#infernus deadlock

If there’s doubt that Infernus is just humoring him, it’s dispelled when Kelvin next visits Jezebel’s and he has Ventures in Ruthenia open on the bar in front of him.

“Good book?” Kelvin asks.

“Eh, it’s alright.” Infernus turns a page lazily, but smirks when Kelvin snorts.

“He hasn’t put away that thing since first shift,” Hank says as he descends the ladder behind Infernus, bottle of top-shelf bourbon in hand.

“You caught me,” Infernus says. “Gotta be honest, I like the travel logs better than the serials.”

“And those he wouldn’t put down all last week,” the back of Hank’s head quips as he leaves for front of house. Infernus makes a pshh in a reply.

“I expected I would be hearing that quite a lot,” Kelvin says as he takes his usual seat, “hence the different pen name. I think anyone who picks up the paper looking for another ‘Kelvin’ adventure will be quite out in the rain.”

“Congratulations on that by the way.” Infernus slides out the edition of The New York Oracle that’s been hiding under his elbow.

Kelvin takes it, grins proudly, then perhaps grins a bit more at Infernus’ level of preparedness ruining the illusion of nonchalance.

“Congratulate me if they decide to keep me for another batch,” Kelvin says. “The first four were paid in advance. It’s only if readers respond well that I actually have a full-time occupation again. One that doesn’t involve shaking down our Lady Geist for funding!”

“You doin’ okay otherwise?” Infernus is practiced enough to betray no shift in tone, but Kelvin is aware of the friendly concern underneath. “That place ‘a yours ain’t exactly in a cheap part of town.”

“It’s in this part of town, where you stay on a bartender’s wages.”

“Baby, you would not believe what I make in tips.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Kelvin says before he can stop himself. Quickly, bumbles into first topic he can think of: “You say you prefer the nonfiction, yet I notice you have all three of the published Kings of Crime on the wall behind you.”

“Damn. You got good eyes.”

“Better since I died, ironically. Dodging the question!”

“Heh,” Infernus says. “Well. What guy doesn’t like to hear about himself? Plus, they make the books even better. They’re a good comparison point.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s learning about a guy telling you about himself. There’s the real things that happened.” A single, tattooed finger taps the crease of his open page. “And then there’s learning about a guy the way he tells his stories. What he makes a deal of. What goes when he’s three beers too deep to remember.” Infernus then reaches behind the bar, promptly depositing the unpublished drafts of Dante and the Kings of Crime with a thump. “And then there’s the times he straight puts himself in, even when he says he ain’t gonna.”

“Are you keeping everything I’ve ever written behind your bar right now?”

“Billiard halls get slow nights too.”

“Infernus, this is the first time I’ve ever not written about my own experiences. I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“This new Virgil character,” Infernus says. “This guy was invented whole cloth for your version of events. He ain’t in mine.”

Kelvin blusters.

“I may have made a few- eh, embellishments, it’s true,” he says. “But only to tie all these stories together! These are serials you know, readers expect them to happen one after another, and characters are tools at my disposal.” The last swing of his voice rushes into transparently defensive.

“Or,” Infernus says slyly, “you just couldn’t resist putting yourself back into an adventure, could you?”

“I added several — minor! — characters,” Kelvin objects. “What on Earth makes you think Virgil is me?”

“Oh come on. A retired, gentleman scientist who always has the answers-”

“It is helpful for delivering exposition!”

“-And just so happens to have a huge library the main guy always has to visit and dig up some ancient tome relevant to the mystery of the week? Library’s got the two stories with sliding ladders you always wanted, and one of those scrying orbs that cost more than Jezebel herself. You even call yourself ‘dashingly handsome’.”

“I am dashingly handsome.”

“Hey.” Infernus puts his palms up. “No argument here.”

“Which is irrelevant because I described Virgil as such, not me,” Kelvin refutes. “If describing the attractiveness of someone was acceptable evidence, Dante would also be me, as I think I made his popularity with women quite clear.”

“And hey, thanks for that.”

When Infernus laughs, Kelvin feels — despite the vastness of the room — that Infernus is revealing something just for him. That the two of them are a world away. He knows he must be skeptical of such thoughts; though they may have camaraderie outside of the bar, Infernus is at work. Kelvin shouldn’t think acquiring his bartender’s interest makes him special.

“There’s no winning with you.” Kelvin shakes his head. He allows a small concession with, “Though, perhaps, there was a teensy bit of relic-based wish fulfillment there.” A wistful sigh. “I would so like to have a nexus lens like the one he possesses…”

“And all the books on the occult?”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to them, though if I were making my dream library, there’s several hundred rare books on natural science I’d much rather get my hands on.” Kelvin frowns. “Magical books, ritual murders… I suppose the genre of ‘crime serial’ is drifting away from me a bit.”

“Nah, I like it,” Infernus insists. “It’s exciting, mixes things up. The stuff you make’s better when you’re adding the stuff you like.”

“That is why your best drinks are your Cosmopolitans?”

“Oranges makes everything better, Kelvin,” he says seriously.

After the buzz and company of the bar, Kelvin sits down that night feeling invigorated, sure he can get a sizable amount of work done before he retires for the evening. The words come easily, his fingers gliding across the keys.

"Based on your description I assume it was likely a sigil warding against an entity from the Deep. A few years back I acquired an extensive encyclopedia on the Deep… Now, if I could recall the title…", Virgil trailed off, his eyes roaming the rows upon rows of tomes filling the solid walnut bookshelves. Absentmindedly, his hands patted at his pockets, unlit pipe held in his mouth. Dante had no doubt he was searching for the matchsticks he had used earlier. "Here." Virgil's attention was pulled from the bookshelves to his friend. Dante, reclined in the arm chair, motioned for him to lean down, towards him. As soon as Virgil obeyed Dante reached for his pipe, the fire under his skin shifting and flowing, a dull glim visible through the carefully carved lines of the intricate tattoos. His ring finger pushed into the chamber, teasing the top of the tobacco with a gentle flame to ignite it. Smoke began to fill the air between them as Virgil took a first inhale. Dante had no need for a tamper, he pushed the embers down with his fingertip, unbothered by his own flames. The action was almost unnecessary, as any pipe lit by Dante was to burn evenly and proper down to the bottom of the bowl. Virgil was filled with such marvel at his friend once again — his control of the volatile element was incredibly fine, a perfected demonstration of a natural talent honed by years-long practice and daily use — Virgil almost forgot to take the next draw. It was as though the familiar aroma of Capstan Blue was amplified by Dante's heat. The Ixian withdrew his hand, satisfied with his work. His thumb brushed against the edge of Virgil's beard ever so gently. A pleasantly warm touch, temperate in the comparison, yet Virgil felt as though his skin was burning even after Dante had pulled back. It spread through his body along with the nicotine, and he wished he could ask for Dante to touch him again, to feel this warmth reaching deep into his core, chasing away any memories of the cold. Dante was a hearth, and Kelvin longed to-

Kelvin stares at what he’s just written, the minutes on the clock ticking thunderously by. Despite how long he stares, the pages do not become any less damning.