Even at deep night, quieter than noon, Big Demon Shrimp still filled like a tide pouring through its door.
They burst in hollering orders, and the moment they saw Shelika, their hungry, drowsy faces lit like paper lanterns.
They were regulars, so they joked, "Hey~ Boss, you hired such a pretty chick? Not bad at all."
They flirted too, "Where you from, sweetheart? What brings you to the Holy City?"
Shelika watched their words rattle like a machine gun, no menu chosen, a knot of irritation tightening like a drawn bow.
Just as she weighed speaking up, the boss—Mr. Viktor—strode out from the kitchen like a bull from its pen.
Viktor loomed with a boss’s heft. "Cut the crap. If you’re not eating, get out." His voice cracked like a whip.
As expected of an owner, his entrance pinned them like nails. They bobbed their heads fast, "Yes, yes, we’ll order."
Shelika noted dishes and seats, tore the chit, and slid it onto the pass like a card in a deck.
The cooks set to work, steel singing. The whole station rang with clang and clatter, like rain on iron roofs.
In under five minutes, dishes bloomed with steam and spice, fragrances rolling out like a warm tide.
"Food up!" Viktor barked, his shout cracking the air like a firecracker.
Shelika trotted over, set plates on the cart like eggs in a nest, and pushed out, careful as threading a needle.
She served one table after another, while new guests flowed in like a brook. Order, run, plate, repeat, the wheel spinning.
The back half of the night passed in a blur, like constellations wheeling behind storm clouds.
She kept moving, yet her body felt light as wind; the essence inside her burned warm, and no tiredness stuck.
At dawn’s close, Viktor laughed like a rolling drum. "Miss, you’re something else!"
His hand swung without thinking. Demonic Human Race are born with Battle Aura, and his friendly slap landed like a hammer.
The light pat still sent Shelika stumbling two, three steps, and her basin sloshed like a broken wave, dirtying the floor.
Viktor stared at the mess he’d made and winced. "Oh! I didn’t mean it." His apology hung like damp cloth.
"It’s fine. I don’t mind." Her voice stayed calm as a lake.
She whispered a spell. Mana rose like pale mist, and the spilled water streamed back into the basin, not a drop lost.
Viktor jolted. "Hey! Miss, don’t let anyone see that." His worry pricked like thorns.
"If folks learn we hired a wandering mage, our reputation will dip," he said, voice tight as twine.
"I didn’t use magic to do your work." Her gaze was steady, like a straight blade.
"You’re right," Viktor scratched his head, troubled as an ant under glass, "but gossip cuts like knives."
"I’ll be careful." Her promise landed soft as snow.
He nodded and pulled out the cash box like a treasure chest. "Good. Here’s your pay."
He took a pouch—three hundred rupees—and put it straight into Shelika’s hand, no questions, like passing a warm stone.
"With your help, business boomed over yesterday. Come by when you can." His grin shone like morning sun.
"Mm." Her reply was a small bell.
Shelika tucked the money away, left Big Demon Shrimp, and headed for the Rose Traveler at Pleasure and Temple Streets.
Outside the inn, dawn bled through the sky like watered ink. Shelika murmured, "Charlotte should be awake by now."
No, certainty tightened in her chest first. For the Dark Blood Clan, from dusk to now meant a whole day’s wheel.
Except for torpor, no Blood Clan would sleep an entire "day." The thought thudded like a heart against ribs.
She stepped into the Rose Traveler’s lobby. The saucy maid stretched like a cat, then eyed Shelika with a fox’s smile.
"Aren’t you going to check on your little bestie~~" Her tone curled like smoke.
Hearing that twist in her voice, irritation flashed first, cold as sleet. "What did you do to her?"
"Don’t be so fierce. I did nothing."
"But your bestie’s stayed in her room nearly twelve hours. Aren’t you worried?"
"What?!" Shock cracked through Shelika like lightning, then guilt leaked in like rain.
She’d left a note telling her not to move. So the girl really hadn’t budged, like a statue. What about food?
"That idiot!" Anger flared, but worry beat louder, like twin drums.
She hurried down the hall, slid the key into the lock like a blade, turned, pressed the handle, and pushed inside.
What she saw matched her dread like a shadow. A salted fish with no dreams lay there, limp as wet rope.
Charlotte’s eyes were dull, her body slack on the bed. "Charlotte… I’m… starving… not gonna make it…" Her breath fluttered like ash.
"Idiot!" Shelika snapped, while her heart ached like a squeezed peach. "Why didn’t you find something to eat?"
Charlotte turned her head with effort, like a door in winter. "Big Sis… ordered… don’t move… so…"
Hearing her words thin out, Shelika cut in, heat first, resolve next. "Enough. Give me three minutes. I’ll buy food."
Charlotte pleaded, voice threadbare as old cloth. "Catch a mouse… okay? Three minutes… can’t wait…"
"Fine, fine." Shelika sighed, helpless as wind in reeds. But where would she catch a mouse, in a place like this?
A thought sparked like flint. "If you’re starving, then—this."
She decided to undo her incarnation, draw out essence, and feed Charlotte directly, like pouring tea into cold hands.
Before she broke the seal, she gathered her focus like a net and sent mana tendrils feeling through the room.
"As expected…" A sigh slipped out like smoke, and a big beetle flipped out from under the bed.
She recalled the translucent tendrils and picked up the beetle. It was an Insect Eye with a record crystal, bright as glass.
No wonder the rooms were cheap. They sold lovers’ trysts as short clips, like hawkers peddling street snacks on sticks.
She hoped Charlotte hadn’t been filmed doing anything shameful. The worry bit like cold.
Her pink fingers pressed, and the beetle burst with a wet pop, like a grape.
She spent another half minute checking every corner, sweeping out eyes like cobwebs. Then she undid the Dual Incarnation.
Her true self, Fulin, stood tall like a willow. She extended a pale jade hand and gathered a bud of gold light.
An apple-sized glow formed, warm as a hearth, made of drifting motes. A small clump of essence, bright as fireflies.
Fulin went to the bed and held the essence beside Charlotte’s face, like a sun brought close.
Cold face, warm heart, she asked, "Can you eat by yourself?" Her tone fell soft as rain.
Charlotte tried to rise, trembling like a fawn, and failed. Even getting up seemed beyond her, like a hill too steep.
"Seems… I can’t."
Fulin sighed in her chest, like wind leaving a sail. No wonder. Charlotte hadn’t fed for six days.
Not quite nothing, she corrected herself. The Dark Blood Clan can eat normal food like people.
But bodies need blood regularly. Every two to three days. They usually buy blood pellets or powder from the blood bank.
All told, Charlotte had gone six days without blood. Most Dark Blood Clan weaken after three.
She was foolish, yet stubborn as a weed. That much, at least, was proven.
"I’ll feed you," Fulin said gently, voice warm as tea.
"Feed?" Charlotte stared at the gold light, confusion blooming like a flower.
"Yes. Come on, open up." Fulin lifted the glow to her lips and took it into her mouth like a honeyed drop.
Her cherry mouth holding essence, Fulin leaned toward Charlotte’s parted lips, closing in like a moth to a flame.
Closer and closer, four lips about to meet like two petals.
"Charlotte’s… first kiss… hehe…" Charlotte’s heart leapt like a sparrow, and she shut her eyes, shy as a maiden.
But Fulin’s mouth didn’t go for her lips. It went for her nose, and sealed it, warm and soft as velvet.
"Huh?" Warmth and wet pressed on Charlotte’s nose, and a nimble little thing nudged her bridge like a curious fish.
Before she grasped Fulin’s plan, a rush of qi hit her nasal cavity, fierce as a furnace blast.
It burned like ten streaks of wasabi up the nose. Tears sprang like springs. Charlotte jolted upright from the bed.
She jumped around like a kitten with its tail on fire, wailing around the mattress, "So hot, so spicy, so awful—Charlotte’s about to ascend!!"
