The Shades took up all of Maggie’s Den and then some, with some sitting on tables outside. Maggie hadn’t been especially pleased to see such a large group and was even less pleased when that many people coming in drove away her other customers. All it took was flashing a sack of shards in her direction and she changed her tune quickly. She, her daughter, and their few employees got to work quickly, cooking up a storm and rolling out the drinks.

Quentin needed one. The operation was not only a success, it went better than he expected. He’d been all too ready to have someone die and then for his boys’ collective resolve to drop to nothing. And hell, maybe that would still happen in the future. Since there was going to be a future after this. The loud buzz of conversation and excitement made that perfectly clear. Quentin clutched his drink closer to himself and listened in on some of the overlapping conversations.

“...you see what I did to that big guy with the club? He dropped and fell like a…”

“That’s what they get. Next time, we’ll go after…”

“Jinnis took a nasty hit. I think he might lose the eye, but he’s not too fussed. Says it’ll just make him look…”

Quentin didn’t understand it. Not one bit. Well, he understood wanting revenge against Christophe. He shared that. But after years of being isolated from them, they were doubling down on being at his side. The memorial for Demetrius was a startling change, but nothing compared to the following three weeks of hanging around the Garden and escorting companions to their dates. Things just clicked into place in a way that felt too good to be true. Apparently it wasn’t such a long journey from accepting him to being willing to kill for him.

That was the part he had trouble with. Was it just revenge, or were these men the same as countless others in the Orchrisan underworld, just looking for an excuse to be fierce and unforgiving? It all came back to a familiar problem to Quentin. If violence was inevitable, didn’t it fall on him to direct it to the best possible outcome, with as little collateral damage as possible? It’d been one thing when he was an executioner, killing whoever they threw at him. Now he was the one making the decision. This was what it meant to have and defend power.

His stomach growled. Early he’d taken a couple minor hits that no longer troubled him. Quentin was always hungry these days. Who knew how long it would take to catch up on healing back up from the outskirts of death? He finished his drink, slamming the mug down on the table.

“Everything okay?” Jonas asked from beside him. His right ear and neck were bandaged up tightly, stained with some blood seeping through. Quentin grimaced. Jonas got that injury because of him.

“Just thinking,” he said. Then he realized his speaking had the rest of the table looking at him, waiting to continue. Just four people, four friends, hanging on his words. Gods, this was somehow weirder than when the girls started listening to him. “We did good today, and got away with only a few scratches. But what about next time? How often are people going to be willing to risk themselves to hurt a few bastards who are bound to hit back?”

Renee raised her drink. “Well, as one of those people with a few scratches, I’m game for some more fun. Street gangs are shit and we’re doing a good thing cleaning the city up from them, yeah? She took a long drink of beer and let out an impressive belch.

Bruce snickered. “Girl? We are a street gang now. What do you think we just did? We went out and fucked up a bunch of people for being our enemy.” He met Quentin’s gaze, nodding with understanding. “You’re wondering who else we’ll end up fighting.”

“Yeah,” said Quentin. “And if we’re only fighting one group of people, how long is this going to last? How long until people get bored or discouraged and we’ve pissed off people who will keep coming after us? We going to just keep it up until the Warlords are gone forever, or until they’ve done enough damage to keep us from coming back at them?”

The table thought about it. David cleared his throat for attention. “I can’t speak for anyone else obviously, but I want to keep going until the gang is gone. I definitely want Christophe dead, and maybe that other guy.”

“Piro,” Quentin supplied. “According to Razia, he’s more dangerous long term, but Christophe is a bigger threat to us right now. Let’s say we manage to kill Christophe. What then?”

Renee shrugged. “There’s always still taking shifts at the Garden, right? Good money for easy work, even when we gotta walk the girls somewhere.”

“I’d argue that it’s more fun that way,” said David. “Get to go out and see the city and have to keep your eyes open. Not as much fun as a big brawl like today, but good enough.” He boxed the air, grinning at memories from earlier.

Jonas gestured to the rest of the table. “See? Nothing to worry about. I think things are looking really good right now, and there’s plenty of places to go in the future.” The table cheered their agreement.

“Hell,” said Bruce, sitting up straight with a serious look on his face. “There were all those girls we took to the party that don’t have a place to go or anyone looking out for them. Maybe we can set up a few of us to watch out for a few of them at inns and taverns and the like. Spread out a bit and keep things going.”

The idea made Quentin freeze in his tracks. He had a picture in his mind of the Moonlit Garden and the surrounding areas. First it was just the Garden, and then nearby places standing out. An entire swathe of North Orchrisus under his and Razia’s banner. Not just being a small, focused brothel for an increasingly wealthy clientele. Having a big slice of the whole thing. Exactly what Razia had gone for down south, and here the opportunity was throwing itself at them.

“I need to step outside,” said Quentin, standing suddenly. “I’m okay, just need some air. Come get me if the food arrives.” That got him a few laughs. He pushed his way through the crowded room, stopping to clasp some Shades on the shoulder and compliment the work they did that day on his way out. It was getting to be second nature now to praise the people under him.

The spring evening was pleasant, with a good breeze defeating some of the lingering heat from a fairly warm day. Quentin pressed himself against the front of the building, rubbing at his eyes as he thought about the day, and how far he was going.

It had been so easy to team up with Razia and Cicero to plan all of this and think about how it would benefit them. Now that it was over, regrets and fears had him by the throat and squeezed. Things were opening up for them, but was that a good thing? No one feared the first few drops of rain, but how easily that rain could turn into a raging flood and carry away those foolish enough to disregard it. Power was in his grasp, real power, and…

And if he wanted real power, Quentin would’ve taken the Darkstar up on her offer. He would’ve become something more than human in order to crush his foes and protect the people he cared for. But this power, this was power any man could potentially have. It was different. He wasn’t the type of person to seek it out for his own sake, but damn he still wanted it for practical reasons. But what would the eventual cost be? When would enough be enough?

Bruce’s idea was good. That was the problem. They could make the Moonlit Garden synonymous with pleasure and class for half the city. They could take and take and take and then build. He thought of the other pimps he’d met. Raquel, Aziz, and Henry. Aziz would be just fine, there would always be a market for women who couldn’t say no. Raquel was primarily a thief as far as Quentin knew, and Henry had warned him about getting too greedy. What about the other pimps of the city? How big would he make the target on his back?

“How you doing, Mr. Q?” a voice shook Quentin from his thoughts. “You here to join us for a smoke?” Roscoe and some of his friends were around a table, passing around an ornate pipe.

“Just getting some air and clearing my thoughts,” said Quentin, waving him off.

“This is good for both,” said Doyle, grabbing the pipe and holding it out for him. “Just a couple quick puffs and you’ll be way more relaxed.

Quentin sniffed the air. He was familiar with how dream weed smelled but had never tried it before. Well, as far as substances went, this one was mostly harmless. “Hell,” he said. “Life’s too short. Why not?” He took the pipe amidst some exaggerated cheers and took a deep puff.

Fire stirred in his throat, going down to his lungs. It wasn’t unpleasant. He let out his breath and a big cloud of smoke wafted into the air. A second later he dissolved into a coughing fit.

“Whoo! There you go,” said Roscoe as he took the pipe back. “First hit’s always the hardest, yeah? Kicks in quick though.”

He wasn’t lying. Maybe it was being unused to it, maybe it was the big puff he took, but Quentin got hit with a sensation like a very gentle drunkenness. Not sloppy or out of control, just…relaxed. Like the entire world was going just a bit slower and he had time to think about everything. Picture it all in his head.

“Huh. Not bad,” he admitted, reaching for the pipe again. That got him some laughter and cheers as he took another puff and felt his worries slip deeper down. They weren’t gone, but they weren’t crowding him either.

“On second thought, maybe it’s okay to have this at the Garden,” said Quentin, stifling a laugh. He wouldn’t let himself be a complete fool, but damn this was a good sight better than just drowning in anxiety.

“That’s what we love to hear,” the third man, Bruno said. “The girls will like it too. And the customers. Shit, who doesn’t love some dream weed?” It was his turn for the pipe. He took a huge rip and blew it out at some people walking in front of the restaurant, laughing at their irritation.

“What is it you guys are looking for?” Quentin asked as soon as the question entered his head. “In general, I mean. Like, what are you looking to get out of being a…a Shade.” He had mixed feelings on the name but it fit too well and just added to his own mythology.

They thought about it briefly. “Fun, fights, and fucking,” said Roscoe with a shrug. “Between this and the Colosseum, I’m plenty busy and having fun the entire time.”

“It's the girls,” Doyle said. “It’s nice not having to chase them, even if we still gotta pay. It’s like having a girlfriend without having to deal with all the beetleshit involved with keeping one happy.”

Bruno took another hit, falling backwards dramatically in his chair. “Wouldn’t say no to more money for drugs,” he said.

“I don’t know how often we’ll do something like today,” said Quentin. “I’m thinking no more than once a week, on top of shifts at the Garden. And Bruce brought up sending you boys out to taverns and inns and having you look out for more girls there.”

“Shiiiit,” Doyle said as Roscoe let out a whistle. “Now there’s an idea. Gladiators and whores everywhere, bringing in those shards. Yeah, I’d be down for that.”

“If I did that,” said Quentin, mostly thinking out loud at this point, “I’d need to trust people to live up to my standards. I’m not going to stand for anyone treating these girls poorly. Would hate to have everyone in high spirits like this and have to take someone’s head for getting too grabby or pushy.”

Bruno set the pipe down. They all looked a little uneasy. “Well, yeah,” Bruno said, forcing a laugh, “obviously we know better than that. You could trust us for that job. Well, you could trust me. Maybe not Doyle. The man is high entirely too often.”

“I am not you son of a…!”

They descended into bickering. Smiling, Quentin waved to Roscoe and headed back inside. He walked right into the wall of noise and let it wash over him. The dream weed made it a little less overwhelming. There in the entryway, he took a good long look at his new gang and how well everyone was getting along. No one looked sad or upset, not even those who were injured. And chances are they’d be even happier sooner. Quentin went to the corner, where shards were being counted.

“How are things looking so far?” he asked Danny and Keith, who were taking care of their stolen loot.

Danny adjusted his spectacles and held up a bulging sack of shards. “We did well today. Really well. We’re not done counting, but it’s looking like there’ll be enough to give every man in here 10 aquilos, with about 220 or so going to you after all is said and done.”

Quentin blinked, unsure of what to say. Sure, he expected to pull in a decent amount of shards for this endeavor, but this was…More than enough to cover what he spent outfitting the men and what Cicero probably spent making sure the Watch was elsewhere. It would be a profit for them all, even after Cicero’s hefty cut. “Well, shit,” he said, laughing. “What’re you going to spend your share on?”

“Well, this is the last bit I needed for a house,” said Keith, staring blankly into the distance. “So I guess I’m getting a house and getting married. Fuck, I’m out of excuses.”

Quentin laughed and slapped his shoulder. “At least you’ll have a place of your own. Few things better than that. Think I should tell the men what they’re making?”

“Sure,” said Danny. “If you want them to go nuts and get shitfaced and destroy things. We’re not exactly known for our impulse control.”

“Maybe you’ve all earned it,” he said. That was definitely the dream weed talking. Quentin couldn’t shake the feeling that if he wasn’t relaxed he might’ve heeded the warning and just handed out the money silently as they left for the night. That would’ve been a whimper after a bang of a day. They couldn’t have that, now could they?

Quentin found himself standing in the center of the restaurant, raising his hands in the air. It got quieter as the people closest to him stopped talking and watched him, waiting. Eventually others noticed and he had the attention of the room. His gang, Maggie and her staff, everyone. He cleared his throat and let the words come as they would, concerns over sounding stupid not holding him back.

“You all did well today. We crossed the bridge and we kicked their asses!” The entire room burst out with cheers. Quentin grinned, letting himself enjoy the moment with them. “The Warlords lost an entire crew worth of people, and we robbed their asses blind!” More cheers, along with Maggie staring at him with pursed lips.

“It is my great pleasure to tell you that everyone in here is walking away with ten aquilos night!” The resulting scream nearly bowled Quentin over. It was roughly five times what they’d make during one of their bigger fights. They were all well paid when it was their turn to fight, but there were a lot of gladiators to rotate through to keep the crowds freshly entertained. Two fights a month would cover all their expenses and leave them comfortable. Ten at once was life changing.

He waited for the screams to die down before continuing. “I can’t promise you every time will pay that well, but it will pay you. We’ve bloodied Christophe’s nose, and he’s going to want payback after this. So take your shards, have some fun, but keep your heads on and know that as soon as tomorrow he might come for us. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us and we have to stay vigilant. But I think as long as we stick together, we’ll be unbeatable! So have fun, dinner and drinks are on me!”

This time the noise did bowl Quentin over. He smiled, waving as he got out of the center of the room and went back to his table. Jonas had a fresh drink for him, which he gratefully took and drained half of it. “Gods, talking in front of people never gets any easier,” he said, knowing it wasn’t true. It had gotten way easier, but it still scared him.

“You’re doing fine,” said Jonas, toasting him. “Here’s to another good fight, and many more to come. Things are looking up for us all!”

That’s what Quentin didn’t trust. The moment he got comfortable, that usually meant the rug was about to be pulled out from under him. Ever since Demetrius was killed, everything seemed to be going faster and faster, picking up pace until it was all Quentin could do to hold on and steer. It scared him, but looking around at the dozens of faces in Maggie’s Den who were on his side, fighting for him…It gave him hope and confidence. It gave Quentin a sense of real strength, something he could believe in.

Quentin lifted his mug. “To the Shades,” he said.

All around the table people echoed “to the Shades!” and clinked their mugs together.