Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

It's still light out, but that won't last long. And I've spent too many hours trying to figure out a book of spells without going through any of the motions.

I could use a drink, and there's only one place I want to go to get it.

When I walk into The Liberty, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust and when they do, a motley group of grizzled faces all meet me. I offer them a smile before I make my way through to the bar where I see Chase roll his eyes at a patron. But he's wearing a smile of his own, so I doubt there's a problem.

The bar looks old and in the dim light it could pretty easily be confused for an actual dive, but it's clean, all of the furniture is in good shape… I expected nothing less from Chase.

And he's focused on the patron in front of him, so I manage to get up to the bar on the opposite end before I see his nose twitch and he turns to me with a bright smile.

He says something else to the guy he's just handed a beer and then makes his way down to me, slinging his bar towel over his shoulder.

"I didn't know you were coming to see me."

"I needed a break."

"We missed you last night." He leans on his elbows, the wood of the bar flexing beneath his weight, and for a moment, I consider leaning across to him.

But stealing a kiss in this public of a space feels wrong somehow. They're mine. We all know it. No one else needs to be a part of this.

"I wanted to come over, but something is still really bothering me about Aphrodite and if no one in the coven will help me, I've got to read through all the old tomes myself."

"Didn't you already do that once?

"There are a lot more books in my house than you'd think."

"I'm sure there are. What can I get you to drink?"

"That depends on what's on offer?"

"I'm pretty sure I can make anything you ask me for."

"Alright." I scroll through the catalog in my head and ask for something easy. "How about a boulevardier?" It's Elaria's favorite drink.

"I can definitely do that for you."

It takes him about a minute, but he sets the glass in front of me, a deep red liquid inside, topped with a twist of orange peel.

"I don't get to do garnishes very often."

His smile is sweet and I take a drink, savoring that bitterness. "Maybe I should bring Elaria over when she comes to visit next time. She could run you through her bartender's test."

"Bring it."

A shadow falls over the bar next to me and I glance at the newcomer over my shoulder.

"Is this guy bothering you?" The man is bigger than Chase and probably ten years older, though the deep lines on his brow make him look even older.

"Don't harass my girlfriend, Scott."

Scott looks from me to Chase and his brows rise, wrinkling his forehead even more. "Girlfriend? Well I'll be damned. Guess I'll have to stop calling you ‘Chaste.'"

"You have no idea." I say it into my glass and I see Scott's eyes go wide a second before he laughs. "I kinda just assumed you and one of those guys you live with were together."

Chase smiles, shaking his head. "I'm not their type."

But when his gaze slides to me, I wonder if Scott can see the lie in Chase's eyes. Because he's exactly their type… just not in that way. Not without a woman in the middle.

Which brings a pertinent question to mind.

And after a few pointed questions and laughing insults, when Scott finally goes back to his table and the messy card game he and his friends are playing, I lean closer so I don't have to shout over the music.

"What are you going to do when people start noticing that more than one of you has started calling me your girlfriend? It's a small town."

He looks at the drink he's making and scowls. "I don't think any of us thought of that."

"It might become an issue for Thomas." I hate that this is a conversation we're going to have to have. "In charge of young minds and all of that."

He scowls at the bar, but if he has something to say, he doesn't get the chance. A grizzled old man shouts at him from the other end of the bar and he gives me a quick smile before he turns and goes to grab the man another dark bottle.

Chase moves around the bar with the ease of someone who's spent the larger portion of his life in it.

He's comfortable here and I like it.

He comes back when he can, and each time he's pulled away, he apologizes.

"I'm the one intruding. You don't need to apologize for doing your job."

"Still. I want to spend time with you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He brings me a second drink when my first is done, but not before he grabs something from a window on the other side of the bar.

The basket he sets in front of me is loaded with dark orange deliciousness.

"It's a Thursday night, things are slow. If anyone wants anything, they'll just yell at me."

"I didn't know you guys served food."

"We do and we don't."

When I look pointedly at the basket of fries between us—fries that very clearly did not come out of a bag—he chuckles.

"The menu is super small, and you can really only get one thing each day. Potato dishes excluded."

"And what's today's actual offering?"

"Thursday night is soup night."

"What kind of soup?"

"Today, it's a minestrone." He leans forward to whisper, "That one starts out in a bag, but we do enough to it after the fact to call it house-made."

I laugh as I bite the first fry.

It's perfectly seasoned. "You have a cook hiding back there?"

"It's the kid who's been coming out to bus tables. He doesn't like front of house duties, so he gets to stay in the back most of the time."

He chews on a fry as he looks around the room.

"We close at eleven-thirty Monday through Thursday. Want to stick around? Come home with me after?"

I probably shouldn't.

"Yeah. I've missed you guys."

"Good. We've missed you too. Last week was pretty amazing."

I hum in agreement. "But if I ask you to move in, we'll never get anything done."

His eyes get brighter. "I, for one, am willing to live with that."

I'd be willing, too.

"Bathroom?" I ask, because the other question can't be asked now, or with only one of them.

He nods toward a hallway. "Last door on your left."

"Thanks."

Sliding off the stool, I disappear into the back. If nothing else, I need the space to keep from making promises.

But the moment before I touch the bathroom doorknob, something sharp tugs at me.

The door at the very end of the hallway has a "Do Not Enter" sign on it but that's not the warning I feel creeping from it like thick smoke seeping through the cracks.

I shake off the slick dread that covers my skin and reach for that doorknob instead.

It's unlocked… and after a short landing, stairs descend into darkness.

I shut the door behind me before I snap a flame to light in my palm. It casts a pale glow in front of me, enough to safely navigate the steps, without accidentally setting a cobweb alight.

The basement has been abandoned.

It's a dusty and dark space and while there's another bar along the far wall, it's clear that no one's drank down here for at least a decade.

But that pulsing feeling vibrates to me and makes my skin crawl even more sharply.

I toggle on a dusty light switch, and old fixtures flicker to life, casting a dim, yellow glow over sheet-covered tables.

The empty room makes it easy to find.

The warnaway is nestled into the corner, resting on a bed of cobwebs.

This one isn't tied with the same grass it's made of, or twine, or anything else so benign. This one is tied with a leather strap.

A leather strap that looks suspiciously like the one Chase stopped wearing around his wrist two weeks ago.

I need to figure out what's going on and I need to do it fast. Aphrodite knows they're mine. If she's spoken to her mother at all, she knows they're werewolves.

So what is she playing at?

" Arde. " I snap another flame to life, letting the fire lick at the dry tendrils of the skirt and the thing bursts into flames, turning to ash a few moments later. I should have used a lighter and burned it without magic. She'll know I found it, know that I was the one who destroyed it.

But I'm done pretending I don't know she's up to something.