"It's practically a fort, this place," Rhaj observes as he looks around, taking everything in.

"It's modeled after them, to an extent. We call it the Stronghold." E.J.'s voice drips with pride when she speaks of the building—which houses not only her own home and the Lock and Key, but an entire communal living complex as well as a number of other businesses and apartments. And at the heart of it all—an enclosed courtyard of gardens.

E.J. leads us to what she calls her "townhome"—one of four concrete towers that jut from halfway up the corners of the greater rectangle that is the Stronghold. Facing the Northeast, it looks out over a slender crescent of the city that trails off into temperate rainforest and green mountains.

Inside, the tower itself isn't all that large—four stories tall, with each floor no larger than that of a small apartment. It smells of teak and bourbon, the surfaces either all concrete, glass, or dark-stained wood. The furnishings are upholstered in varying shades of leather, draped here and there with a dark-toned blanket of patchwork silk or fur. Though magnificent, I'd imagined something at the height of decadence. E.J.'s "townhome" boasts surprisingly few of the excessive indulgences I was expecting.

Save, of course, for the art.

"J. The '44."

"That didn't take long," E.J. mutters, disappearing into the kitchen and leaving the three of us in her second floor living room. It's like a very comfortable gallery, the couches and coffee table all at the center of the room so as not to obstruct any wall space. Somi hovers about for a minute then whirs out of sight through a slot near the ceiling. Beatrice drags Rhaj from piece to piece, giving him the titles and artists names whenever he doesn't immediately declare them on sight. I sit back, my jaw hanging from its hinges as reality sinks in.

That's an original Endrien. That's a limited-run Tiche print. I don't recognize that one, but spirits, its incredible. Oh, it's a Heinsbek? Oh my gods. I drift through the room, wondering if the others will notice if I pinch myself.

When E.J. returns, it's with a tray baring four glasses, a black bottle, and an assortment of tiny foods.

"Your majesty," she says, smirking as she offers the first glass to Beatrice.

"Thank you very much," the recipient sniffs, winking over at me. E.J. Pours her drink for her, then goes on to do the same for Rhaj and I then finally for herself before setting the tray on the coffee table. When all the little quiches, sweetmeats and candied strawberries are gone, she takes us on a tour of the house. To my disappointment, she leaves out her own room and a few others I assume to be bathrooms

We end on the roof, with the city spread below us like a sea of colored lights—all of it blurred by rainfall and as beautiful as any Endrien or Heinsbek. There's a covered area at the center with seats, a fire-pit, a hot tub, and a bar. Around that, an upraised planter bed brimming over with small trees and flowering bushes. A wrought iron rail surrounds the main space, creating an open pathway between themselves and the crenellations beyond.

"Wow," I mouth to myself as I drift away from the others toward the the west side of the covered space. For a long time I just stand there, clinging to the railing and taking everything in. Enjoying the heady buzz of the Port Ignus.

"I take it you approve?"

I startle. I'd been so absorbed I hadn't even heard her coming. E.J. smiles down at me, glass in one hand, an eyebrow raised.

I'm not sure if she's talking about the view, her townhouse, or her art collection. It doesn't matter, though—the answer's the same regardless. "How could I not?"

"I'm glad," she says. A sudden peal of laughter issues from behind us, and we both glance around to see Beatrice and Rhaj collapse together on one of the couches, locking lips as they rock back in each other's arms.

E.J. looks away quickly, taking a drink and swallowing hard.

"M...may I ask you a question?"

Her eyes turn on me, alight with a cold kind of burn.

"Yes, as long as it's not about my what type of Umbran I am."

I'm already cursing my own audacity and the booze that made it possible, but it's too late to turn back. Besides, I'm dying to know.

"What, um—what exactly is your relationship with Beatrice? It's kind of hard to tell and you seem, um, a little off..."

My words trail away as I search her face for recrimination. Waiting for her to interrupt, to tell me it's none of my business.

"Heh," she breathes. "If that isn't a complicated answer,"

I wait, thanking the stars she doesn't seem mad at me.

"We were close friends first. We fell in love, were a couple for a while. Joined the Otherside scene together. Then we weren't together. Then we were. And now we most definitely aren't, and most definitely won't be ever again. But she's a part of my life, and she always will be. That's not going to change just because we ended our dynamic and stopped sleeping together."

"But, why—"

"Why did we end it?" E.J.'s eyes flick back towards the couple on the couch. "Beatrice is polyamorous. I'm not. I tried, for her sake, but nothing worked. I couldn't bring myself to take other partners, but I couldn't handle having only her while she had whoever she wanted, either. We just...we don't work as anything more than friends. We had to face that."

"Oh," I say, my voice a sort of squeaky-whisper. "How recently—"

"About a week ago."

I'm quiet for a minute, looking out over the rain-drenched cityscape. "You're really strong, to be so good about this. To be able to be around her and him, so soon after that."

E.J. shrugs. "That or more masochistic than I ever imagined," she sighs, pulling her pipe from a coat pocket. Her hair flows across her face with the breeze, mingling with sinuous vapor as she exhales. "Honestly it comes down to the fact that I love her, and I want her to be happy."

"I just hope you can find a way to be happy too."

"Me too, Ashwyn. Me too."

We're both quiet for a bit after that.

"I, um, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" All those drinks are catching up with me.

"Not at all. There's one just down on the fourth floor. If you turn immediately right just as you get to the bottom of the stairs, it's the first door you'll come to."

"Got it, thank you. Be right back!"

I hurry off, eager to get back to almost-alone time with E.J. in one of the most romantic places I can imagine.

My head's so far off in the clouds that I reach the bottom of the stairs without realizing it, stepping as if to descend further and sending a jolt through my body when my foot meets ground rather than air.

"Fuck!' I hate it when that happens. Still a little shaken, I turn left without really thinking about it and open the first door I come to.

A split second later, I remember that she'd said to turn right.

The room is dark, but the light from behind me reveals enough. One full corner is taken up by a cage—decadently appointed with silk pillows, furs, and cushions. There's a huge four-posted bed, shackles on the walls, and imposing metal and wooden contraptions fixed with leather cuffs and buckles. One entire wall is taken up by shelves, but I can't quite make out everything on them.

The light behind me shifts, and the hairs on my neck raise.

I whirl around to face E.J, her eyes gone wide.