Chapter 8 #2
It was a few months since Mallory had frequented any of the boozy establishments along the busy street known throughout Coldstream for its nightlife and party atmosphere.
When she’d started brokering secrets and favours, she’d spent countless hours haunting the bars and clubs.
In vino veritas was as true now as it had been in Roman times, and she’d learned a great deal from alcohol-sodden tongues.
She still kept many of the Hirsel bar staff sweet, and they were prepped to contact her if certain Preternatural bigwigs turned up.
These days she didn’t need to spend several nights a month trawling for secrets because more often than not people came to her, but part of her missed those frenetic days – even if her liver was grateful that it no longer had to work overtime.
As she’d expected at full moon, the small pub was quieter than usual although the usual diehards who would lock themselves inside and drink the night away were there.
Although Mallory recognised almost every face, she knew better than to attempt small talk; she wasn’t a druid and even her best chatter would not be welcome.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of Salty Miller and she prayed silently that she hadn’t missed him.
The barman eyed her coldly as he polished the glass in his hands in a manner that could only be described as menacing. She knew he wouldn’t attack her but he wanted her to think that he could.
The only approach was to go into full sunshine mode, so she plastered on a brilliant smile. Twinkly eyes and shiny teeth, she told herself. You’ve done this a million times before. If she could deal with the likes of Chester Longchamps, she could certainly handle this guy.
‘Good evening!’
The barman didn’t react: he didn’t blink, he didn’t twitch and he certainly didn’t smile. He simply continued polishing the pint glass and eyeballing her.
‘Wow,’ Mallory said. ‘You really take your cleaning seriously. I’m impressed that standards haven’t dropped since the last time I was in here – they were always high and now they’re even better.
’ Her words served a dual purpose: she was complimenting the barman and, perhaps more importantly, she was telling him that she’d been here before.
She understood the lay of the land: druid pub or not, she was allowed to be here.
The barman didn’t noticeably crack but she was certain that he’d paid attention to her words. ‘What are you drinking?’ he growled.
What she really wanted was a pot of coffee or, at a pinch, hot chocolate with marshmallows.
A decent Merlot to sip and savour would be equally wonderful.
However, none of those choices would ingratiate her with the barman and it was obvious that none of those delights were available.
She sighed inwardly as she maintained her full wattage smile.
‘It’s been a long time since I had a decent pint.
Nobody makes beer like the druids. You’ll make my day if you have any Taliesin’s Bitter on tap. ’
Something shifted behind the barman’s eyes and Mallory knew she’d said the right words. She’d revealed to a beer professional that she understood good beer; even better, she’d proved she was someone who understood good druidic beer.
In truth, she couldn’t think of anything worse but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d drunk a few pints for the sake of her work; neither would it be the last.
‘Add a dram of the good stuff as a chaser for the lady, and I’ll have the same again,’ drawled a familiar voice in a heavy lowland accent.
‘She’s with you?’ The barman stared at Salty Miller who’d appeared at Mallory’s side.
‘Aye.’
‘You should have said,’ he muttered accusingly to Mallory.
She shrugged and made a last-ditch effort to win him around. ‘What can I say? I hate name dropping.’
For the first time, the barman’s mouth tugged upwards. ‘You’re no druid,’ he said, stating the obvious, ‘but you’re not so bad.’
Salty grinned. ‘By Jove. I think he likes you.’
‘Take a seat,’ the barman told them. ‘I’ll bring your drinks over.’
‘Table service, too?’ Salty whistled. ‘Wonders will never cease.’
Mallory nudged him sharply with her elbow before the barman changed his mind. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’ She turned away and headed for the table that Salty was pointing to. ‘I didn’t see you when I came in,’ she said as they sat down.
Salty gave her an affable smile. ‘I was taking a piss.’ He held out his hands. ‘Here,’ he said, wiggling his fingers. ‘I even washed my hands afterwards. You can smell them. That’s actual soap.’
‘Amazing.’
Her sarcasm delighted him. ‘It’s been too long, Mallory Nash. It’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Salty Miller.’ This time she meant it.
The barman appeared and placed their drinks on the table.
Salty reached for his shot of whisky and downed it in one, gesturing to Mallory to do the same.
She knew exactly what would happen if she didn’t, so she lifted the heavy glass to her lips and swallowed the liquid.
Its mellow warmth slipped down her throat. It was actually good stuff. ‘Mmmm.’
Salty grinned and gestured to the hovering barman. ‘Another two!’
He nodded and withdrew before Mallory had a chance to refuse another dram. ‘I’m not here to drink, Salty,’ she warned. ‘This is business.’
‘Och, you can have one or two, lass.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s never just one or two though, is it? Not with you.’
He laughed and thumped the table. ‘You know me too well.’
More’s the pity. ‘The reason I’m here…’ she began.
Salty was already shaking his head. ‘Beer first,’ he said. ‘Business later.’
Mallory persisted. ‘I have one quick question for you. That’s all.’
‘You know the rules.’ His eyes danced. ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’
There were no handy plant pots nearby into which she could surreptitiously pour her drinks, and in this magic-rich environment Mallory possessed no sleight of hand that would enable her to get rid of them. She could refuse, but the last time she’d tried that with Salty he’d shown her the door.
It was a different game with every client and this was Salty Miller’s favoured play.
He loved drinking but hated doing it alone; he’d happily use and abuse any opportunity he could get to drag others into his boozy orbit.
Mallory steeled her stomach and crossed her fingers that she could steer him to the topic of bellarmine jugs by the time she’d finished her beer. She could at least hope.