“Do you think Cas will be alright?” Boran asked as he escorted Megra down the hall. 

The madam scoffed at the question. “I’d be more concerned about Mr. Pierce where Cas is concerned.” 

The doorman gave a short chuckle. “That’s true enough,” he said. Making way for Megra as they descended the stairs. Boran expected the madam to return to her office or perhaps head to the infirmary to check on Miriana. Instead she stepped behind the bar and threw open the trap door to the cellar. 

Boran tensed when she did. Everyone at the hearth knew what lay at the bottom of those stairs and even the doorman felt his blood run cold whenever Megra descended into that darkness. 

“Madam Megra, would you like me to join you?” Despite the offer his words were uncertain and he felt a shameful relief when Megra declined. 

“No Boran, I’ll be fine and I’d feel much better having you up here keeping watch.” 

Boran didn’t protest; he simply gave a dutiful bow and watched as Megra descended into the cellar. 

*

Megra’s eyes had mostly adjusted by the time she approached the heavy door at the back of the cellar.  It was as large as a vault, made of thick pitch colored iron. A large knocker was displayed prominently at the center but it felt more like a trap than a welcome. Not that Megra needed to bother with it. As she approached the door opened on its own, the creak of its hinges echoed eerily throughout the massive chamber on the other side. 

Round in shape and with vaulted ceilings about two stories high the placement of the room under the brothel made no logical sense. Its proportions should not have been possible, the ceiling reaching well above where the first floor should lie.

Megra seemed unconcerned with the geometry of the room and passed through the threshold confidently.  Striding across the floor the torches that hung from the room’s many pillars blazed to life revealing a space that was equal parts bedchamber, laboratory and altar. 

“Was wondering when you’d be down.” 

The voice that spoke was breathy and hushed and somehow seemed to fill the space without an echo. A moment later a tall lean figure coalesced from the flickering shadows. The being was tall and masculine with sharp handsome features  framed by long ink black hair that hung well below their shoulders. His skin was smooth and free of blemish but was an unnatural gray as if the man were carved from limestone. Megra offered her hand to the tall man who took it with a bow as he placed a gentle kiss upon it. 

“So you are aware of our predicament then Xaraxa,” Megra said. 

“I always am,” the man said, motioning for Megra to follow him to a small table where two glasses and an open bottle sat waiting. 

It had been nearly two lifetimes since Megra had first met Xaraxa. Back then he had gone by Emily Dumont, an identity he sought to escape as fiercely as Megra did her old master. Seeking his escape in magic he became a talented witch and eventually the  favorite of his patron. However the dark being seemed reluctant to give to their followers what they truly desired. For years their patron obfuscated and deferred their decision as Emily’s power grew. Eventually the broken promises and years of waiting became too much and the witch took what they wanted and with it the power of their old patron. 

“I’m afraid I’m unable to locate the girl if that’s what you desire,” Xaraxa said as he filled the two glasses before taking a seat.

Megra took a sip before she answered. The liquid was far thicker than any normal wine and had an acrid taste that would have turned the stomach of most. It wasn’t any vintage they served up top and Megra doubted that the liquid was even wine. 

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said, swallowing hard. “I was hoping to check on the progress of our contingency, given all that’s happened.”

Xaraxa set his glass back on the table and started to trace the rim with the tip of his finger. “Progress is fine, for what you requested,” he said, the soft hum of the glass echoing in the empty room. The sound put Megra on edge, something she believed was intentional on the part of the sorcerer. Where once they had been friends, protectors and even lovers for a time the two  had only grown further apart with time as Xaraxa's humanity began to fade. Now they were no more than associates, professional courtesy being the only bond that remained. 

“May I see?” Megra asked. 

Xaraxa let his finger complete another cycle before standing and politely offering his arm. Megra took it and allowed the tall man to lead her back out of the chamber. Instant relief swept over her as she stepped back into the stale air of the cellar. The ground seemed firmer and the world more solid than it did in Xaraxa’s strange dimension. Even the sorcerer himself seemed different as they stepped through, his features becoming softer, his eyes less cruel. 

The pair weaved their way through the stacks of old crates and barrels. The section of the cellar they approached saw far less use as evidenced by the thick dust that covered nearly every surface save for a series of doors that had been constructed along the wall.

 Most were wood but the trees that had provided the planks could not have been cut locally. In fact even the metal of the hinges and stone of the frames were from places hundreds or even thousands of miles from the Dragon's Hearth.

Xaraxa approached one of the doors and produced a ring of keys from somewhere on his person. After searching for a moment he slid one into the lock and gave it a turn. A faint roaring sound could be heard from the other side as he did the  sound growing  louder as he pulled the door open. 

A sudden gust of salty air rushed in through the opening as moonlight spilled onto the floor. On the other side of the door was an empty cobblestoned street. Off in the distance the ocean gave its low constant roar. Megra’s eyes lit up at the sight and she took a few steps forward savoring the seaside breeze as it swept over the empty street on the other side. 

“So it worked,” Megra said, the excitement feeling good after the night so far. 

“For this one and about half the others, yes,” Xaraxa said, looking down the line of about a dozen doors. 

Megra’s eyes briefly scanned the line before returning to the open one. “The Cotanay Coast?” She asked, inspecting the wood of the door and assessing it to be from the giant mangroves that grew along the southern estuaries.

“Yes, Brackish Port,” Xaraxa said.

Megra nodded. The Brackish Port was a small but well used  port-of-call. With all the sailors and travelers it was a fine place for a cathouse to do business.This had been a plan to reinvigorate the inn. Each door would be a similar portal able to bring in customers from across the empire while allowing them to skirt certain regulations. She hoped also that the doors could serve another purpose, an escape route.

“So we can now use it to travel?” She asked. It hadn’t been her intention to use the doors for anything other than drawing in customers but given the unease of current circumstances the madam wished to possess every contingency she could.

“Not exactly,” Xaraxa said, closing the door and locking it back.

 “What do you mean?” Megra asked, the relief quickly fading.

“The door isn’t built for that,” Xaraxa explained coolly. “You had me create a door that could bring customers from there to here,” as he explained he pointed to his left then right for emphasis.

“But we’d need to send them back at some point. Why could we not travel through the same way?”

“Transmutation is complicated, there are special rules and considerations. In the past two hundred years I have only partially begun to master it. While I can send a soul anywhere I would like, these portals are far more complicated. They can bring anyone here but to go back they would have to travel to a place they have already been.” 

Megra listened, her hopes quickly fading, “What would happen if someone tried to go to someplace new?” She asked

“I would compare it to being set adrift at sea without any heading or even a sail,” Xaraxa said after a moment, sounding uncertain themselves.

Megra shuddered a bit thinking of what adrift might mean in the context of teleporting thousands of miles. “So we’re stuck,” she said. 

“Unless you’ve been to Brackish Port or the other places I’ve set up doors, yes.” 

Megra stared at the sorcerer for a moment, her mind working feverishly. “Could the doors be made to work in the other direction?”

Xaraxa thought for a moment, “I suppose they could but more work would need to be done from the other side.”

“Could you do it?”

Xaraxa nodded, “I could but that would mean taking my power with me and leaving this place more vulnerable than it already is. Then there would still be the matter of my stipulations and fees.”

Megra gave a low hiss. While Xaraxa took a hand’s off approach when it came to the deals of the Hearth Megra wasn’t inclined to lose access to his power. She also wasn’t eager to pay any more of Xaraxa’s fees. As money had begun to grow scarce the sorcerer began to request payment of personal and sentimental treasures. 

“What we need is someone on the other side who can act in my stead. With the proper seals and sigils I could expand my influence without having to remove myself,” Xaraxa said, the unprompted helpfulness surprising Megra. 

“Unfortunately we don’t have that many friends, and the ones we do will take days or weeks to contact,” Megra said with a sigh. 

“Are you expecting catastrophe before then?” The sorcerer asked. 

Megra didn’t answer.