Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel #1)(11)
Quickly, I looked away, my heart pounding.
I spotted a shadowy form near the fire—a dog, curled up on a bed. He was transparent.
Ghost dog.
No way.
The bartender loomed in front of me, and I jumped.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Um, yeah.” I smiled, trying to look normal and knowing that I probably came off as insane.
“You’re not all right.” She said it in the way that a therapist would say it. Or like a really experienced bartender.
“Ah, no.”
“Here.” She set the teacup down in front of me, then added a tiny carafe of milk and a plate of biscuits.
My gaze fell to them, recognizing the golden rounds. “HobNobs.”
“No baking in here, I’m afraid.” She raised slender hands. “I’m shit with it. But you’ll get Tesco’s best.”
I grinned. “I don’t mind supermarket biscuits.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
I went for the biscuit first, crunching into the treat and chowing down like a professional eater.
“Stressed?” she asked.
I looked up, my mouth full of biscuit, and did my best to speak around it. “How could you tell?”
“You’re going at those like a rat in a bin.” She raised her hands. “No judgment. You should see me with the Oreos when I get stressed. I make you look like a novice.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her friendly voice. It’d been a long time since I’d had friends. Like, forever. My life was gray and lonely and lame, but it was by my choice. I shook the thought away and said, “Right. The stress eating. I do that.”
“At least it’s not drinking.”
“Tea, maybe.” I added some milk to the cup and drank, sucking it down despite the heat.
She leaned on the bar, the sinewy muscles in her arms pulling tightly at her thin T-shirt. “Care to share?”
“Ah—” I kept checking out the mirror next to her, and my head spun. I knew how to do an investigation. I’d been trained for it. And that’s what I was doing here.
I just needed to get my head in the game.
Except the woman with the three eyes kept meeting my gaze in the mirror.
“What the hell is this place?” I asked.
“The Haunted Hound.”
“Yeah, I read that on the door. But, like, what is it?”
“A pub?”
“Right. Hidden behind weird bins and filled with people in amazing costumes.”
She frowned. “Costumes?”
“Ah…” Subtly, I tried to point my thumb toward the three-eyed woman behind me.
“Clarissa is a triclops demon.”
“Demon?” Somehow, I knew her words were true. And while I wanted to put my head between my knees and hyperventilate for about six hours, I didn’t have time for that.
The cops could show up here, and I needed to be gone—with my answers—before that happened.
So I did what I’d done when I was a kid and the horror got to be too much.
“Just keep swimming,” I muttered. I focused on the task. I had only the vaguest memories of my shitty childhood with my abusive guardian, but one of them was very clear.
I knew how to shove aside all my panic and go tunnel vision on my goal.
Right now, I needed to solve this murder.
Whatever was happening in this bar could wait until I’d cleared my name.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the bartender asked.
“No.” I was from London, yes. But that wasn’t what she was asking. “I’m investigating a murder.”
Her brows shot upward. “A murder?”
“Yeah. Guy with a dragon tattoo circling his neck had his head bashed in.” I described the crime scene and nearly mentioned Beatrix, but I held my tongue. Didn’t need to spill my guts. “And he had this on him,” I said, holding up the matchbook.
Her expression didn’t change, but she was suddenly alert. “You with the police?”
Inside, I cringed. This was the part of investigations that I hated. Often, I thought my job would be easier if I could pull out a badge and demand answers. People never understood when you tried to explain that you’d failed out of police training for being a weirdo.
At least, I assumed they wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t dumb enough to try to explain that to them.
“No, I’m not with the cops.”
Her expression seemed to clear, and she looked more comfortable.
Thank God. I could use a break. “Do you know the guy?”
She shrugged. “Not so much. Do you have any other leads?”
“Another man was at the scene. Tall, broad shouldered, silver eyes, with…”
Fangs. Could I even say that?
I glanced behind me at the crowd of weirdos.
Yeah. I could say that.
“He was wearing fangs,” I said.
“Wearing them?”
“Yeah. Like here.” I made a V with my fingers and pointed to my canines.
“You mean he had fangs.”
“Sure. Yes.” These people were serious about their cosplay, so I wasn’t going to offend her by being pedantic. I remembered the feeling that she was telling the truth about the three-eyed demon woman but shoved it aside in favor of retaining my sanity.