Page 46 of Midsummer Phoenixes
The server nods but never writes anything down. He returns to his spot behind the counter and gets to work on making drinks. You pull out your phone and check the screenshots that you took before the forum thread vanished.
Encounters-of-the-3rd-Rate: You know those feelings when you think someone is watching you and they are, like, on the subway? This dude, on my way home, watched me 4 sure. Watched him back. Then alla sudden, dude’s tongue comes out his mouth like his mouth is really watering, only its looong, like, loooooooong.
KnightHawk83: That’s disgusting. You’re just kinky. That’s fine, but it’s not what we’re talking about.
PhibiFrog: Did you find out anything about the cabs?
Encounters-of-the-3rd-Rate: dude, but the toooongue!
MxEx: Ignore that one. I have footage of a cab waiting on a side street in the financial district for hours, motor running. Got the plates.
You go to the next image. They were talking about cabs for a while, and if there is one thing you aren’t willing to believe, it’s that someone secretly owns a fleet of cabs and runs an underground cab network. It sounds more like Uber than supernatural.
Down thread, LilyNRose wrote:
LilyNRose:I think the Moonlight Diner is not quite normal. I’m not saying it’s a hellmouth (although there was a fire there a while back), but the place gives me vibes. I had a dream in which I was there, and then this normal-looking man came in. He ordered tea I think. I heard a voice—that was a voice in my dream, sorry, it’s all jumbled—anyway. The man in my dream told me to leave the diner and forget all about it, but he wasn’t really saying that to me. I’m only mentioning it because a few days later, I found a sachet of stevia tablets in my purse. I know you shouldn’t, but I take them from cafés. The thing is, I had never been to the Moonlight Diner before, but the logo was on the sachet. And then I had the dream. That’s not normal, right?
You put your phone aside and reach for the collection of sweeteners. Sure enough, there’s stevia there, and the tablets are wrapped, the logo of a crescent moon and three stars adorning the sachet.
You have no idea what to make of it, but before you can reread more of the thread, the door opens, the bell chimes, and in walks a handsome, boyish-looking man with dark hair and green eyes. He takes no longer than a heartbeat, but in this time, his gaze takes in everything in the diner, including you. It makes you feel exposed for that single moment during which the green eyes connect with yours.
Before fear can really settle in, the man’s face draws into a pout, and he says, “Amoryyyyy.” His tone is petulant in the most practiced of ways, and his green eyes search the server’s as he slumps down in one of the bar chairs. “Amoryyyy, I need a chocolate milkshake, please. I’m so sad because you haven’t visited me yet.”
“Jeez, Elias,” the server says but sounds indulgent.
The man’s pout turns up a notch. If his pout were a confection, his would come with powdered sugar on top and sweet syrup oozing out the center as you bite down on it. “You didn’t even welcome me to the Moonlight Diner, Amoryyyy! You are ignoring me! Have you made a new best friend?” He points to the broad man at the other end of the counter. “Are you having juice with Ben these days?”
The broad man snorts. It’s loud for a snort, and very expressive. The guy behind his laptop stops typing and looks over to the broad guy before slowly returning his attention to the screen.
“Elias, I’m making drinks. You’ll have to wait for me to finish, but if you can do that quietly, you can have extra cream.”
The black-haired guy brightens. He’s totally overacting, but you can’t argue that he pulls it off.
“Oh, Amory! You’re the best. Thank you! Valentin never lets me have extra cream anymore these days. You know what he did? He got me a journal, and he’s forcing me to write in it!” He waves his left hand. “My poor wrist!”
“He likes juice. Maybe jam a nectarine into his mouth?” the broad guy says. His voice is a low rumble. The laptop guy looks up again.
All of a sudden, you have a sneaking suspicion that what is going on here isn’t supernatural at all, not the kind of thing you’re really looking for. You are beginning to think that all this is a front, yes, but one for kink and kinky encounters rather than supernatural goings-on.
You take stock and examine the evidence once more. There was the tongue guy who posted in the forum, and he kept coming back with similar stories. Then the other poster with something that might have been somnophilia. The only people talking seriously were the cab people, and they were basically chasing their own tails with that nonsense theory.
Here at the Moonlight, what strikes you is the looks of everyone: the guy at the door, quiet, middle-aged but face looking younger, the triplets, fit and well-dressed, two women you found not at all suspicious, one blonde, one brunette, both wearing glasses and talking on their phones, and of course the laptop guy, the broad guy, and the brat.
Laptop guy to run appointments, and the people here waiting for something or using this place for…a shopping window maybe? For sex work, because if you are being honest with yourself, it makes more sense than what you came here to find.
Your conclusion settling in your mind, you would leave if it weren’t for your order. After he serves the drinks to the triplets, the server brings you a soup in a hollowed-out pumpkin. The pumpkin has the Moonlight’s logo seared on it with a kitchen torch and sits on a bed of extra croutons. The smell makes your mouth water, spices and good olive oil, roasted bread and well-seasoned soup.
“Enjoy,” the server says.
Before he can quite walk off, you ask him to make you one of the creamy chai teas too, if only for the satisfaction of watching the black-haired brat at the counter pout some more.
Meanwhile, you enjoy your food. It’s amazing, as amazing as no soup you ever had, creamy and rich, yet the pumpkin flavor isn’t hidden by other ingredients. You’d come here just for this soup, you realize when you are half finished after only a few minutes. By that time, the server has made the brat a milkshake that looks like vanilla. You could’ve sworn you heard him ask for chocolate.
When your soup is done and your tea has arrived, the door to the Moonlight opens again. A goth dude walks in, wearing eyeliner and a coat, black clothes only. Except he isn’t a real Goth. He doesn’t draw attention in the same way, and he feels less approachable, more like the Goth veneer is a disguise to hide some real darkness.
It’s just a feeling, just your gut telling you this, and if your theory is correct, this might be the person keeping this sexy operation safe.
And you want no trouble with that at all, because all sex workers should be safe.
