Max

"Good evening, Mr. Horenson." The host, a naga called Sygo, greets me as I enter. "Your usual table?"

I grit my teeth around my cigar, thinking of how nice it would be to relax in the snug tonight.

"I'm here for the reception," I growl.

"Ah, of course," Sygo hisses. "This way." He glides out from behind the desk and whispers across the marbled floor in the direction of the main reception room.

I do my level best to tamp down my irritation at this waste of my evening. I have plenty of paperwork on the acquisition to read through, lawyers to instruct, a delicious meal to eat from a proper plate rather than silly finger food which is, frankly, pointless to a troll of my size.

The naga pushes the doors open and a buzz of voices hits me. I make my way through the throng, acknowledging the various monsters I recognize or do business with until I reach the bar. Fortunately it's Raviik on the bar, and without me having to say a word, he places a glass of my favorite single malt in front of me.

"Thank you." I nod and turn to face the rest of the room.

Something is being set up on the stage at the far end, and there are a number of empty tables. I've made my presence known, so I saunter down to the front and take a seat to enjoy my whisky and work out how quickly I can get out of this engagement.

"Max." The voice grates on me instantly.

"Vulzal."

The troll sits down at my table, one eye milky, one tusk broken. He is no warrior, he never was. Whatever he might tell everyone, he got those injuries as a child, in an attempt to steal food from a troll much younger and smaller than him.

"Good turnout," he says conversationally.

I don't reply but simply swirl my drink in my glass and stare straight ahead at the empty stage as the lights dim and there is a swish of clothing as everyone takes their seats with an air of anticipation.

"What is this, Vulzal?"

"An auction," he says, his tusk band flashing in the lights from the stage. "For humans."

I clamp my teeth into my cigar and rise from my seat.

He grabs me. "Stay. I have some information about your current acquisition."

Others are looking in our direction, so, because I don't want to cause a scene in my club, I sit. A waitress weaves through the tables. I put up a finger, and she comes towards me as I swallow the last of my single malt.

"Another." I put the glass on her tray. "Make it a double."

I do not ask Vulzal if he wants anything.

The auctioneer, steps onto the stage and starts a spiel about the goods on display tonight and how they're all willing participants. It sticks in my throat despite further lubrication from more whisky. I'm well aware how much the human world changed when the veil dropped between the Upper and Lower Worlds. I know how our wealth was incomparable to theirs.

I'm also aware some monsters find humans irresistible, which is why these auctions exist. Supposedly willing participants prepared to sell their souls for a lifetime, or less, of comfort. I'm not sure who is deluding who. But my distaste for this sort of event has always been clear, which makes it extremely uncomfortable to be seen at one.

"Say what you have to say and be done," I snarl at him under my breath. "I do not wish to be here."

"Of course," Vulzal says obsequiously. "I've heard of your lack of appetite."

I bristle. My choices, my lifestyle, are my own and have nothing to do with him or any other. Vulzal drops his voice, and I need to concentrate to hear him over the noise of the auctioneer and the frenzied bidding for the humans on stage, a mixture of young females and males.

The sooner he says his piece, the sooner I can get away from all this unpleasantness and back to solitude.