John Ringo - Queen of wands

“Fun, fun, fun,” Barbara said. “Where?”

“Rubs.”

The bar and grill was part of a small chain in the Asheville area. Copying the success of a much more notable national chain, the waitresses were invariably chosen for their looks, and dressed appropriately.

“Oh, my God,” Barb said as they walked into the bar. It was just the beginning of the evening shift, and while there were still few customers, the full crop of waitresses was on the floor.

“Don’t stare, don’t Reveal,” Sharice said, walking over to a table with a view of most of the bar.

“They’re…everywhere,” Barb hissed, setting Lazarus’s carrier on the table. The cat slid open the bi-directional zipper she’d installed and poked his head out, hissed and ducked back in. Probably because every second woman in the grill, not just the waitresses, had a small demon on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a man said, hurrying over to their table. “There are no pets allowed…”

“I have a doctor’s excuse,” Barb said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, you have to allow companion animals. My cat is registered as a psychological companion animal. I’m aware that that makes me crazy, but I’m covered under Federal law.”

The response was automatic and rote. Living with a familiar was a pain, but Barb blessed the otherwise incredibly stupid court orders that had expanded the ADA far beyond its original intent. Designed to force companies to make their places wheelchair accessible, the Ninth Circuit, using its usual logic, had decreed that “companion animals” including yappy dogs that were “psychologically necessary” to crazy ladies, were covered by the statute.

Barb was willing to be considered crazy if it meant she didn’t have to put up with the headaches she got when Lazarus was more than a few dozen meters from her.

“Yes, ma’am,” the manager said through gritted teeth.

“I promise he won’t go peeing on the furniture,” Barb said. “Laz. Stay. See?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the manager repeated, walking away.

“Familiars,” Sharice said. “Can’t live with them…”

“We’ve been spotted,” Barb said, craning her neck around. She wasn’t staring at any of the small demons, but she definitely felt eyes on her. Of course, it might have been some of the patrons. Despite her age, she could easily have been one of the waitresses.

“I feel it, too,” Sharice said. “Not sure…”

“Now what is that?” Barb asked, blinking. Now she was staring, even though there wasn’t a demon on the girl’s shoulder.

The waitress was bending over, talking to a customer. Pretty. Very pretty. She looked much like Barb had when she was in her early twenties. Long legs, blond hair, tight derriere and solid double-D chest. On closer examination, though, Barb was fairly sure that was in part fake. But the sense of being watched, even though the girl wasn’t looking at them, was coming from her.

“Aura,” Sharice said, quietly. “Read her aura.”

The girl’s aura wasn’t black but it was darned close. It was a red so deep as to be almost indistinguishable.

“So…I repeat. What is that?”

“ That is a drakni Mother, a drakia,” Sharice said. “That girl is the reason that there are all these drakni here. They’re all vanity demons, by the way. Well, almost all. Now, look around. Do you see some of the girls who should have drakni but don’t seem to?”

“Yes,” Barb said. “And their auras are dark, too. Not as dark…”

“Their drakni have settled all the way in,” Sharice said, then paused as their waitress approached the table. “There are a few who don’t have them. Call them girls who don’t have that particular hook. Stronger-willed, not self-critical and vain at the same time. But they’re rare in a place like this.”

“Welcome to Rubs,” the girl said perkily. “Our Happy Hour specials are…”

“I’d like a Coca-Cola and a plate of hot wings,” Sharice said when the girl was finished with the recitation.

Barb had been trying and failing to not notice the drakni on the girl’s shoulder. It was tiny, no bigger than a small rabbit, and seemed barely attached. But she found herself studying it, and then it noticed. It hissed at her, and she had the hardest time in the world not hissing back. Lazarus had no such reservations, letting out a soft warning yowl from the cat-bag.

“Uhm, ma’am, your cat…” the girl said.

“It’s okay,” Barb said, mentally sighing. She focused on the demon and then Displayed, releasing the mental hold on her own aura and showing just a portion of her true power.

The drakni nearly hopped out of its skin and cowered down, blinking its huge eyes in a way that was vaguely appealing, like a puppy that had been shouted at.

“Down, Laz,” Barb added as the cat released a meow that sounded vaguely like a snicker. “I’ll take the grouper burger, hold the bread.”

“They’re not ganging up on me,” Barb said quietly as the waitress left.

“They saw enough to know not to,” Sharice said, sighing. “But they’ll follow. And they are ganging up on you. You’ve just managed to learn to suppress your Ear.”

“Not really,” Barb said. “I Hear what you mean, now. But there’s so much other white noise…” Now that she paid attention, she could hear the demons cat-calling at her. They were commenting meticulously on her looks and promising that they could make her look better if she’d just take one of them…

“Concentrate on one,” Sharice said, quietly.

“Kavam,” Barb said. “The one on our waitress’s shoulder. I can name off the rest.”

“The Mother?” Sharice asked.

“Uhm…” Barb said, looking over at the waitress. “She’s not talking.”

“Concentrate,” Sharice said. “It’s going to be there anyway.”

“Long…” Barb said after a moment. “I can hear it in my head, but I’m not sure I could pronounce it.”

“And thus we get to the whole unpronounceable name thing,” Sharice said. “But it’s not necessary. Concentrate on the name and then call it over.”

“It’s in someone,” Barb said.

“Just do it and watch.”

Barb concentrated on the waitress, who was delivering a tray of beers to a table, and fixed on the name of the demon, calling it to her. The waitress finished delivering the beers, then instead of heading to one of her tables or the waitress station, came over to Barb’s table.

“Welcome to Rubs,” the girl said, smiling. “Haven’t I seen you in here before?” she added, looking at Sharice.

“I love the atmosphere,” Sharice replied. “You’ve been here a while?”

“Since I turned eighteen,” the girl said. “But I’m getting tired of it. I’m thinking about changing jobs. Don’t tell anybody.”

“Of course not,” Sharice replied, smiling. “Our secret.”

“Uhm…” the waitress said, uncomfortably.

Barb realized that on concentrating on the demon, she’d been staring at the girl’s breasts.

“Sorry,” she coughed. “I was thinking about something. Penelope, that’s a nice name.”

“Thank you,” Penelope replied. “Well, I hope you gals stop by more often.”

“She thinks we’re lesbians,” Sharice said with a chuckle.

“I wonder where she’s going to move to,” Barb replied.

“Nowhere,” Sharice said. “This place is too fertile a ground for her Mother. New girls all the time, most of them fixated on the importance of looks. She’ll end up being a manager when she’s lost the looks to be a waitress. And with that demon riding her, that’s going to be quicker than normal. Vanity demons are like that. They promise beauty and make you ugly faster than smoking.”