Page 137 of The Menagerie

Jeremiah flags down a bartender, leans across the bar, and whispers something to her. She smiles and, a moment later, places a shot glass with shimmery blue liquid straight down in front of Mal, adding a shot of something clear on top. With thewhooshof a blowtorch, the shot bursts into a deep blue flame before the bartender pours on a lighter yellow drink and the fire erupts into a sparkling, crackling blue-orange flame while the drink transforms into a swirling sea of bright purple.

“Thefuckis this, Jer?” Mal shouts, picking it up and holding the flaming purple drink two full feet away from his face.

“A phoenix. Quick, make a wish!”

As Mal bows his head to blow out the flame, lips puckered into a sweet O shape, he once again locks eyes with Rowan. The cheering around them as the fire is extinguished with a puff of air is completely lost on Rowan, gaze focused solely on the cords of Mal’s neck as he throws back the shot.

“Tastes like a fuckin’ flower…,” Mal says, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he slams the glass onto the bar top. “All right, someone get me a real drink!”

As if by another feat of magic, an old-fashioned materializes next to Mal’s hand, Camilla winking at him across the top of what looks like a Long Island. Everyone else orders, Rowan settling on a beer on tap, and gets their drinks with loose fives and tens tossed onto the bar top for each one.

“I got us a table and started a tab,” Jeremiah calls to the group, ushering everyone to a secluded table with a small white Reserved—Savarynplacard on it. Prime real estate, being so close to both the barandthe dance floor.

The music is something vaguely synth-pop that Rowan would normally hate were it not for the alcohol already working its way through his bloodstream and loosening his metaphorical tie.

“So how did you guys actually become friends with Mal?” Rowan asks no one in particular, settling down in between Mal and Amy.

There’s a cacophony of laughter, and the man himself launches into an explanation, as if to set the record straight from the get-go.

“First time I went to the fourth floor, I decked a fucker for gettin’ too rough and ignoring safewords.”

“Decked him? Mal, you nearly put the guy in the fuckinghospital,” Camilla says, but it’s with a proud twinkle in her eye.

“He fought back! The fuck was I s’posed to do? Bend over again?” Mal takes a deep drink of his old-fashioned, picks out the orange zest and flicks it onto the table. “Fuckthat.”

“So I knew him from scening with him, as I think you figured out at the shibari class a few months ago,” Camilla says. “Then he near-paralyzes another member and—”

Clover continues, “And afterthatlittle incident, Mal waltzes straight into my office, this horrible, bloody cut on his eyebrow and knuckles to match, and goes, ‘Yo, Dandelion, shit’s gotta change around here.’” Clover and the others pause to laugh. “We sat down with him the very next day to make some major changes and renovations to the club.”

“Like what?” Rowan asks, curious.

“The policy against more extreme types of play was probably the biggest,” Camilla says.

Choking and breath play, Rowan mentally fills in the gap. He’s a little surprised given Mal’s apparent love of choking, but it does make sense from a business standpoint.

“Yeah,” Clover agrees. “Along with vetting new members, making sure people respect safewords, and requiring monthly STI screenings.”

Rowan can practically feel Mal’s flush next to him, and it’s cute as hell that he’s embarrassed. The little swoopy feeling in Rowan’s stomach rears its annoying head.

They chat for a while, idly swapping stories of the club and their personal lives and whatever else happens to come up. It’s nice. A sense of friendship and belonging that Rowan hasn’t felt in… well,ever, if he’s being honest.

He used to be popular in high school before he dropped out for some half-baked plan of joining the military at seventeen using Jay’s identity. He used to besanebefore his brain freaked out on him and made him start seeing things that ultimately made him go crazy and landed him in a psych ward. From then on he’s had… nothing. No one. Except his siblings and too many exes who never really meant anything.

Now, he has…

“Mal,” Jeremiah starts seriously. “In honor of your birthday, we’ve got to do the customary—”

“Fuck no!” Mal interjects.

“Aww, c’mon, Mal! We have to!” Clover adds.

A quick glance to Rowan tells him that whatevercustomthey have, it’s not a good one. Or at least it’s an embarrassing one that Mal doesn’t want him knowing about. Rowan’s immediately on board.

“I’m game for whatever it is,” he says.

“Never Have I Ever!” Camilla shouts, clapping along with each word like a cheerleader.

The laugh that bubbles out of Rowan’s chest is genuine, and he knows that with this group, this high school game is bound to be wild.

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