Notes: “Tuathan” is what the Cali royalty call themselves. Girey’s language is not actually Italian, but it’s within close enough that Jas could pick out basic words.
Jas knew better.
There were rooms in the sub-sub-sub-basement sections of the Agency where you just didn’t go, and there were rooms where, when you had to clean something, you cleaned very carefully only where you were told to, and didn’t cross the blue lines.
You never crossed the blue lines.
This time, well, the blue line had been under something, and s/he’d moved it (Jas was still coming to terms with pronouns. Everyone here, even the cats who knew better, treated him like a boy. But there was still the little voice in the back of his/her head saying that wasn’t quite right. Yet. Yet?). Jas had moved the box, because it needed to be cleaned.
He was pretty sure he hadn’t tripped, but the next thing he knew, he was falling through a bright blue doorway…
…and landing in the middle of a campfire. He yelped, and stumbled backwards…
…into the arms of the most beautiful non-Tuathan woman he had ever seen. Heart pounding, ass mildly scorched, and still smelling slightly of cleaning products, Jas did the only thing that came to mind.
He kissed her.
He knew the logistics, of course. He’d kissed other slaves, in the barracks, boys and girls, and Lords had kissed her, once or twice, before she shifted to boy’s livery. He knew what he was doing, and, it seemed, so did the woman.
It lasted about three heartbeats before the man, chains jangling, yanked him away. “You came through there?” he asked, in heavily-accented Italian. Jas, now even more disoriented, nodded. The doorway was about four feet up in the air, shining bright blue.
“Go home,” the man grunted, and threw Jas through the doorway.
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