A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(84)

Maybe later.

“We don’t stock that brand,” the waiter said.

Farrell blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We stock a variety of other vodkas, including Belvedere, but we don’t have Grey Goose. Do you really care?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask. I’m not willing to take a substitution.”

The waiter shrugged. “Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

The shrug annoyed him deeply. It wasn’t a matter of drinking another brand of vodka when his preference wasn’t available. It had happened before, of course.

But Farrell wanted what he wanted.

Presently, it seemed vitally important to him to prove a point, here and now, to this apathetic waiter.

“Actually, you can help me.” Farrell reached into his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “Go to the nearest liquor store, buy a bottle of Grey Goose for me, and keep the change.”

The waiter frowned down at the bill. “I have six tables to look after. I can’t just leave at the drop of a hat.”

“I’m not asking you,” Farrell growled, hot anger rising in his chest. “I’m telling you.”

Wait. What was he doing? He glanced at Crys to see a look of growing alarm on her face.

His emotions had been unpredictable since he’d been given the mark. They ran either hot or cold. He’d have to keep a close eye on that.

He forced a laugh. “I’m joking, of course. Belvedere is perfectly fine. Thanks so much.”

The waiter slipped away without another word.

“That was such a funny joke,” Crys said drily. “You’re a regular comedian.”

“Sorry, I got a little carried away with the act,” he lied. “Too bad he didn’t want to play along, it would have been a lot more fun.”

The waiter returned soon with their drinks and the vegetable tempura appetizer they’d ordered.

“Sorry about that,” Farrell said, pressing the C-note into his hand. “No hard feelings?”

“None at all.” The waiter nodded, finally losing the peeved expression as he turned back to the kitchen.

Farrell raised his glass. “We should toast to something.”

“Like what?” Crys asked.

“The start of an amazing new friendship.”

She clinked her glass against his. “Do you befriend all the random girls you meet on the street?”

“Only the ones who help me tackle muggers.” He took a sip from his glass and tried not to let the fact that he hadn’t gotten his way continue to bother him.

“You get in a lot of fights?” she asked.

“No, I’m very peaceful. Zen-like, actually.”

“Really? Have to say, I did a little online search for you last night, and I happened upon a very interesting video of you pounding the crap out of a drug dealer.”

Oh, right. That.

How should I handle this? he thought. “Well, I’m Zen-like unless you mess with my family. That guy gave my kid brother cocaine. That’s not okay. I may have lost control, but I swear my heart was in the right place. I’m sure you’d want to protect your sister at any cost, right?”

He heard the clink of her ice cubes in her glass when she took a sip. He could also hear her heartbeat—fast and fluttering. She put on an air of calm, but underneath that T-shirt she was nervous about being out with him. Or maybe she was excited.

Either way, her biology proved that he had a definite effect on her.

“Of course I would,” she finally replied. “My sister means more to me than anyone.”

“Right. I don’t want my brother to walk the same path I’ve walked,” he said, wanting to impart a bit of personal wisdom to draw her even closer to him. “I’ve made mistakes, I’ll admit it, and my older brother tried to look out for me. I always gave him a hard time. But Adam, he’s more innocent than Connor and me. I can’t explain it. Despite the family he’s in, he’s so naive to the evils that lurk behind every corner. I know I have to be there to save him, even if he doesn’t want to be saved.”

“I totally understand.”

He watched her carefully as she bit her lip and reached for a tempura-battered asparagus, sliding it through some ponzu sauce, before bringing it to her mouth.

Who knew fried asparagus could be so sexy?

Farrell drank the rest of his vodka and signaled for another. It arrived with the rest of their meal: a salmon roll, seared scallop nigiri, and sea urchin sashimi. Crys busied herself with unwrapping her chopsticks and mixing a concoction of soy sauce and wasabi into a thin greenish paste. He did the same before he ate a piece of the salmon roll with mock enthusiasm.

He hated sushi.

“We were talking about magic the other night,” he said.

“We were.”

“Such an interesting subject, isn’t it? I’d love to know more about your personal experiences with it.”

She traced her finger along the edge of her square-shaped plate. “Have you ever heard of Obsidia?”

He blinked. “Obsidia?”

“Apparently, it’s a magic language.”

“Can’t say I have.”

She continued on eating and chatting as if they were having a normal dinner conversation, but Farrell leaned in with perked-up ears, regarding her with increased interest.