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"Sounds very tame compared to some places I've worked."

"This is a pretty civilized crowd."

"What about the former Doomers?" she asked. "Do they behave themselves?"

"You forget that I'm one of those infamous former Doomers. Of course, they behave themselves here."

Fenella wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. How could she have forgotten that Atzil was Kalugal's chef? After all, that was the reason he couldn't open the bar during weekdays and why he was offering her the job.

"I was just joking," she tried to save the situation. "Naturally, they would behave in your bar or you would spit in their food. Right?"

He snorted. "That's right. They know what's good for them."

The door opened, and Ingrid entered, her platinum blonde hair gleaming like spun silver in the warm light.

"Well, hello." She walked over to the bar. "Good luck tonight, Fenella."

"Thank you."

Atzil bent over the bar and grabbed his mate for a quick kiss. "Are you going to stay tonight?"

"Just for a little bit." She cast an amused look at Din. "I'll keep him company for a few minutes." She turned around and headed toward his table, her high heels making clicking sounds on the wood floor.

As customers began to arrive, Fenella fell into the familiar rhythm of mixing drinks, making small talk, and ensuring glasses stayed filled. Her body remembered the dance of bartending—the exaggerated arm movements for dramatic effect, the multitasking, the art of listening while working. It felt good, purposeful, a reminder that some parts of her had survived intact.

Din remained at his table, now alone since Ingrid had moved to chat with other patrons. He nursed his beer, his eyes following Fenella as she worked. She tried not to let his steady gaze unnerve her, focusing instead on the growing crowd of customers.

"It would seem that word is getting around that we have a new bartender," Atzil commented as the bar began to fill. "People are curious to see you, and it looks like you'll have a busy first night."

"Good," Fenella said, expertly mixing a Manhattan for a dark-haired immortal who'd introduced himself as Graham. "I like being busy."

Graham took his drink with a nod of thanks. "I've heard that you possess an interesting ability. Psychometry. Is that right?"

Fenella shot a glance at Atzil, who shrugged apologetically. "Word travels fast in a small community."

"So I'm learning," Fenella said dryly. "And yes, apparently I can sometimes get impressions from objects I touch. Though it's not very reliable."

After the morning with the Clan Mother, she'd tested her ability on a variety of objects, but none evoked any visions of past events. She was starting to think that it was unique to necklaces and pendants that were worn close to the heart. Maybe that was the connection. Or maybe it was the antiquity of the objects that made the difference.

"Fascinating," Graham said, pulling out a pocket watch from his vest. "Would you mind trying it with this? I've had it for over two hundred years."

Fenella hesitated. Her experiences with psychometry so far had been overwhelming and intrusive—Kyra's pendant flooding her with violent missions, Annani's necklace revealing intimate glimpses of the goddess's personal life that Fenella had no right to witness.

The thought of another such invasion felt uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said. "I'm still learning to control it."

"Just a quick try?" Graham pressed. "We don't get many psychometrics in the clan."

Other patrons had noticed the exchange and were now watching with interest. Fenella felt the weight of their curiosity like a physical pressure. She glanced at Din, who looked ready to intervene, and made a quick decision.

"Sure, why not?" she said, holding out her hand. "But I'm not promising anything."

Graham placed the watch in her palm, and as Fenella closed her fingers around it she braced for the rush of visions, the disorienting plunge into someone else's memories, but nothing happened.

The watch remained just a watch—cold metal against her skin, ticking steadily but revealing nothing of its history. No visions, no impressions, not even a hint of emotion.

Relief mingled with embarrassment as Fenella returned the watch. "Sorry. I've got nothing."