Calladia licked salt from the hand holding the glass, tossed the shot back, then sucked the quarter of lime she held in her other hand. Sharp citrus sang along her taste buds, and the alcohol burned just the right amount going down. She did a full body shudder. “Whew!”
Calladia wasn’t normally a big drinker—she despised hangovers and tried to eat and drink relatively healthily—but her best friend defeating an agent of evil was a big fucking deal. Calladia getting to punch said agent of evil had been pretty cool, too.
Calladia closed her eyes, remembering Astaroth’s shocked expression after she’d punched him. That snooty motherfucker hadn’t known who he was messing with.
“I love everyone in this bar!”
Calladia opened her eyes at the slurred exclamation and smiled at Themmie. The Filipino American pixie was “in her cups,” as some might say, her brown eyes half closed, her mouth tilted in a goofy smile. Themmie slammed her own shot of tequila, iridescent wings twitching as she gasped.
“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” Calladia said, bracing herself against the bar as her head spun. She belched, then thumped her chest with her fist. “I haven’t done a shot since college.”
“Really?” Themmie wrinkled her nose. “The so-called ‘real world’ sounds terrible.”
Five years younger than Calladia and Mariel, Themmie was a senior in college studying anthropology and business, with a goal of going to law school to become an advocate for the disenfranchised, as she said when sober or going to interviews. To fuck the man! was what she was more likely to say when drunk or in private.
“Which man?” Mariel had slurred once at happy hour, to which Themmie had wrinkled her nose, looked at the ceiling, and responded, “The one with a capital M.”
Calladia agreed wholeheartedly. Every day, she felt worse and worse about . . . well, most things. Her dating prospects, her mother’s reign of terror as the mayor of Glimmer Falls, and all the ways life had gradually ground her down until she was more sharp edges than anything else.
“The real world is terrible,” Calladia said. “But there’s no homework, so that’s good.”
Themmie shook her head. “Not for me. Practicing law is like weaponized homework.” She blinked at Calladia. “You really don’t do shots anymore?”
Calladia eyed the empty shot glass. The hazy contentment she’d been feeling all night was a welcome change from her normal agitated state. Why had she stopped doing shots, again?
Her temples started throbbing. Oh, right.
“My sweet summer child,” Calladia said with what she imagined to be great dignity, “there’s something you’re going to get well acquainted with over the coming years. It’s called a hangover. I hear that by the time we’re thirty, we’ll get one just from prolonged eye contact with alcohol.”
“Boo.” Themmie’s eyes wandered over the selection of bottles behind the bar. “We’re not thirty yet. Want another one?”
The tequila already consumed said yes, but the shred of rational thought remaining said absolutely not. Calladia made eye contact with the bartender, a nonbinary centaur named Hylo who had a buzz cut, a labrum piercing, and hooves adorned with neon nail polish. “Water?” she said hopefully.
Hylo trotted over with an enormous glass. “Want to add an anti-hangover supplement? We’re trying out a new elven manufacturer.”
“Absolutely.” Calladia eyed Themmie, who had her phone out for a selfie and was making alarming faces at the camera. “One for her, too.”
The roan-patterned centaur snorted as they pulled a bottle of glittering green powder out and began stirring it into the water. “Themmie, you better not be posting those.”
Themmie hiccupped. “My followers love slices of real life.”
“So do mine, but there’s something to be said for a prudent amount of editing.”
“You’re a Pixtagram influencer, too?” Calladia asked. Themmie made a tidy profit from endorsements for her colorful photos and videos, and though Calladia itched at the thought of receiving that much attention from strangers, she had to admire the pixie’s hustle.
“Not Pixtagram,” Hylo said. “ClipClop.”
Calladia’s brow furrowed. “ClipClop?” Hecate, there were way too many apps to keep track of these days.
“It’s where centaurs show off their original dances,” Themmie slurred. “Hylo specializes in Irish step dancing.”