15. Emma

FIFTEEN

Emma

A few painfully long minutes passed before the bartender reappeared behind the bar, his dark eyes taking us in with curiosity tinged with pity. I’d thought he’d be feeling annoyed by us. The fact that he pitied us made me even more worried about meeting his boss.

"Over here," the bartender motioned with a nod toward the back.

I followed, with the other ladies at my heel. We walked past table after empty table but didn’t stop until we reached the very back corner of the bar. I eyed the dimly lit corner table he pointed us to with apprehension. This seemed like the kind of place where terrible things could happen, and no one would even notice.

"Sit,” he commanded.

I didn’t particularly like being spoken to like a dog, but it seemed stupid not to do as he said. The worn leather of the seat squeaked under me as I slid in, followed by Beth, Carol, and Deva. The only table’s occupants that could see us in instantly stood and disappeared out of sight, fleeing as if being near us would be enough to put them in the line of fire.

"Is this really necessary?" I glanced at the other empty tables around.

"Privacy." He wiped his hands on a rag. "He'll be here soon."

Beth shot me an uneasy look but said nothing. We sat in silence, waiting.

"Don’t push too hard,” Deva said softly. "We might have the powers to back up a fight, but we don’t want a fight. Not with Broth. Winning one fight against him would be easy, but making an enemy of him would make all our lives harder. Just remember, we have to keep living here.”

"Agreed,” Beth said.

I shook my head and a small laugh bubbled out. "How well do you all know this guy, because you’re making me pretty nervous?”

Carol shrugged. "We know him, and know of him, well enough.”

Just a minute later, a man took a seat across from us. He had long black hair and dark eyes. Eyes that held anger, maybe even hatred, and the feeling radiated from his large, muscular body. This looked like a man capable of doing bad things. Whether he actually did them or not, I wasn’t sure.

"You requested me, and here I am,” he said, with no trace of humor.

Broth Riversteel set down a tumbler half-filled with something amber. Something I was sure was strong liquor. A cigarette dangled casually from the corner of his mouth, the smoke curling up into the stale bar air. He leaned back against the booth, stretching one arm out so casually that if I couldn’t sense the tension in his body, I would’ve thought this was a meeting between friends.

"Yes,” Beth began, clearing her throat. "I’m Beth. This is Emma, Carol, and Deva.”

"What do you want?" His voice was gravelly, the words clipped and direct.

I exchanged a glance with Beth, her eyes flicking briefly to the cigarette in silent disapproval. We said nothing about it, though. Not our place, not our business. Even though technically smoking wasn’t allowed inside any building anywhere in Mystic Hollow. I doubted the police cared enough to enforce that law here.

Beth leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I’m going to cut straight to the point because we know your time is valuable. We came to ask about the recent werewolf attacks," she said sharply, watching for his reaction.

The glass on the table rattled as Broth's hand came down like a gavel. His eyes narrowed into slits, and the smoke from his cigarette curled around his face like a wreath. "I might've had to tolerate the sheriff poking around in my business," he growled, the words seething through clenched teeth, "but I don't have to tolerate you lot."

Broth leaned over the table, his face inches from ours, eyes blazing. His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath, lips parting like he might unleash more than just harsh words.

"Listen here," he hissed, the scent of alcohol mingling with the smoke. "This is my establishment. My place of business. No one comes in here asking me questions unless they want to disappear. Do you want to disappear? I can make it happen.”

"No,” I rushed out. "We don’t want that. We didn’t mean to insult you.”

"Too late,” he ground out, and his hand moved as if to reach for something in jacket pocket.

Suddenly, Carol's hand flicked forward, her fingers opening. A small pink object soared through the air and hit Broth square in the face. It burst upon impact, a cloud of shimmering powder enveloping his head. My jaw dropped open, and I stared, wondering what that possibly could’ve done to help our situation.

"Damn it, " Broth shook his head like a wet dog. Pink dust settled on his skin, clinging to his features, his cheeks now rosy, his nose sparkled, and his scowl highlighted by an unintended blush.

I stared in shock. He had dark lashes and bright purple eyeshadow. The full face of makeup took away his edge. It took everything in me not to start laughing.

"Witches! Of course!” He growled. "What did you do to me? If you think some curse is going to–”

"It’s makeup, Broth. Calm down or you'll look like a clown," Carol's voice was even, but her stance was ready for any move he made next.

"Makeup?” he asked in disbelief, but his movements stilled.

"Look at yourself." I nodded toward the mirror behind the booth.

He spun around, catching his reflection. "Shit!" His large hand snatched a napkin from the dispenser and furiously scrubbed at his face. The pink powder smeared across his cheeks, making him look even more ridiculous.

"I should’ve known better than to piss off witches. My mother hangs out with witches, and they’ve always got some kind of power, or some kind of potion, that suddenly has me minding my manners or helping my mother out with more chores,” he grumbled.

Deva shrugged. "You looked like you were going to hurt us. We weren’t left with another choice.”

He glared, mascara streaked down his face as he paused in his scrubbing. "I’m a man. I’d never hurt a woman. No matter how irritating one might be.”

That was good to know.

As he continued scrubbing, Beth drew herself up taller. "Truly, we’re just here with some questions. We don’t want any trouble.”

"All right, enough," he snapped, tossing the soiled napkin onto the table. His green eyes, no longer rimmed by makeup, met mine in the mirrored surface, crinkled with irritation. "You've got one minute. Make it quick."

My heart hammered, a frantic beat trying to break free. Carol clenched her jaw, eyes locked on Broth Riversteel, his face now clean of makeup but still shadowed with anger. This was our chance. We needed to ask the right questions, and quickly.

"Look, Broth," Beth continued, "we just need information about the werewolf attacks. That's all we're after."

"Information?" Broth snorted, skepticism etched into the lines of his face. "And why should I help you?"

"Because we're trying to stop them, not point fingers," she replied. "We've got no reason to accuse you; we just want to understand what's happening."

He gave a terrifying smile. "If you want information from me, I’m going to need something from you first.”

"Something?” Deva repeated softly.

He nodded.

"I can cook something for you,” Deva began. "I’m a really excellent cook–”

"No,” he said simply.

"I can create a nice sweater for you in any color you like, or a blanket,” Carol offered nervously.

"No.”

Beth shifted in the booth. "How about a spell of some sort? Everyone can use a spell.”

"No.”

I sighed, feeling frustrated. "Well, what do you want?”

Broth looked from Beth to me, his brows knitting together in a curious frown. "You're Karma, aren't you?" he asked, voice laced with a strange mix of respect and suspicion.

I nodded once, firmly. "Yes, I am."

"Karma..." He leaned back, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight. A thin stream of smoke curled up from the cigarette between his fingers. "Heard stories about you. Dealing with mermaids, vampires, gnomes... You get around in the supernatural world, huh?"

"Word travels." I tried to keep my tone neutral. His acknowledgment of my past dealings sent a prickle down my spine, but I didn't let it show.

Broth took a long drag from his cigarette, the end glowing ominously in the dim light of the bar. "All right, Karma," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that briefly shrouded his face. "How about a deal? You use those powers of yours on my ex's new toy, and then we can talk."

I shifted uncomfortably in the booth. This was not what I came for, but desperation gnawed at me. The thing was my powers didn’t work that way. I couldn’t just unleash Karma on good people.

Although, no one said his ex’s new toy was a good guy.

"Only if he's a bad guy," I countered firmly. "If he's clean, nothing happens to him. That's how my power works."

"Fine by me, because I know that guy is a bastard." Broth grunted and flicked ash onto the floor. "You've got yourself a deal, Karma." He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just give me your word, and you can ask me all the questions you can before this cigarette is done."

"You have my word,” I agreed easily.

"Then, it’s done,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Beth's fingers drummed on the table. Her blue eyes narrowed as she asked, "Where were you during the werewolf attacks?"

"Working. I’m always working" Broth leaned in, his breath reeking of smoke and liquor. "I run this place every night, all night long. Got a whole crowd that can vouch for me."

I exchanged a look with Beth. The bar was his territory, his word law. Patrons would cover for him, no question. But out loud, I said nothing.

"Where do you go when the bar's closed?" Beth pressed, her gaze sharp.

"Upstairs," Broth said. "Got an apartment over the bar. Don't need to be anywhere else."

"Convenient," I muttered.

"Very," Broth smirked. "Means I don't miss much. Keeps me out of trouble."

Beth leaned forward, her blonde hair slipping from behind her ear. "How well do you know Jamur Hede?"

For a second he looked shocked, and then he laughed, his laughter echoing off the dim walls, rough and loud. He took a drag from his cigarette. "Why you asking about Jamur?"

"We think he might be mixed up in these attacks," Carol said.

"Involved?" Broth snorted smoke out of his nostrils. "That's rich. That’s the guy that’s dating my ex."

He can’t be serious. The world can’t be that small.

"Your ex's new boyfriend is our prime suspect?" I asked, my eyebrows raised. "The one you want me to try my powers on?”

"Yep." He took another swig of his drink. "Ironic, isn't it? But then, I did say the guy was a bastard. Everyone looks at him and sees a certain kind of guy, and they look at me and, well, see someone else, but looks can be deceiving." Broth's hand tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening. "He’s a scammer. A liar," he spat, his eyes narrowing to slits. "That jackass told her I was cheating. Me! Cheating!" He let out a bitter chuckle. "I'd never. I’m a one-woman man."

Beth shifted in her seat, her blue eyes fixed on Broth. "What would it take for you to help the guy?" she asked, voice low but clear.

"Help him?" Broth snorted, slamming his glass down. "Nothing on this earth would make me."

I leaned back, eyeing Broth as his glare cut through the smoky haze of the bar. "You'd really burn before helping Jamur?"

"Rather turn to ash," he growled, the words rumbling deep from his chest.

Carol and I exchanged a glance, the kind that said we believed him. There was no faking that level of spite. This didn’t mean Jamur was off the hook, but it did mean we didn’t think Broth was involved in any of this.

"Okay." I tried to steer the conversation. "What's your take on these attacks then?"

Broth exhaled smoke, his eyes narrowing as he pondered the question. "Someone's doing it on purpose." He tapped ash onto the floor. "Turning people."

"Who would do that?" Carol asked.

"Ask yourselves who benefits from more werewolves." He leaned forward, the scowl etched deeper into his face. "Sure as hell isn't me or Andrew. Having two werewolves in town is more than enough."

"Thanks for your time, Broth." I scooted out of the booth, and the ladies followed me as he continued to watch us closely.

"Yeah, thanks," Carol echoed, her eyes darting to the door.

Broth grunted, his attention already returning to his drink. "Don't mention it. Just remember what you owe me and remember that I’m not a man to forget a deal."

We made our way out of the dimly lit bar, the conversation pressing on us like the thick smoke that filled the room. As we reached the exit, Carol glanced back at Broth, who was now staring into his glass as if it held the answers to questions we hadn't asked.

"Come on," I murmured, touching her arm gently. We stepped out into the morning light, the cool air a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. We walked in silence, each lost in thoughts of werewolves and hidden motives, until the bar door swung shut behind us with a definitive thud.