“To Adam and his choices,” she said, toasting the glasses with her friends and moving the fourth glass to the side to wait.

  As she did, the ashen black door opened again, and an immaculate beauty walked in. She was naked, and her skin was like that of the night sky. Constellations danced across her body; her eyes were like star fires glowing with a hum of white brilliance. She smelled of hyssop and frankincense and the sea. Her head was adorned with beetle-like pincers, creating a pseudo-crown, and her hair was always in motion as if she were underwater. Behind her was a shorter man dressed in a uniform. His shaggy red hair peeked through a World War II pilot’s cap. Confusion wrapped his face, but he followed her with attention while his hand rested on his holster. The woman stopped halfway into the bar and bowed at her waist.

  "Hello, my fellow brothers and sister,” she said. “I came to honor you with a story, a drink, and a wish to carry the weight of tradition.”

  She signaled with a free hand to the man behind her. "This is Benjamin,” she said. “He is the oldest of five and is named after his father. His position to me is not an inheritor but a reminder. Fight for what is right and never waste a chance to help."

  Benjamin scanned the room, unsure of what to do.

  "Hello, Night Beetle, we welcome you,” Miss T. said, delighted. Night Beetle smiled back.

  “A glass has been poured for you, and a story has been prepared. Won’t you sit with us?" Miss T. motioned to a seat at the bar.

  “What’s the deal with the broad?” the fighter pilot mumbled under his breath as they took their seats.

  “Night Beetle,” Miss T. said, surprised. “You are not one that I’ve often seen. And with your own mortal companion no less. This is very rare for you. I am intrigued to listen to your story after Mister D. is done.” Miss T. gave a pointed look at Mister D. Her green eyes bore into him.

  “I’m going to,” Mister D. replied in an exasperated tone. “Like I tell my boy, you can’t rush perfection. I’ve just got to dredge up the right memory.” The clockwork boy began to rattle and chirp.

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  “To answer your question, soldier,” Bastion blurted out, “the designated broad is the lady and owner of this space. She’s an immortal of great power, and you should show some respect.” Mister D. plopped a hand down on the boy’s head and began to rub a flat-looking spot of metal in a calming motion.

  “Let’s show some grace to the newcomer; he’s obviously extremely green around the ears.” Mister D. spoke, facing his son and gradually giving a pointed side glance back at the pilot. “I’m sure he won’t mind trying some manners after he calms down from his first adventure with an immortal?” Benjamin clocked that this was more of a statement than a question.

  Miss T. noticed the fighter pilot open his mouth and shut it. His wide eyes never left the clockwork boy. She gleaned that he was the type to always be on high alert, looking for danger wherever it might be.

  Sighing heavily, Miss T. took a quick break from the counter and walked over to Benjamin. She hitched up her dress and wiped her hands.

  “Now, now, Mister D., you have a point. However, he is new here and we have not earned his respect yet.”

  Closing the distance, she stuck out her hand.

  “Hello, I am the Story Keeper and Truth Speaker, and an abundance of other important titles that don’t currently matter, but you can just call me Miss T.”

  Hesitantly, the newcomer shook her hand.

  “Apologies, ma’am, I didn’t mean to be so… it’s just a lot to take in at the moment.” Benjamin scratched his head as his eyes wandered off. “Any chance you got some whiskey? I have a splitting headache.”

  “Never mind!” Mister D. interjected. “I like him.”

  Mister D. reached into his gray tweed coat pocket, pulled out a flask, and held it out to Benjamin in a gesture of friendship, sloshing its contents around. The Winter Warden gave a thumbs-up of approval, winking at Benjamin. His wolf decided it was a perfect time to take a nap and curled up at his owner's feet.

  All reluctance gone, Benjamin took the flask, took a swig of its contents, and handed it back.

  “My name is Benjamin, as you all know,” he frowned. “I can’t seem to remember. I’m drawing a blank about everything else.” Miss T.’s eyebrows knit together in concern. She turned to face the Night Beetle for more answers.

  “I believe it’s an aftereffect of coming into contact with my power,” Night Beetle said. “The memories will come back to you. You have to give them the space they need.”

  Not entirely satisfied with that answer, Miss T. glanced at Mister D. No words passed between them, but Mister D. handed Benjamin the flask back anyway.

  “Don’t worry about the others. They don’t bite unless you bite them first,” she whispered gently in Benjamin’s direction. “In the meantime, try to enjoy some stories and company.”

  She walked back over to her side of the bar, her hand on her hip, and smiled at Mister D.

  "Miss T., your hospitality knows no limits,” said Night Beetle.

  "Well, all right, now that she is here, I guess I'll be a man of my word and go next," Mister D. conceded. “Gotta set a good example, I suppose.”