod in approval.

“See?” You hold your arm up to him with a smile. “All better.”

“All better,” he echoes, and you’re satisfied to see real relief in his expression now. 

“Did you… want to talk about what happened out there?” you ask, tentatively. You’re worried you’re poking at a fresh wound still too raw and tender.

Volt grimaces, averting his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I… have been known to have a short fuse.”

“You?” you say, incredulously. “A short fuse?”

Volt’s lips press together. “How much do you know of dragons?”

“Not a lot,” you admit.

“Many people used to believe that dragons are born for destruction,” Volt explains, quietly, “for warfare, for power. Because the thing that every dragon has in common is rage, and for a lot of humans, anger does mean destruction, warfare, and power.”

His words make long-forgotten cogs formed by years of public education begin to turn in your brain. Thousands of years of history in which humans had made deals with, or in many instances even enslaved, dragons to do their fighting for them. Waging war with other kingdoms or factions, until it became a game of “who can impose their will upon more dragons?”

“It’s an evolutionary trait,” you recall from a long-ago biology class. “Anger helped to protect a dragon’s hoards.”

Volt nods in agreement, but he still looks unhappy. “Dragons are solitary creatures by nature. We don’t even like other dragons— too much competition. I like the human world, but there are many who still look at dragons— at all magical beings— like we are monsters. And I’ve always hated that. I wanted to be looked upon with admiration, not fear.”

You think about how natural of a performer Volt was, how he captured his audience’s attention and always looked like he belonged on the stage. Volt simply has a natural charisma that couldn’t be faked. 

“You accomplished that,” you say, honestly. “The people who come to the Breaker Box— hell, anyone who meets you— they adore you.”

Volt’s cheeks go pink at your words. He looks at you with no small amount of disbelief, but he’s softening. “That’s kind of you to say, treasure, but it seems that no matter how long I spend in my human form, I will always have a dragon’s heart and— worse— a dragon’s rage.”

“I mean it,” you insist. “Take it from me— anger isn’t an exclusively draconic characteristic. Everyone gets angry.”

But Volt just shakes his head, face tightening. “Most people can’t breathe fire, can’t destroy buildings or entire towns with a temper tantrum. Perhaps there is some validity to their fear— just look at you.”

Ironically enough, you feel a hot flash of anger rush through you at Volt’s words.

“Anger itself isn’t a bad thing,” you retort. “When you got angry today— it wasn’t destructive anger. It was protective anger. It came from a good place, Volt, and that’s the difference. I’ve seen the way some people treat you and everyone else here— if you were really as bad as you think, you’d be flying off the handle every other day.”

Volt’s shoulders are hunched. For a man as tall and broad-shouldered as him, he seemed to be doing an admirable job of trying to make himself as small as possible. You decide quickly that you really don’t like it.

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he says quietly, still not quite meeting your eyes. “But I have to be more careful. I can do serious damage when I get like that.”

You scrunch up your nose. Volt has never been anything but kind to you, every touch gentle and every smile warm. The way he spoke of himself was as though he saw himself as a monster.

“What, like this?” you ask in disbelief, waving your bandaged arm a little in exasperation.

“No.” His face darkens before continuing haltingly. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met? That the Breaker Box had to close for a while for repairs, and that’s why we had a grand re-opening?”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. “Yeah. You said there was some kind of…” You trail off, remembering his words. “An electrical fire.” Your breath catches as the meaning clicks into place.

Volt nods solemnly, shame-faced.

“That was you?” you blurt out, surprised. “But… Eddie said that a human started it.”

Volt purses his lips. “Technically, a human did start it. And I finished it.”

You inhale sharply. “What did they do?” you ask curiously. “It must have been bad.”

His jaw flexes, his bright silvery eyes flashing at the memory. “What didn’t he do? Manipulating Bev and Dorian, endangering our customers, and then stealing from the club—”

“What?” you gasp, and the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place. You sit straighter in your seat. “Wait, are you talking about Keith? The last bartender that Dorian told me about?”

The mere mention of his name has a low, deep growl emitting from the back of Volt’s throat. It’s an inhuman, animalistic sound that takes him by surprise just as much as you. Volt purposely clears his throat, sounding remarkably more human, as a pink flush dusts his cheeks.

“Yes, it was. I can’t really say that I regret what I did to him, but I do regret that my anger blinded me,” he confessed. “I regret that I let him anger me so much that I endangered everyone and destroyed the club.”

You gesture around yourself. “Doesn’t look destroyed to me.”

“Well, this is the result of months of work.”

“I’m serious, Volt,” you protest, exasperated. “I don’t think you can be the face of this bar if you didn’t get angry when your kindness is taken advantage of. Letting people like Keith and Daemon treat you and others like that isn’t trying not to be feared— it’s just being a pushover. And you are a protector.”

There’s a gleam that enters Volt’s eyes at your words. “You mean that?”

You nod furiously. “Your friends are still here, and the club is thriving. Your customers adore you. Your staff trusts you. And if you hadn’t stood up to Daemon, or even Keith back then, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now either.”

The way that Volt looks at you can only be described as reverent.

“You’re not afraid.” It’s not a question, but a statement. Volt sounds awed by his own realization.

You can’t help but laugh at the idea. Volt, who has given you a job, his friendship, a place you actually felt like you belonged. Who has only ever looked at you gently. Who has given you nothing but kindness, acceptance, and protection, without needing to be asked or asking for anything in return.

“Of course not,” you say without a moment’s hesitation. 

The smile that breaks out on Volt’s face makes you feel warm. Suddenly, you are struck with the realization that he is looking at you the same way his audience usually stares at him. You flush, feeling heat crawl up your neck and face. Your eyes fall your hands still holding Volt’s, and you suddenly jolt back, embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about it. Then, Volt’s thumb tucks under your chin and lifts your face up so that you have no choice but to look right into his soft, smiling face.

“Thank you,” he says, sincerely. “For everything.”

“I—” you stammer, flustered. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t,” he insists, his voice dropping once more. It’s similar to the tone he used back in the club, when he had been standing face to face with Daemon, but it’s also different somehow. There’s a crooning quality to his words that makes it more of a purr than a threat. “It isn’t nothing. You aren’t nothing, treasure.”

You feel like your entire body is overheating and is getting drawn closer and closer to Volt, who is still on his knees before you, practically cradling your face. You stare at his earnest eyes and open expression an are overcome with the need to kiss him.

Volt moves before you can, but it’s a very near thing. He surges forward and kisses you, pressing his lips to yours like he can’t get close enough to you. He kisses like you are something to behold, something to admire, something to worship, but he also kisses like he is trying to devour you. It sets your entire body aflame, your fingers tingling and your skin sparking where he touches you, and your brain is practically melting out of your ears. There’s not much room in your head left for anything but thoughts of Volt, but somehow, you manage to pull away from him with a gasp. 

Volt’s lips chase you, as though he can’t help it, but his eyes blink a few times, refocusing, and he lets you go. His brows furrow with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice rough with alarm. “Did I—?”

“What about Eddie?” you blurt out, the earlier elation quickly melting into guilt and panic.

Again, Volt blinks in confusion, before his entire body sags with relief at your question. “Eddie and I…” He draws in a deep breath, trying to find the best way to explain. “What we have is special. I care for him deeply, I love him more than I can express. But dragons have large hearts, and he knows that.”

You understand what he means immediately. Eddie and Volt’s words from earlier suddenly strike you with a very different meaning.

"That doesn’t make things right.”

“Then make it right.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

You relax as a wave of relief crashes through you.

“Good,” you say, sighing, “that’s… really good.”

His eyes have not strayed from your face, as though trying to evaluate your every micro-expression and reaction. “It’s good?”

In answer, you reach for him, clasping him by the front of his shirt and drawing him close. You get the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen. He’s close enough to you that you can hear the hitch in his breath and see the flush spreading across his face.

“It’s good,” you repeat, more gently this time, and kiss him once more.