“Sit here,” she told Edgar, pointing to the stool beside hers as she lowered. “I think I’d better keep me eye on ye. We don’t need ye spookin’ the customers and getting us kicked out before we have what we need.”
A tanned bartender came out of an opening at the back, what looked to be an entrance to a kitchen or backroom. She noticed the new people, her light brown eyes darting between Niamh and Sebastian. It was clear she was about to turn toward the bar but slowed when she noticed Tristan’s back. Her gaze took in the wings pooling on the ground in a way capes didn’t, and then the massive shoulders supporting them.
With a little crease between her brows, she started that way. Not even Sebastian’s new mug could put her off checking out that great big gargoyle-monster.
“Hey, boys.” The bartender stopped where she could see them both, and then her body jolted as if she’d just gripped a bolt of lightning. Niamh watched as the younger woman soaked in Tristan, taking in his face, chest, and then his glowing eyes. This time her words came out breathy. “Hi. What, ah…”
She cleared her throat. “What can I— What are you?”
Tristan looked up at her slowly, not at all reacting to her sudden flush and flustered demeanor. He was used to it, Niamh knew. The amount of women who fawned all over him in O’Briens was joke-worthy.
“Thirsty,” he said, his deep, dangerous tone making her visibly shiver. She backed up a pace, and Niamh wondered if he was releasing a bit of his special magic, a nightmare-inducing sort of emotional terror. Jessie could replicate it in spell form, but not nearly so controlled. They’d felt it for the first time at Edgar’s shite flower show a few weeks back. Niamh had meant to research which creatures were known for such magic, but she hadn’t had a chance leading up to this trip.
Regardless, the effect would ensure the bartender stayed behind the bar, probably close to Niamh
—a position that would allow her to admire his face and body without getting the scare factor.
Perfect. It was starting to seem like Tristan and Niamh might work incredibly well together.
“Sure,” the bartender said, popping her hip. “What can I getchya?”
“Hennessy, neat.” He looked at Sebastian.
“Do you have Four Roses, single barrel?” Sebastian asked.
Her gaze was slow to find him. “Yup.”
“I’ll have that please, one ice cube.”
“Sure thing, coming right up.” She looked down Tristan’s back in passing, checking out his wings.
She had definitely never seen a gargoyle before.
Behind the bar, already working on Tristan’s drink, she glanced over at Niamh and did a double take at Edgar, who was awkwardly sitting on the stool beside her.
“Hello,” the bartender said slowly.
“Don’t mind him.” Niamh waved Edgar away. “He’s not dangerous, just senile. Everyone finds him off-putting, not just ye.”
Her eyebrows climbed. “Oh-kay.”
“What kind of ciders do ye have?” Niamh asked, trying to get the show on the road. She was feeling good about this outing. This woman was obviously used to shifters and townies, so anything abnormal would definitely have stuck out to her. Momar’s guys would definitely qualify as abnormal.
The bartender rattled off the options as she finished the lads’ drinks. Two weren’t actually ciders and the other two were crap.
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Niamh said once the woman had delivered the drinks to the lads and returned.
“And how about…you?” The bartender gave Edgar a side-eye, clearly not wanting to look directly at him.
“Oh, I’m content just to sit here and watch all the patrons in a non-creepy way.” He did that weird, simpering smile again.
“He’ll have a whiskey, same as me,” Niamh said.
“So, what’s the occasion?” the bartender said conversationally as she got to work, glancing at Tristan again. “Costume party?”
“Yeah,” Niamh replied. “Where’s your clown suit?”
The woman huffed out a laugh before turning and putting their drinks on the bar. “What are you really here for, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Niamh could see the wariness hidden beneath her bartending bravado. That was very good news.
It meant she paid attention to the clientele instead of just going about her job like a drone.
“Business transaction,” Niamh said with a heap of boredom. “Maybe. I shouldn’t speak out of turn. We haven’t gotten the job yet. We’re headed to the Barazza territory.”
“Oh yeah?” The woman leaned against the bar, glancing out the door and then at Tristan for a moment. “Been to that territory before?”
“No. First time. They’re expecting us later today. What do ye know of it? Seems like the alpha’s got a right stick up his arse.”
She grimaced before glancing down the bar at the other patrons. One was low on beer, so she headed that way, grabbing him another. He muttered a thanks and went back to watching the TV
showing sports highlights.
The bartender wandered back and said in a low voice, “You probably shouldn’t say that too loudly…” She spared another glance at Tristan, clearly admiring the view, before finishing, “He’s very well respected.”
“Well, sure. But that doesn’t mean he’s not got a right stick up his arse.”
Her expression was half smile, half grimace as she pushed back to lean against the back edge of the bar. “I’ve never met him, so I don’t know, but you should be fine. The guys who come in here from that pack are almost all gentleman. They cut down trouble to almost zero.”
Niamh grunted, sipping her drink. A body had to be careful when getting information off people.
Slow and steady, a little yank at the thread of information each time.
The bartender wandered down to check on the others, and Niamh downed her shot and passed the empty off to Edgar.
“My, that was tasty.” Edgar rubbed his belly.
She took his. “I’m not Jessie. Ye don’t have to pretend with me, like.”
“Oh, I like to. It helps me fit in.”
“Trust me, it doesn’t.”
“What’s going on with that pack, anyway?” the bartender asked after moseying back, not in a rush.
“I don’t know whatch’ye mean,” Niamh answered.
The bartender crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back again. “All the regulars from that pack have been pretty close-lipped about it, but it seems like they’ve got some trouble going on.”
Niamh looked at her for a moment before glancing over her shoulder, as though about to impart some juicy gossip.
“Now, I don’t know fer sure like, so don’t go quotin’ me, but it looks like he’s in the market for some extra padding in the defense department.” She lifted her eyebrows in a serious way before leaning back, only to lean forward again and give a little more. There was an art to this sorta thing.
“Seems like someone is tryin’ta take over his pack or something, I don’t know. Or attack it. He’s looking for help, from what I’m gathering. That’s why we’re headed there, at any rate—to see what’s what.”
Niamh shrugged, glancing over her shoulder again before sipping her whiskey.