Legion of the Lost (Witchfire 3)

When Ruben closes the bar (Part 1)

The vampire made a low, guttural noise in the back of her throat. "A Bloody Mary? Is this some kind of joke?"

Ruben blinked. "My apologies."

The vampire went as red as the drink she apparently didn't ask for, stolen blood pooling in her cheeks. "I want a refund."

"You haven't paid for it yet," Ruben said smoothly, taking it away and pushing it toward the vampire beside her. "Here. On the house."

The man took it with raised eyebrows, sipping once on the stainless steel straw. Chance Nightshade refused to stoop to single-use anything in her establishment.

"It's good," he said, sounding surprised. "Cheers, mate."

Ruben took the compliment without pride, registering it only as a statement of fact. He was equally unaffected when another bartender tapped him on the shoulder.

"Lady Nightshade wants a word," she said, slinging a tea-towel over her shoulder. "I'll take over from here."

Ruben nodded, promptly following the skin-prickling heat that forewarned the City Alpha's presence. She was waiting for him in the break room, just as lushly furnished as the rest of the establishment, generously stocked with free food and drink. Ruben was indifferent to the perk, for hunger was a purely physical sensation and eating came with no psychological gratification, but he could still recognise the gesture for what it was. Chance was expert at stoking peoples' loyalty — in this case, one banana muffin at a time.

"Shibata," she said, jutting her chin at an empty table. It was more of an acknowledgement than a greeting, though the surname brought his grandfather to mind more readily than himself. "Take a seat."

Ruben slid into the chair, plaiting his fingers and leaning back. Make eye contact to show that you're interested, chimed an old memory. One of his grandfather's many lessons. Lean forward to show that you're listening.

While they were generally good rules to follow, Ruben did neither of those things, presuming the City Alpha would take it as a challenge to her authority.

"How may I assist you?" he asked, focussing on a picture on the wall, just behind her head. The distance would soften his gaze, make it seem less piercing.

"I'm here to discuss your resume," she said, watching him through hooded eyes. They were the yellow of fossilised amber, with a ruddy depth that seemed to hint at something just beyond his understanding. "You omitted some of your previous experience."

Ruben was impervious to the discomfort of silence, so he waited patiently for her to continue. Chance's eyes narrowed when she realised her presence wasn't having its usual effect.

Her displeasure meant nothing to him, so he waited.

"I know about your place on the Council," Chance said abruptly. "I long suspected you had other commitments, given our arrangement, but I must admit I am surprised by the pedigree of company you keep."

She was edging around the point, trying to flush out a confession. He'd more than held up his end of the bargain, however, offering quality service and regular cache maintenance in return for a living wage and flexible hours. His position on the Council of Thirteen was temporary, as he was merely standing in for his grandfather, but he doubted Chance would care for the distinction.

"My loyalty was never up for barter," he said, fully aware of her uncanny gift. He made an effort never to lie in her presence, opting for misdirection or omission whenever the situation called for it. It was easier again to avoid her altogether, but he needed this position in the club to keep an eye on Nora. It was the easiest way to note who she sought and who approached her; to pick up on those watching from afar, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.