Cassius let the girl lead him up the stairs to the private area, where he was seated at a large booth meant for a party of five or more. He ordered a strong drink and sank back into the cushions, inspecting the environment around him. Upstairs was more elaborately decorated with hanging vines and plants. Combined with the blue light and ocean sounds, the decor kept drawing his memories to the past, to shores where he had wandered as a child and then grown into a man. A peculiar twist pulled somewhere below his ribs; it was not overly painful, more like the smallest of blades had been slipped between the bones there. Smaller even, a needle perhaps. But every time he breathed in the air in this place, he felt it pinch a little more. And with it came simple, innocuous memories—his bare feet sinking into the sand, the constancy of the waves that crashed against the bank, the otherworldly quiet of his little lagoon, broken only by the occasional call of a bird or croak of a frog.

The emergence of memories had become disquieting enough that he was considering leaving when another woman arrived, setting a drink on the table. Something dark, two fingers deep in a small glass. This waitress was not wearing the same costume as the other, but her dress was equally as appealing. Draped in expensive maroon fabric, the waitress had generous hips, and skin a shade darker than his own. He guessed she was of coastal origins, like him.

He nodded his thanks, and took a sip of the drink. It went down smooth; the burn did not start until a few moments after he swallowed, when he could already feel the warmth spreading in his stomach.

“Good,” he commented.

“I am glad you like it,” the woman said, her voice deeper than he would have guessed. Then she slid into the booth across from him.

He stiffened. He was not in the mood for this kind of attention. He was well aware that this place was popular for the female companionship it provided, but that was not why he had come. He looked at the woman—her eyes were dark, but not quite as dark as the sable hair that poured over her shoulders. There was so much of it that even with the dozens of braids she wore, there was still more than enough loose for two false wigs, should she ever be in dire enough straits to sell it. Her brows were thick, almost mannish, but it somehow all balanced out when combined with her wide, red-painted lips.

“I mean no offense, but I am not here for company. I only wish to speak to your boss.”

Those red lips pursed as she blew out a breath, then pulled wide as she gave him a chagrined smile. “That might prove difficult.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I have no boss.”

“Your employer, then.”