Sin & Salvation (Demigod of San Francisco #3)(10)

“Oooooh.” Bria grinned while nodding. “I get it. Because”—she leaned closer with a smirk—“Miles would be dead now if you were screwing both him and Kieran at the same time. Demigods don’t like to share their prized possessions.”

There was that word again. I scowled at her. “I’m no one’s possession.”

“Fuckin’ right,” Mick said.

Bria clucked her tongue. “I’ll admit it. I can’t believe Kieran knows you get free drinks from your ex and hasn’t pitched a fit. What dimension am I living in? Is this an alternate reality? I even mentioned this bar to him! He must’ve known I’d drag you here, and he said nary a word.” She huffed out a laugh. “I am tickled.”

I opened my mouth for a rebuttal I hadn’t quite thought of yet, but she held up her hand.

“No, no. Don’t say anything. Just let me soak in the shock for a moment. Somewhere, a pig is flapping its wings, taking to the sky. This is history, and I am witnessing it. Hark.”

“What is she on about?” Mick asked, looking over.

“I haven’t a clue.” I took a sip of my Guinness, barely sparing a glance for the woman who’d just walked in and looked around. This was clearly her first time in the bar, and Narnia had turned out a bit different than she’d expected. I’d seen the same expression—unsure and a little disgusted—a million times.

Bria studied the new arrival. “What’s her game? She’s in the wrong place.”

The new woman sat down at the other end of the bar and waited patiently for Liam to approach her. Her posture screamed confidence, from her slightly upturned chin to her glimmering eyes. Bria was right—this woman wasn’t at home in dive bars. This woman expected people to do things for her, and do them quickly. I could see it in her soft scowl as she waited. In her tapping fingers as Liam took his sweet time. She was used to being kowtowed to by underlings.

So what was she doing wearing an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in my pre-Kieran wardrobe?

“Maybe she came here on business and is trying to dress like the clientele so as not to get mugged,” I muttered, answering myself.

“Those clothes fit her too well,” Bria said quietly, lowering her gaze to her drink. Something in her tone, plus the set of her suddenly stiff shoulders, set me on edge.

“How do clothes fit someone too well?” I asked, following her lead and lowering my gaze. “Some people are great shoppers.”

“Cheap clothes are made to fit a wide range of body types. They’re generic. That’s why, before Kieran fixed you up, you always wore high-water pants and your tops looked like second-hand acquisitions from a circus. You have a pretty standard body for someone who’s in moderately good shape, but you’re an Amazon. Nothing on the racks fit you well, let alone perfectly.

“This woman’s cheap-ass clothes mold to her body perfectly. Nothing is too loose, or too tight. Based on the size of those—very expensive—fake boobs, that is a damn miracle. No.” Bria shook her head and upended her glass, draining it dry. “She had those cheap-ass clothes tailored to fit her body. Odd, right? She probably spent more on the seamstress than she did the clothes. Hello, sore thumb.”

Surprised Bria had caught so much from a crappy outfit, I flicked my gaze back up, careful not to make eye contact or stare for too long. I didn’t want the woman to know I was checking her out.

Her durable yellow cotton shirt cinched in at the waist like on the mannequins in the stores. Except, as I’d learned the hard way many times, mannequins always have the excess material clipped in the back. The V-neck showed just enough cleavage of the woman’s large, perky breasts to be sexy while still practical. And the color, one that should fade quickly in the wash, was still a vibrant yellow. Bria was absolutely right. There was no way a top like that would fit this well. I’d always looked like a square.

“Her slacks are the same way,” Bria continued, staring at Liam as he picked his nail. “They end above cheap runners that will give her blisters if she intends on chasing us. Someone thinks we’re idiots.”

“Dressing the part…to chase us?”

“Yeah. Unless Mick has a big secret?” She glanced over at him.

“Feck off, that’s my secret,” he grumbled.

“That’s no secret, bud. It’s almost a shout.” Bria jiggled the ice in her glass, attracting Liam’s gaze. “She’s here for us, I’d bet my next drink on it.”

I licked my lips, fear tickling my gut. None of Kieran’s spies had heard a peep about the ghosts we’d freed—or the missing employees who’d kept them prisoner—since. But only a fool would think Valens hadn’t noticed. The silence was deafening.

“But still,” I said in a hush, lowering my gaze again, “maybe she’s just trying to fit in so she doesn’t get mugged.”

“What’s her magic level?” Bria asked, spinning ice cubes around her tumbler. Liam headed off to make a new one.

I bowed my head and closed my eyes for a brief moment, tapping into the ability I’d picked up from magically connecting souls with Kieran. Immediately, I felt the pulse of the woman’s magic. Strong and sure, fairly powerful—a solid class four or a little less. Not as strong as Bria, who was a class five, but strong. I said as much.