Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Regge gets an awkward houseguest
Even after a year in this time, I still marveled at the cell phone in my hand. My mentor, Theo, was a hundred miles away in New York, and the phone made it feel like he was right here in my living room.
The small, dingy room was nothing special, but it was a palace compared to places I’d lived. Theo had provided enough funds to lease fancier lodgings, but the third-floor walkup suited me fine. I had come from humble beginnings and couldn’t bring myself to spend the money.
“The meeting went well,” he was saying. “We’ll be home by next week.”
I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me.
“It will be good to see you. And Isabelle.” They spent a fair amount of time at Izzy’s house in Philadelphia, but a lot of Theo’s work was in New York, and I always felt better when he was close to home.
“I need to go to work now, so I shall leave you.” I bit my lip.
Taking my leave over the phone was always awkward.
After a few more seconds, I said goodbye and hung up.
Rising, I stripped the bed and pushed it into its couch form—the futon being another fabulous invention of this time.
Work was a hotel bar on the other side of Philadelphia.
The route took me two buses to get there, but the city passed before me in a blur of noise and color.
My work was washing glasses and cutting fruit.
But with tips I could pay my rent. And it was honest work.
I was twenty-five now—well past the age of being kept like a youngster.
Theo had accumulated wealth here and was generous. But I relished my independence.
“Good afternoon, Mistress Delilah,” I said, entering through the employee’s entrance of the San Marco Hotel.
The elder assistant chef was cutting onions, her face full of tears. “I’ve told you, it’s just Dee, or Delilah, not Miss or Mistress.”
“I am aware. But I was taught that a lady of your good standing will be addressed appropriately.”
“You a crazy kid, you know that?”
I grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am.” I punched my code into the timer on the wall.
The shift went by quickly. I fetched supplies and watched Chase, the bartender, make Manhattans and martinis.
The San Marco was a far cry from Pinkie’s, the bar where I’d learned the modern bar trade.
Soft lighting, gleaming leather, and the delicate clink of glasses was nothing like the neighborhood bar and its quirky clientele.
I smoothed my white shirtfront as a woman crossed the bar to sit on the end stool.
The tips here were far better, but I missed Pinkie’s camaraderie.
At least, that’s what I told myself I missed.
Not a certain bartender with wild colors in his hair.
Hunter had always made me feel safe. Welcome. Like I wasn’t a weird artifact or oddball Brit.
“Reggie.” The woman focused on my name tag. “Is that how you pronounce it?”
“Ah. No. It’s Reggae. Like the music.” Bob Marley was among the countless new musicians I’d enjoyed. I found it was an easy way to explain my name.
She tilted her head and looked up beneath heavy lashes.
Customers were easy. Be nice and they were too, mostly.
And everyone was so clean. I still couldn’t get over how clean everyone was.
Easy access to soap and water and they used it all the time.
Signs in restrooms to remind one to wash their hands.
Little bottles of clear liquid that sanitized after that. Who’d have thought it?
Chase lingered at the other end of the bar, so I focused my attention on the customer.
“Welcome to the San Marco. What can I get you, Miss?” I’d seen the yellow diamond on her left hand, but I knew women of a certain age hated the honorific of ma’am. Miss was polite and made them feel young. Accuracy had no place in modern language—or the bar trade.
“A pinot grigio will make my day. And maybe your phone number.” She winked.
I ducked my head. The unabashed flirting was another aspect I was still getting used to. I uncorked the wine and poured.
“Alas, I’m afraid I can only provide one of the items to make your day, as you say. But it is a good pinot.”
I softened the rejection with another smile. A sliver of the old me came forth. Theo had taught me well the arts of charm and seduction. It was all part of the con game in the old days.
She was well-dressed, not too flashy, yet her watch was not the fancy designer model, so not too rich.
The brazen rich were too distracted and elitist to make decent tippers, but she was well off yet conscientious enough to tip well.
Years of sizing up marks came second nature to me, so assessing every customer was instinctual.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I am most flattered.” I felt another smile twitching. My cheeks will ache by end of day.
She squinted at me and laughed. “Why are all the good ones taken?”
Chase finally sidled up next to me. “Hey there, welcome to the San Marco,” he said. “I see Regge has you set up with a wine. Can I run you a tab?”
Her gaze slid over to the dark-haired Chase. “Thank you, but it will be the one.” She handed him her card.
When she finished her wine and left, he turned to me. “Sorry if I interrupted something there.”
“No. Only a gentle letdown.”
Chase’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be picking up the customers. The boss will can you faster than you can say Harvey Wallbanger.”
I had no idea who this Harvey was. Someone to do with labor laws, perhaps? These Americans were strange blokes. Nevertheless, I returned his smile.
“It was the other way around. And besides, she wasn’t my type.” I used the modern term I’d picked up.
“Right. Too mature? Blond?”
My lips twitched. “Female.” I walked away before Chase could see my flushed face. Modern folk declared their sexuality so easily, but it was quite unnerving for me. Still, adaptability was key to survival. And I was a survivor.
On the way home, I held my phone, my thumb poised over Hunter’s number. I wanted to tell someone. My first time publicly declaring that I was gay—another nomenclature I felt strange using.
Bruce Hunter had been my guide to all things modern.
Everything from video games to public transportation to the intricacies of finding companionship.
As a bisexual man, he’d introduced me to the modern version of pairing up.
Skipping the phone apps, we’d opted for the clubs. At least until I’d cocked things up.
I still saw Hunter, of course. The gang would often get together at Pinkie’s. But the connection we’d once had was gone. And that was entirely my fault.
Walking up to my apartment, my steps slowed to a trudge.
I had three days off and no idea what to do with them.
Theo and Izzy were in New York more often than not.
Abraham had the gatekeeper, creatures, and a bar to deal with.
And Hunter was… out of the question. I needed new friends. Or more friends.
Letting out a sigh, I unlocked my apartment and crossed to open a narrow window. Archie arrived as usual—in his crow form.
“Good eve, Archie. How fare thee this day?”
The bird let out a squawk.
“Yes. I still have the tuna you prefer. Though I must say, you’re getting quite spoiled in this time. Remember when you had to chase down a fat mouse for dinner?”
I set his tuna dish on the floor. The bird flapped and contorted until he shifted into his other form. A large orange tabby cat blinked at me with the same dark amber eyes of the crow.
I gave him a scratch behind his ears as I put the kettle on for tea. “Eat your dinner, my friend. I have blueberries for dessert.”
His ability to change between two forms was unusual even for familiars.
Since Master Gomfrey passed away, Archie had adopted me as his companion.
With a wince, I gave silent thanks to the old apothecary who had taken me in as a teen.
Master Gomfrey was one of the very few people I missed from my old life.
The phone rang and I nudged it on to greet my friend, Izzy.
“Mistress Isabelle, how fares thee?”
“Regge, seriously? I love your olden speak, but you’re a modern man now.”
“Whatevvvver.” I grinned into the phone. “Are you still in New York?”
“Yes. A couple more days, or actually, that’s what I’m calling about. Did Hunter text you?”
“What’s up? Is he ok?”
“Don’t worry. He’s fine. It’s just. There was a mishap at the Hotel Fulbright. They’ve had to close down for a while.” She cleared her throat. I heard her hesitation.
“What’s up, Iz?”
“The hotel has—er, had—some semipermanent residents who’ve had to move out.
Until it’s renovated. Everyone is doubling up to give them a place to stay.
I offered the house while Theo and I are in New York.
Hunter said they could use his place too.
” There was a pause. “And we thought that maybe… he could stay with you.”
“Wait. The hotel exploded?” I couldn’t care less about the hotel, but I needed a moment to adjust to the idea of Hunter. Hunter being homeless or Hunter being here.
“Well, not all of it. Only a couple of rooms. But it’s enough that the city inspectors have closed it down. And as a lot of the residents are…unusual, we’ve been helping them out.”
I jumped up to retrieve the whistling kettle. My hand trembled slightly as I poured hot water into a mug. Our paths hadn’t crossed in weeks. Hunter and I. “Um, okay.” I said into the phone.
“I hope that’s not a problem. The Fulbright is a bit like Pinkie’s. A lot of others seem to gravitate there, and some can’t check into a normal hotel. They have nowhere to go.”
“What about the warehouse? Can’t folks stay there?”
Izzy and Abraham had purchased an old warehouse three blocks from Pinkie’s Bar, turning it into a gym and meeting space.
“Abe’s moved a pack in there.”
“A pack of what—gum? Cigarettes?” I asked. What else came in packs?
“Wolves.”