From "Blood Money"
M. C. A. Hogarth, 2000

      Alysha had only half an hour after her audience with the commandant to compose herself before leaving campus for Phantasies... hardly enough time to brace herself for the inevitable. A leaden-gray afternoon had evolved into a damp, dark night, and she didn't even notice the soft drizzle when it started halfway to the club.

      Once she reached Phantasies, she padded silently to the manager's office and stared inside at Tiell. The manager was so engrossed in his figures that he didn't hear the drip of the rain off her body. His thin back reminded her of Brighthaven's by its contrast. Alysha drew in a breath. "Tiell."

      The gaunt Asanii turned. His ears flattened when he saw her. "What do you want, Steel?"

      She had been preparing for these words, but half an hour wasn't long enough. Half a year wasn't. "Book me solid tonight."

      A sneer of avarice began to ride Tiell's mouth. "All night? Rhack, girl, whatever you want. What color?"

      He wanted her to say blue. He wanted the money. She wanted to disappoint him, but she couldn't. She licked her lips and said, "Black."

      Tiell stared at her. "Black? You want me to sell your black key tonight? When?"

      "The entire night."

      "The what?"

      "Tiell," Alysha said, baring her teeth. "I am going to say this one more time. One more time only. Book my black key all night tonight. And before you start drooling," she curled a hand into a fist and took one step into the room, "I want all the proceeds. Every last coin."

      The manager flinched, and his eyes thinned. She could smell the hatred on him, but knew he would do it. As much as he feared her, he wouldn't keep the money from her... but he would enjoy selling her to the worst he could find. Her battered body, not "permanently damaged", would be his reward. Alysha ducked out of the room, sickened, and went to the main room to dress.

      She stood in the center of the room. Honey and the Harem Rose were in the back rooms. Cinnamon was on stage. But there were no white stars left in Phantasies to die; no innocents left to destroy. Angel and Rispa were safe. This much she had done.

      Alysha sank to her knees in the middle of the room, a sob choking her throat. It had been so long since she'd felt one that she hardly recognized it when it welled from her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth, brows tightly drawn toward her nose as she shook in silence.

      She would not beg. She would not ask for help. She would not rail at the universe for its unfairness.

      And yet, alone in the middle of a room finally deserted by the last of the girls she could save, Alysha wished powerfully, beyond reason, that someone would come for her.

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Page, Graphics and Story © M.C.A. Hogarth 2002.