Free The Mirrored City by Michael J. Bode

deal is, we entertain guests out here while they get ready. When they’re committed, you reach into one of these cubbyholes behind the desk and hand them a key. It’s important to make it seem deliberate.”
    Soren scratched his head. “Any key?”
    “Any key. Just grab whatever feels right,” Samantha said.
    “What’s in the rooms?”
    “No one knows,” Samantha said. “And you can’t tell or ask anyone. That’s part of the surprise. If a guest asks for a specific number, tell them no. Otherwise, feel free to chat with them about anything else or ignore them. I’m working on a book. Management really doesn’t care what we do. Unless you want to eat—you have to do that in the back room. We are not supposed to eat or drink unless a client offers.”
    Soren laughed. “Do we take money?”
    “No. Payment is handled at the door and in the rooms. We don’t even discuss money.”
    “What about security? Do we need to call anyone if they don’t pay?”
    Samantha shrugged. “We don’t really have those problems here, but a couple of Fodders by the front door keep out riffraff.”
    “This seems too easy.”
    “It is,” Samantha said gravely. “I had questions about what goes on here when I started. I’ve been here three years. It’s easy, and you just have to pass out keys and make occasional small talk. If you can be completely okay with the fact that you will never know what those keys open or why people step through those doors, you will do fine here. This is not a good career for inquisitive people.”
    Soren nodded.
    “Any other questions while it’s still your first day?”
    “No,” Soren said quickly. In fact, however, his mind was awash with questions about this place. Keltis had explained it as an elite brothel that catered to unusual tastes. Now Soren couldn’t help but wonder about the vacancy for this position and whether it had something to do with curiosity.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he peered at one of the locked doors. It was red and rounded with a gold lock. He forced those questions out of his mind. He was going to be fed and clothed and generously paid for the only work his skills and physical condition qualified him to perform.
    “What can I do?” Soren asked.
    Samantha said, “We need to set out some fruit bowls. Go in the back and arrange them attractively. Apples go in the bottom, then mix pears with the rest of the apples and leave a bunch of grapes on top. You think you can get five plates together and put them around the sitting area?”
    Soren nodded. “Sure.”
    He went back to the pantry and arranged the bowls. By the third bowl, he felt dizzy and his hands shook so badly he spilled a basket of apples on the floor. After a while, the tremors passed. He gathered the fruit off the floor, silently thanking the Host that Samantha hadn’t come in to check on him.

    The evening brought a lively assortment of customers. Men and women draped themselves over the sofas and engaged in spirited chatter as they helped themselves to the bottles of spirits. Soren stood behind the desk while Samantha reclined on an adjacent lounge and scribbled poetry into a notebook. It was his first night on the job, and he wanted to make a good impression on management, whoever they were.
    The room had the convivial atmosphere of a cocktail party with clients in expensive coats and dresses. Sprinkled among them were courtesans of the more conventional variety, each a stunning physical specimen. They wore small red masks. He easily recognized Keltis holding court in one corner of the atrium. The Palace did a brisk trade in hustlers who had their own keys to rented suites on the bottom levels.
    Soren felt a bit giddy, his head buzzing from the powder he had gotten from Keltis. It was nice to feel something other than sick—or hungry.
    “First day on the job?”
    Soren spun quickly to see a woman standing behind him. She had dark eyes lined with black and layers of shiny brown hair that should