Chapter 21 #2
“Here we are!” A voice startles me as we both turn to the sound of two beers slamming down on the bartop. Bubbly, amber liquid sloshes over the rim of the bottles, coating the dark glass. I look up at the bartender, blinking a couple times as I try to place why he looks so familiar to me.
“High Quarter!” he shouts, throwing his hands up and grinning ear to ear. “I was hoping I’d see you around here again. I wasn’t able to track you down the other night and make sure you were good getting home!”
And then it rushes back to me. Sterling had called him Lafayette.
He was the bartender here the night I was attacked by that wraith.
My body goes cold as I stare him down, a rush of emotions flooding me.
He was so kind that night—and again tonight.
But all I can see, can hear, can feel are memories of that awful wraith.
Of Lafayette’s name lacing its way through my brain as I desperately hoped I’d be able to get away from the male and find his help.
“I heard there was some sort of disturbance close by that night. I’ve been nervous ever since that you’d somehow gotten caught up in it,” he continues, clearly missing the horror surely written in my features.
He knows. He must know. What I did to that male.
What my father exiled me for. The power I’m still to this very second trying to conceal inside me.
My mind spirals, running through every possible outcome of what will happen once Aamon finds out.
Once Andras knows, if he doesn't already.
“So, did you?”
I realize there’s been several moments of conversation between Lafayette and Sterling. Things I’ve missed over the pounding music and my racing thoughts.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head and swallowing hard.
“Did you make it home okay that night?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing shallow breaths into my lungs. Either he doesn’t know the truth or he’s playing dumb for some gods-forsaken reason. I wave my hand in the air, lifting the beer to my lips and taking a swig to ground myself. “Yeah, I got home fine.”
Because I don’t know what else to say. Because I don’t know how to admit in this bar full of Arcane-touched that I, a Watcher, killed one of their own.
That I trailed the gruesome evidence through the streets once I’d blacked out.
That I returned home only to be forsaken by my own father and discarded like a piece of trash.
Only to end up here, back in the same position I’d been in just a few short nights ago.
Lafayette nods, but I can tell he senses something from me. His eyes narrow, the silver of his eyebrow piercing glinting in the lights behind the bar. “Well, my offer still stands, High Quarter. You need anything, you know where to find me, okay?”
I nod, trying to avoid his gaze. Sterling is acutely aware of the shift in my demeanor too, and between the two of them, I feel entirely too vulnerable.
Lafayette opens his mouth to say something else, but the door to the bar opens with a bang, and the rest of the Blood Order members that were with us on the outskirts of the city stroll in.
The patrons of the bar roar in approval, swallowing the gaggle of males and urging them into the fold. Lafayette turns his attention away from the door, fixing Sterling with a hard look.
“Burial night,” is all Sterling offers.
Lafayette nods as if that's all the explanation he needs. “I’ll grab a round for everyone.” He flashes a kind smile my way before striding down the length of the bar to prepare drinks.
Sterling swipes both beers into his hands and nods for me to follow him.
I do, hot on his feet as the intensity in the bar picks up.
He leads us around the outskirts of the crowd, to the back corner of the room where a section of beaten up couches and oversized chairs wait.
I look around, amazed to find such an open amount of seating in such a crowded place.
Sterling slips easily into the alcove, setting our beers down on a low table in the center. I move to follow but a hand wraps around my arm, holding me in place.
“Blood Order only,” a male warns in a deep, rough voice. I look up, into the hard, dead eyes of a broad shouldered male. His grip is firm, his face rigid. He’s unforgiving, and I quickly retreat out of reflex.
“Julian, she’s with us,” Sterling calls out. He sounds irritated, his words clipped.
“Sorry, Sterling, but you don’t have the authority to clear her. She needs the Alpha’s or Aamon’s say-so to gain access.”
Sterling bristles. “Are you fucking with me, Julian? Let her in.”
“No can do,” he responds coolly, tightening his hold on my arm. I’m about to open my mouth to say it’s fine, but Sterling doesn't let up.
“She’s wearing Aamon’s cut for fuck’s sake!” Sterling yells, throwing his hands in the air and charging forward to challenge the bouncer.
“She’s good, Julian.” I hear Aamon’s voice break out over the incessant music. And suddenly he’s beside me with that menacing grin that somehow looks less comforting than when he’s angry. He flashes his fangs at me, letting his smile grow as the bouncer drops my arm.
“After you." He gestures for me to enter the little alcove.
“How chivalrous,” I muse, making sure the sarcasm seeps into my words. “Am I supposed to thank you for calling off your guard dog after dragging me out of the safety of my room and forcing me into a place I have no interest in being?”
“Yes, actually,” Aamon grunts, strolling through the opening and not waiting for me to follow. “You needed to get out of that room for your own good. And Julian is harmless, just rather thorough in his duties.”
“He didn’t feel harmless,” I grumble as I rub the sore spot on my arm.
Sterling guides me to a seat on one of the leather couches, making sure to put as much distance between me and Aamon as possible and offering me an apologetic smile.
I sigh, letting my eyes wander back to the dancing patrons surrounding us.
“Hey.” Sterling nudges me, leaning in close. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say. Too enthusiastically. I tense, refusing to make eye contact with him.
“Tonight has been a lot. And you seemed a little . . . upset earlier. At the bar? If you’d rather go home, we can leave. It’s just tradition after laying the fallen to rest for us to come here. Commune together and all that shit.”
I cringe, not having even thought about how jarring tonight must have been, must be every month, for them.
These were my people. Members of the High Quarter, citizens of Requiesse.
Everything I’ve ever been taught is that it’s our job to look after them.
To save them. But Aamon was right. They were, in a way, his people too.
Just as much as their citizenship tied them to me, the Arcane tied them to Aamon, to the people of the ungoverned district.
Aside from Dina. She wasn’t touched by the Arcane. No, I was her downfall, her death sentence. And I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for it.
“Is it too much for you, Angel?” Aamon calls out sarcastically from across the alcove. He must notice my mood as well. He gestures to the other patrons with a hand that now clutches the neck of a beer bottle. “Too many sinners all in one place for such an innocent thing like you?”
I raise a middle finger at him, sneering when he chuckles to himself.
“It’s not this that’s bothering me,” I say, waving my hand vacantly through the air as I turn back to Sterling.
“It’s everything else. Realizing the depth of my father’s corruption, the utter disregard for the lives of our citizens.
Dina.” I sigh, rubbing my fingers over my brow.
“She was my attendant . . .my friend. The only one I’d ever had.
Even if she was hired by my father, I was still close to her.
Until my father dismissed her—I didn’t know until tonight what that meant. ”