New Elysium: Weapons of War (Book 2)

Hot Milk With Honey Part 11

"As time passes by, you leave me mesmerized..." - "Mesmerized" Circle of Dust

"I cannot stop this sickness taking over
It takes control and drags me into nowhere
I need your help, I can't fight this forever
I know you're watching, I can feel you out there" - "My Demons" Starset  

Phil's office was like a time capsule. The scent of wood, paper dust, and an old and well-used leather couch filled the air with a perpetual scent of melancholy over a bygone era. The walls were filled with pictures – print outs on paper, not just holograms or those screen-films that could display video clips, looping over and over. Books and files were stacked on almost every free surface, there was paper everywhere. Phil had always found it easier to think about things when he could draw them out on paper. The only reason he kept that old terminal around, a machine that had been outdated even before the Purge, was to keep the books. That had always been Blue's job, because as an Augur, he knew everything about the business dealings in this bar, even if somebody tried to weasel their way out of paying the tax. So Blue had kept track of the numbers, and occasionally, Phil had reminded the customers of the rules. They had run that show for seven years, from the early days of the Purge, to the day that Blue had died, at the hand of a Hunter of Orion's Reach, during their hunt for Amy Larsson.

When Amy stepped into the room, her head perked up for a moment and her eyes widened with wonder. Phil wondered if she had ever seen a real book – not many kids these days had, few people, in general, had any appreciation left for them. Amy seemed to be one of them, though. She moved to a coffee table stacked with books and picked up a heavy, linen-bound one. Phil watched her for a moment, as she flicked through the pages and inhaled the scent of dust and ink.

"Sit," he told her and gestured at the couch, "Let me get you something to drink. What would you like to have?"

He turned to the cabinet behind his desk, where he kept his personal supply. Behind him, her voice sounded small and almost unfamiliar as she answered.

"If... if I asked you for a mug of hot milk with honey..."

That was when he knew that things were even worse than he had thought. She had asked for that only once before, and he knew that it was her way of telling him just how bad in a place she was. He turned back around, and found her staring at the photos on the wall, but she wasn't really seeing them. For a second, he could have sworn that her grey eye was glistening with tears, before she blinked and looked up at him with her usual blank expression.

"Amy, dear," he heaved a heavy sigh and moved to sit next to her, "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth to answer.

"And don't give me any of your usual crap about rotten business or whatever. Be honest, this time," he added.

"Honest?" she repeated the word tentatively as if the concept was foreign to her. "Phil... I... I am honestly sorry. For what happened that day. When the Hunters-"

"This still bothers you?" he asked, furrowing his brow, "Amy, is this the reason why you're coming to the Backside less and less these days?

He had blamed her at first – not for Blue's death, but for stealing his revenge by killing the man who had shot him. But Phil's bloodlust had dissipated over time. She had been a regular visitor before these events – he had thought she had just been busy in the past months, but to think that she still blamed herself hadn't even occurred to him. Because he certainly didn't blame her for what had happened to his brother.

As she sat there now, with her shoulders hanging and her gaze dropped down to her hands, clenched to fists on her lap, not a fiber of his being felt anything but compassion for her. He tentatively put a hand on hers, watching carefully for any sign of a sudden mood swing. She was infamous for those, and he intended to keep all of his teeth over the course of this conversation.