Heyou stood in the shadow of his warped sign—HEY YOU’S HONEST GOODS, the letters cracked like old teeth. His ears twitched when he saw them coming. Sharp smile already in place, like he’d been born with it.

“Well, well, well,” he crooned, straightening his crooked little tie. The “suit” he wore looked like it had once been curtains in a brothel. “If it ain’t the green gal of my dreams, the blue banger of ballads, and—”

His eyes hit Illya. He flinched.

“—that. Shit on a shovel. Keep that one twenty paces back, arms where I can see ’em.”

Illya blinked, confused. Her pink skin shifted slightly orange with offense.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Ain’t what you did,” Heyou muttered. “It’s what you are. Stay back, devil doll. I got nightmares with your face on ’em.”

Illya pouted and took a step closer.

Heyou shrieked, actually shrieked, and dove behind a barrel of rusty horseshoes. “Gods damn it, twenty feet! Twenty or I start throwing salt.”

“She’s not contagious,” Hurdy called out, hands on hips, grinning wide under her mohawk. “Just emotionally unstable and arcane-adjacent. Comes in handy, sometimes.”

“Yeah? And sometimes she damn near melts a well pump tryin’ to dry her socks!” Heyou popped his head back up, eyes flicking to Yutjaa. “And you. Tall, green, and glorious. You show up with a Beholder’s head in one hand and the devil’s brat in the other? Makes me question your judgement, darlin’.”

Yutjaa crossed her arms. The leather creaked.

“I wanted to kill him,” she said.

“Kill me?”

“The Beholder,” she deadpanned.

“Oh.” Heyou stepped out from behind the barrel, brushing himself off like nothing happened. “Well. That’s a relief. Let’s see the eye, then. Proof of kill. We had terms.”

Yutjaa didn’t blink. “He didn’t fight.”

Heyou’s grin faltered. “Beg pardon?”

“He cried,” Yutjaa said.

“He sobbed,” Hurdy added, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, clearly enjoying herself. “Turns out the Beholder, Bernard, got the axe when the warlord downsized. Wife left him. Took the kid. Sad thing was tryin’ to teach himself how to cook stew in the lord’s wine cellar.”

“Wanted to die,” Illya chimed in brightly. “Real existential. Real gooey.”

“We made him dinner,” Yutjaa continued, voice flat. “Fed him. Talked him off the ledge. Told him to pack his things and piss off.”

Heyou stared at them. Stared at Yutjaa like her tusks had grown new tusks. Then glanced toward Illya—who was now fuchsia with pride. He shuddered.

“You fed the floating death orb.”

“Homemade stew,” Hurdy said cheerfully. “Turnip, leeks, little dash of thyme.”

Yutjaa didn’t reach for her axe. Not yet. But the way she shifted her weight said the weapon was about to be part of the conversation.

Heyou’s smile thinned. “Gods below,” he muttered, rubbing his temples with spidery fingers. “And here I was, hopin’ you’d bash his skull in and drag back his meat marble.”

Yutjaa squinted at him. “You had a buyer.”

Heyou’s ears twitched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You were plannin’ to sell it.”

“Pff.” He waved a hand. “A hypothetical. Maybe a collector. Maybe a wizard. Maybe someone what likes jewelry with nerve endings.”

Hurdy raised an eyebrow. “So we’re the ones unpaid because you lost a sale on a floating eyeball?”

“I lost a deal, sweetheart,” Heyou snapped, his flirtation souring like milk in the sun. “You cost me a fortune in arcane reagents and eyeball smugglin’ contracts by playin’ nursemaid to an aberration.”

Yutjaa stepped forward. Her tusks clenched tight against the edge of her lip.

“I cost you?”

Heyou whistled sharp. From the flaps of nearby tents, four guards stepped out. Tall, human, armored in scrap and leather—but sharp-eyed, professional. One cracked his knuckles. Another chewed a toothpick like it might be the last thing he ever tasted.

“Alright,” Hurdy said, voice still calm. “We’re drawin’ steel over a stew recipe now?”

“I’m not payin’ you,” Heyou spat. “Not for talkin’ to the damn monster. You fed it. You tucked it in. You cleaned up its mess. You did maid work, not murder.”

Yutjaa’s axe came up like punctuation.

Hurdy sighed, drew her twin swords, and said, “You just made a stupid man’s decision, goblin.”

Heyou jerked a finger at Illya. “Worry about her!”

Two guards peeled toward the forestling. Her skin pulsed from coral pink to thunderhead gray, breath short, lips trembling.

“Stay back!” Illya squeaked. “I swear I don’t mean to—I don’t—I warned you—”

The magic burst out of her like a corked bottle exploding.

It wasn’t fire or frost. It wasn’t light or sound. It was everything and nothing—pure arcane backlash that shook the dirt and bent the air.

Hurdy froze mid-step.

Yutjaa froze mid-swing.

Even the guards advancing on her stiffened like statues.

Only Heyou remained, blinking in awe.

“Shit,” he whispered, as three of the most dangerous women he’d ever lusted after stood locked in place, magic still dancing around their forms like warped glass.

He adjusted his tie. “This just got real interestin’.”

To be Continued-