Across the room, one gloamist had positioned himself near the entrance, and another was standing in front of an empty booth. Knight must be on his way.
Vince raised his hand and somehow caught the bartender’s attention.
“I think she’d like a drink,” he said.
The woman flashed him a look he found hard to read.
“A gin and tonic,” she said. “The cheapest gin you have, with three limes.”
The bartender turned to Vince, and he realized that his second beer was half gone. He didn’t remember drinking it. He didn’t even remember if he’d liked it.
“Bourbon. Neat,” he said, dredging that up from a movie or something. When it came, he learned that “neat” meant without ice.
“I don’t usually order godawful drinks,” she told him, squeezing the first of the desiccated and slightly brown limes perched on the side of her glass.
“So tonight’s special,” he said.
That got him a quick smile. There and gone. And suddenly, Vince had the terrible certainty that he knew her. He couldn’t remember where, or under what circumstances, but they’d met before.
The crowd surged in and he put one hand against the bar to brace himself. “You grow up around here?” It was not a particularly clever question, but maybe her answer would help him place her.
The woman pushed back her mane of black hair and took a deep swallow of her drink, trying to avoid being shoved off the barstool by a guy on the other side of her. “Yeah, I’m a local. But I bet you’re not.”
He nodded, tailoring his story to her lead. “Only been in town a few months.”
She raised her eyebrows. “School?”
He shifted position so that he was standing between her and the press of people. Got an elbow in the back for his trouble. Shook his head. “Looking to make a change.”
“We’ve got a lot of asparagus.” She laughed at his puzzlement. “So much that they call it Hadley grass. There’s even a festival. And three different asparagus ice creams. That the kind of excitement you’re into?”
“Sounds about the level I can handle.” The funny thing was, it might as well have been true that he wasn’t local, for all he’d seen of the towns.
“I guess there’s an archery school. And a place where you can learn how to swing a broadsword.” There was a slight slur to her voice that made him wonder if the flush in her cheeks was as much from liquor as warmth.
“In case I want to slay a dragon.”
Her nails were ragged at the edges, the nail polish chipped from her biting them. “Do you?”
A quick glance showed him that Knight Singh had arrived. He sat in a booth at the far end of the room. Knight’s people had positioned themselves in strategic locations so that once they spotted Vince, they could close in and cut him off from the exits. He counted five.
Definitely a setup. Vince eyed the nearby fire door the crowd was trying to press him into.
“Want to slay dragons?” he echoed. “I don’t want to slay anything.”
The bartender walked by and dropped a receipt in front of her, and seemed about ready to ask Vince if he wanted another round.
She lifted it and eyed the guy. “What’s this?”
He shrugged. “Your bill.”
“Maybe I wanted another drink,” she said, ground glass in her voice.
“So pay for the last one.” He wore an arrogant little smile, aware he ruled the bar.
She leaned toward him, her voice loud enough that people waiting for their drinks could hear her. “I’ve been sitting here watching you short pour the guests, give people the wrong change, use sour mix instead of lime juice, and wipe down the counters straight into the ice bin,” she told him, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handful of coins. “You’re going to burn in bartender hell.”
“You’re drunk,” he said defensively.
“If I am, it’s despite you.” She counted out what she owed in quarters and dimes, leaving him as many pennies as she could find at the bottom of her purse.
She turned to Vince, and the fire hadn’t gone out of her eyes. “You think I’m petty, right?”
He thought she was everything Remy had been afraid to be. “I think you’re a vigilante,” he said, smiling.
She contemplated him for a long moment. “Come outside with me,” she said. “It’s too hot in here.”
Vince was torn. If he left with her, Knight and his people would be less likely to spot him. Walking beside her, his missing shadow could be easily overlooked.
But part of him wondered if Knight had come there expecting to be set up himself. If the gloamist was taking precautions instead of making a move against Vince, then the situation was still salvageable.
What he wanted, though, was to go outside with the woman.
He got out his wallet and threw down a couple of bills.
She took his hand and led him toward the door.
He watched the confident sway of her hips. She walked through the bar as though she expected everyone to get the hell out of her way. And, amazingly, they did. “I’m Vince,” he told her.
But her gaze was on Knight Singh, recognition in her expression. Then her gaze slid back to Vince. “Charlie,” she said, pointing to herself. “Charlie Hall.”
Vince had counted five gloamists, but that didn’t mean Knight hadn’t hired people who weren’t gloamists.
People like Charlie.
She might lead him around the back of the bar and sink a knife in his side. And if he was lucky, that was when Knight Singh’s people would restrain him and sell him back to Salt. If he wasn’t lucky, she’d have orders to finish him off.
The cold air of the alley hit his face and he felt a rush of indifference toward risks. He liked her. He liked that she was mean and funny and willing to make a scene.
He liked that she was nothing like him, or anyone from his old life.
He liked her enough to follow her deeper into the alley, despite his suspicions. When she turned against the brick facade of the building and threw him a look that felt like a dare, he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her.
Her lips were chapped. He could smell her perfume, something with smoke and roses in it. Her mouth tasted like gin.
Knight Singh could go hang. Vince could make the exchange some other time.
Drawing away, he looked down at her. Traced the line of scarabs across her collarbone. “Do you want to go somewhere?” he whispered against her hair, although he wasn’t sure where that would be. He’d spent the last night in a van. All he knew was that he wanted her.
“Here,” she said softly, reaching for his belt.
He wasn’t sure if she actually liked him. Maybe she just wanted to forget whatever sadness she’d come to the bar to drink away. He could make her forget.
He concentrated on the hot rush of her breath.
The softness of her hip when he lifted her.
The scratch of the brick against his palm.
He didn’t dare think about the past, and he wouldn’t let himself think about the future. All he let himself think of was her.
30
YE WHO ENTER HERE
On Saturday night, Charlie pulled her mother’s station wagon to the curb far enough from Salt’s house that she didn’t think anyone would notice their arrival. Pressing her forehead to the steering wheel, she took a deep breath.
Then she turned to her sister in the passenger seat. “You don’t have to do this.”
Posey made a face. “You don’t either. At least I’m getting something out of it. I don’t know what you’re getting.”
“A preemptive strike,” Charlie informed her.
She knew Salt was perfectly capable of fulfilling all the worst of his promises. If she didn’t get this right, she might not have another chance.
Charlie got out of the car. “See you later, alligator,” she said, leaning on the door.
Posey grinned. “After a while, crocodile.”