Page 40 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

40

FENELLA

"Y ou're quiet," Din observed as they neared the bar.

"Just thinking about drink recipes," Fenella lied, pushing aside the jumble of thoughts that had been swirling in her head since they had left Shira's place and continued through the stop in Thomas's place for Din to change his shirt.

Tonight was about her return to bartending, not existential questions about fate and compatibility.

The Hobbit looked even more charming in the waning light, with soft illumination spilling from its round windows and creating golden pools on the path outside. It wouldn't last long as the shutters would go down as soon as it got dark outside, but for now, it looked very inviting.

Inside, the cozy space glowed with warmth, the wooden beams overhead strung with tiny lights. The huge bar dominated the floor, with plenty of stools for patrons who wanted to sit right next to it, but there was also ample seating available around small tables that were made from barrels topped with wooden round platforms.

"Fenella!" Atzil called from behind the bar. "Right on time. Come and let me show you the setup."

Din squeezed her hand before releasing it. "I'll find a table in the back where I will disappear into the shadows."

Fenella nodded and made her way to the bar, where Atzil welcomed her with a warm smile.

"Ready for your first night?" He handed her a tiny black apron with the bar's logo embroidered on the pocket.

"Yes, sir." Fenella tied it around her waist. "It's been so long since I've done this."

"It's like riding a bicycle," Atzil said, unknowingly echoing her earlier words to Din.

"Exactly." Fenella ran her hands along the polished wood of the bar, familiarizing herself with its contours.

For the next twenty minutes or so, Atzil guided her through which bottles were most popular and the drinks the Kra-ell favored.

"We get busier as the night goes on, with the peak usually around midnight. Most nights, I have to forcibly kick people out, or they would stay until it was daylight."

That meant people were enjoying themselves, and if it was up to her, she would have kept the bar open until it was daylight, the automatic shutters opened, and everyone went home without needing to be kicked out.

"Any troublemakers I should watch out for?" Fenella asked.

"Not really. The worst we get is Rogan waxing poetic about his lost love after his fifth whiskey, or Gunter trying to convince everyone to join in singing sea shanties. Anandur is a hoot, but he never comes without Wonder, and she likes to go to bed early, so there is that."

"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."

"Perhaps it needs more time," Graham tried.

Fenella shrugged. "Like I said, my so-called talent is not very reliable."

"Try mine," called another patron, sliding a ring across the bar.

Fenella picked it up, again feeling nothing beyond the physical object. "Sorry. Nothing here either."

A line began to form as more customers produced objects for testing—keys, jewelry, even a dagger that an intimidating Kra-ell warrior slid down the counter toward her.

None of them triggered any psychometric response.

"Performance anxiety, maybe?" Atzil suggested quietly as Fenella handed back yet another object with an apologetic smile.

"Or it's just not working consistently," she said. Then, struck by inspiration, she added in a louder voice, "Though I'm getting some rather interesting impressions from this glass."

She held up a tumbler she'd just washed, pretending to study it intently. "Hmm, yes. Very interesting indeed."

"What do you see?" asked the glass's previous owner, a burly immortal named Dan or Derek. She didn't remember.

Fenella put on a serious expression. "This glass has witnessed you thinking about a truly spectacular dance performance you did in your kitchen earlier, wearing nothing but socks and headphones."

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd as Dan's face reddened. "That's ridiculous! I've never?—"

"The glass doesn't lie," Fenella said solemnly. "And you have quite the moves, buddy."

More laughter erupted, and Fenella's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Who's next?"

For the next hour, the game continued. Patrons would hand her an object, and Fenella would invent increasingly outlandish visions about their owners. An elegant pen revealed a secret passion for romance novels. A wristwatch disclosed a tendency to talk to houseplants. A dollar coin exposed a childhood habit of hiding vegetables in potted plants to avoid eating them.

The bar filled with laughter as Fenella's fabricated revelations grew more creative. Even Din seemed amused, his earlier overprotectiveness relaxing as he watched her work the crowd with ease.

"You are a natural entertainer," Atzil commented as he helped her mix an order of vodka cocktails for a group of Kra-ell.

"I've missed this more than I realized," Fenella admitted.

The night passed in a blur of activity—mixing drinks, inventing ridiculous psychometric 'readings,' and falling into easy conversation with the village residents. Fenella hadn't felt this alive in decades. Even the knowledge that some of the patrons were former Doomers couldn't dampen her spirits.

Din remained at his table, occasionally ordering another beer but otherwise content to watch from a distance.

Fenella appreciated that he'd given her the space to establish herself, even if his continued presence suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with her handling the rambunctious patrons who were getting progressively drunker.

As midnight approached, the crowd showed no signs of thinning. If anything, the bar had grown more packed as word spread about the entertainment.

The place was bursting at the seams, with people standing between tables and along the walls because there was no more room to sit.

"Read mine next!" called a woman Fenella recognized from the café, sliding a pencil across the bar.

Fenella picked it up, making a show of closing her eyes and concentrating. "Oh my," she gasped. "This pencil has seen things. Scandalous things."

"What kinds of things?" the woman asked, playing along.

"It seems," Fenella said dramatically, "that this pencil has been used to write some rather spicy letters to a certain Guardian whose name rhymes with 'Rex'."

The woman's mouth dropped open in pretend shock. "How did you?—"

"The pencil doesn't lie," Fenella said with a wink, returning it to its cackling owner.

Atzil laughed, shaking his head in admiration. "You're going to be very popular around here."

"I aim to please," Fenella said, already mixing the next order.

She was working nonstop without even taking a potty break, and yet she felt energized rather than drained.

This was what she'd needed—purpose, connection, a place where her skills shone, and her company was enjoyed.

She was having the time of her life.