Stolen Token

By Felix J. Léon

Thibault's life is good. He has friends, family, and a hopeless crush on the most brilliant guy in class. At least he thought so until he meets Osten, the fabulous Allegory—a divine envoy walking the Earth on behalf of the gods—who opens up a whole new life to him. One that could be so much more than he'd once believed.

However, Osten needs help—the kind that could either ruin Thibault's career or let corruption spread to the city. He is at a crossroads: continue living his suddenly monotonous life, or plunge feet first into a world of glitter and mirrors that he does not yet undestand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felix J. Léon
• Release date: Jul 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005000288

Book preview

Chapter

One

Thibault’s eyes startled open when his phone started trilling at him, his idle daydream already fading from his memory into soft fragments. Truthfully, he couldn’t have said how long his eyes had been closed, his ability to focus on case studies declining as the day went on. He was not a bad student; his professors often told him he had an astute analytical mind and interesting perspectives on issues, which Thibault didn’t think meant anything much at all. It didn’t make concentrating any easier. The alarm should have meant relief, marking the end of his self-imposed study time, but in truth it was only calling for a different kind of chore. Thibault could recognise how ungrateful that thought was.

His cousin was getting married, and as one of the best men, Thibault was obligated to attend the bachelor party he'd helped to organize. The other best man, Hugo’s best friend, Antoine, had done most of the work, however, being more familiar with the makings of a good party than Thibault ever would be. He looked at himself in his bathroom mirror, acknowledging his appearance—anaemic complexion, bruise-coloured skin underneath pale-green eyes, and dirty-blond hair that managed to flop in three different directions—and resolved to do at least a passable job at looking ready to enjoy a night out, despite yearning for his bed and the small comfort that could be found in a one-room flat in the middle of a wet February.

About thirty minutes later, he was feeling mildly refreshed, wearing the suit he usually reserved for his oral exams, and walking briskly—but not so briskly that his deodorant felt threatened—towards the agreed-upon entertainment of the night: a cabaret club called Le Kalinka.

He had never frequented that particular establishment, although he had heard of it, and it was within walking distance of his student lodging. It wasn’t that Thibault was opposed to spending a night in a cabaret, per se, it simply had never before occurred to him to do so. It seemed to him it was an activity reserved for eccentric people, artists and free thinkers, followers of the Muses. Interesting people. Thibault had never doubted he was boring. Not in a bad way, he just had habits that he liked to cling to, preferring things to be where they belonged and getting annoyed when they weren’t. As a student of law, Thibault fell under the purview of the Virtues. That was where he belonged, and that was okay.

The cabaret felt like a fantasy made real, dropped into the worn-out building to enthral Thibault. Maybe that was on purpose. The light-brick wall of the historical neighbourhood was ornate with colourful posters and murals, making the façade impossible to mistake for anything but what it was, an ageing kind of entertainment hall, housing the queerest of performances.

Thibault and Antoine had decided to keep the party small but intimate—as intimate as one could be in a club where drag queens eagerly heckled you from the stage. There were only five of them, Antoine, knowing Hugo’s friend group better, having suggested that two of Hugo’s closest friends join them for the party. Thibault did not quite feel inadequate in his duties as best man, but it was a close thing. He hadn’t met the other guests before that very moment but knew the redheaded one, Adrien, shared office space with Hugo for his medical practice; the second one had dark skin, similar to Antoine, and must be his brother, Michaël. They both smiled affably, and Thibault resolved to put them both at ease—especially Michaël, who, he had been warned, was particularly shy.

Yet, Thibault still felt like jumping out of his skin, despite the club being designed to put customers at ease, with heavy red drapery, low lighting, and tasteful table decorations.

Is someone else joining us?

Hugo’s voice startled Thibault out of his fidgeting. He glanced at the sixth seat that had been set at their table. Thibault had assumed it was supposed to complete the symmetry of the table and had been glad to be the one seated next to it.

The staff told me they had to put someone with us, Antoine revealed, looking contrite. They wouldn’t tell me more than that but promised they wouldn’t ruin our fun.

Hugo pursed his lips, then shrugged with a smile and a slap on Thibault’s back. Let’s hope they can entertain my cousin. I want everyone to have a good time.

Thibault wanted to scowl at the wink Hugo threw his way, but the sixth guest chose that moment to take their seat, and Thibault’s mouth ran dry.

He had met Allegories before but none so obvious as the creature staring back at him in the dark club. None had been so overwhelming in their otherness. Their round eyes were a warm brown, but that was the most human of their features since white stripes streaked their shimmery, royal-blue skin along their cheekbones and on their forehead, their hair framing their face in luscious shades of Sacramento green. When they smiled, small, pointy teeth showed behind their lips.

Good evening, handsome. I hope I’m not crashing your little party? they asked in a mild yet firm tone. All the other men at the table fell into awed silence.

There was an Allegory working at his school as dean of students. Monsieur Huit was the Allegory of law, and his usual aspect was that of a slick man with shiny hair and shinier teeth, whose favours were yearned after by the most talented of students and were considered a blessing whenever he decided to hand one out. Thibault’s hopes for one had burned out early in his very first semester.

Thibault inhaled, a mix of spices and flower scents filling his nostrils pleasantly and overwhelming his senses. His cousin elbowed him in the ribs, urging him to answer the divine envoy sitting next to him. Uh … hi! My apologies, we didn’t expect such an honour from the gods! Were you sent by the Muses? Allegories represented the gods among humanity. The Muses were benefactors to artists and creators of all stripes, and this person was too ornate to stand for anyone else. 

The Allegory turned their head slightly, showing off the prominent bump of their beaky nose, bashfully lowering their overlong eyelashes—which Thibault suspected were real despite the way the lashes were caressing their cheekbones—and their smile turned coy. Aren’t Allegories allowed some time off now and again?

Thibault felt his cheeks heat up but refused to believe he was blushing. He thrust his open palm at them. My apologies, I meant no disrespect. I’m Thibault, the groom’s cousin. Their eyes fell on his hand before going back up to his face. They shook their shoulders prettily, and Thibault realised that what he had taken for an exquisite feather coat was actually a pair of wings sprouting from their shoulders, starting as a dark metallic blue near the top, switching to a light bronze in the middle, with the tips resting just above the floor. This being had no arms. Thibault wiped his sweaty hands on his suit pants, feeling more and more like a fool.

They smirked at him. Call me Osten, they told him, their voice deep. I’m certain we are going to have the best time together.

The meal was entertaining enough, the show vulgar in a joyful way, like a family getting together with no pretence and enjoying themselves with ferocious determination. Thibault had wondered how Osten intended to handle their utensils with no arms, and the answer appeared to be with the talons that they had instead of feet. They were flexible enough to reach a fork all the way up to their mouth.

Wouldn’t you be more comfortable on a cushion? he asked them after they had finished their entrees, the rest of the party laughing at the show. The comment earned him a look of wide-eyed surprise, followed by a tiny, pleased grin.

Accommodations to my divine body aren’t always available. As you can see, I make do with no issue, they reassured him.

He frowned. That cannot be legal. I’m certain you could sue. 

Osten was already shaking their head, the club light reflecting on golden strands in the movement of their hair. Slow down, sweetheart. If I was truly uncomfortable, I would have made a fuss. They fluffed their feathers, wings doubling in size, mischief in their eyes. I’m very good at making a scene.

I feel like I can’t say anything right tonight. I answer to the Virtues; legal action is usually how we address problems. Thibault wondered if maybe jumping into conflict might not always be a good thing. Still, he didn’t want to believe accepting discomfort that could easily be fixed was the better solution.

His words caught Osten’s attention, and they bent their unusually long neck to get close to his face, their beak of a nose almost bumping into his. The Virtues? Are you a man of law or finances? 

Thibault didn’t know why the deities of rules and money were called the Virtues. While he did follow their teachings, he did not feel like they should be equated to moral standing, considering what politicians and economists were notorious for. Of course, he would not say so out loud. I’m a student at Capitole. I’ll hopefully have my licence in a few months, and then I’ll try for a master's degree. This he was proud of. This he believed in. Thibault was a delicate man who could never have honoured the Idols like the athletes his brother was fond of, but he believed he could protect the