Page 4

Four

DRAVEN

T he tavern was full, everyone here to get a drink and some food before the storm rolled in. Thunder rumbled threateningly outside as I stood behind the bar top, polishing a few glasses. A mug floated behind me and dipped down toward the barrel full of ale. The spout on the barrel turned, and amber liquid filled the mug, a creamy foam forming on top. The mug floated up and toward the patron who’d ordered it.

It landed on the old man’s table, liquid sloshing over the sides and splashing onto his shirt. He harrumphed and shot me a glare. The spell did need some perfecting. I’d work on it later. These types of spells were complicated, and unlike so many others, I didn’t buy pre-spelled items. I created all the spells myself.

It took finessing and time.

Veldar was now stomping over, the mug in his hand as he approached, scowling at me.

“What is it?” I asked, planting my hands on the bar.

He pinched the part of his shirt where ale had splattered. “You owe me a new shirt!”

I sighed, looking pointedly at the worn beige tunic, which had several holes and was yellowing near the collar. “Veldar, I’m not buying you a new shirt.”

“Well, then you’re losing a valuable customer,” the old man said.

“Sounds like a personal problem.” I leaned closer. “For you.”

Veldar’s scowl deepened, the folds of his skin becoming more pronounced around his eyes and cheeks. “This is terrible customer service.”

“I can offer you a free mug of ale. I’m not buying you a damn shirt.”

“Let’s not anger the customers,” a voice said from next to me, followed by a nervous chuckle.

I looked over at Edgar, a miniature dragon I’d recently adopted, who seemed to be scared by damn near everything. The size of my hand, he rested on my shoulder—which had somehow become his favorite spot—his scaled ears perked as he watched our interaction.

Veldar slammed a hand down. “I agree with the dragon.”

“You just want me to buy you a new shirt,” I pointed out. “And I’m not going to do it. That stain is the size of my thumbnail. All you have to do is wash your shirt, and it will come out.”

Veldar’s face turned red. “You wash my shirt!”

“I’m a bartender, not a laundress,” I replied evenly.

“I can wash it!” Edgar volunteered.

“No,” both Veldar and I said at the same time. Finally, we agreed on something.

“You’re not a laundress either.” I’d adopted the dragon for a specific job, one that he was failing at so far.

“And I don’t like the look of you.” Veldar squinted at the dragon. “Those sharp talons of yours and that fire you breathe—my shirt will either be returned to me in shreds or burnt to a crisp.”

I shrugged. “Might be an improvement, actually.”

Veldar’s jaw clenched, and Edgar squeaked.

“He was just kidding,” Edgar said.

“No I wasn’t,” I said.

“Can I get another one of those dark ales?” a man called from the back, where he sat with a friend in a raised booth, three stairs leading up to their table. In response to his request, one of the mugs sitting on the shelves behind me floated into the air and straight to the barrel with the dark ale.

I leaned over the bar. “Listen, Veldar, we both know how this goes. You complain and demand free things. I say no. You storm out and say you’re never coming back, and then you reappear the next day. Now, I do have a tavern to run, so if we could get on with the theatrics, that would be great.”

Ever since his husband had died twenty years ago, the old man had been insufferable.

Veldar threw up his arms, his pointed chin jutting out. “A pox on you.”

I mouthed the words along with him. He said them every time.

“A pox on your tavern. A pox on the dragon.”

Edgar gasped, tail curling into his side.

“I’m never stepping foot in here again!” With that, Veldar spun on his heel and stormed out.

“Glad that’s done,” I said, continuing to polish the mugs.

“He just put a pox on me.” Edgar whimpered. “What is a pox, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I set down a glass among the row of polished wooden tankards. “Just a curse that makes something sprout green pocks all over their body. Itchy, filled with pus, and they take a special potion to go away.”

Edgar’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his orange scales. “Witch Superior, I think I see one already forming.” He threw himself down. “Get me to the healer! This might be it for me, Draven.”

“He didn’t actually curse you.” I eyed the dragon. “First of all, that’s illegal, and second of all, that would require his wand, which he didn’t bring with him.”

Edgar stopped his wailing and sat up. “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?”

I shook my head. Before I’d adopted him, the miniature dragon had been living at Arcane Creatures Emporium, the local magical creature shop. He was sheltered. He had a lot to learn about our world, and I didn’t have the patience to teach him.

“Why don’t you use a wand?” Edgar peered at me, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“I don’t need one,” I replied gruffly. There were a small group of witches with rare magic that allowed us to cast spells by just uttering the words, no conduit—like a wand—needed. I happened to be one of them.

“You really shouldn’t antagonize your customers,” Edgar said.

“He’s a grumpy old bastard.” I grabbed another glass, stuffing my rag inside of it. “If anything, he antagonizes me.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but um, well, you’re also a grumpy old bastard. Except you’re not old. At least, not as old as Veldar.”

I snorted, staring at the little dragon. No, I was not. Veldar was over a hundred years old. I’d just turned thirty-five. But some days, I felt over a hundred.

“I’m just saying...” Edgar’s eyes shifted back and forth. “You could maybe be nicer sometimes? Not so focused on your work that you forget about the people around you?”

I leaned in until we were nearly nose to nose, and he flinched. “There’s just one problem with that: I don’t like any of the people around me.”

Which was true. I wasn’t a people person. Never had been. I preferred the solitude of my magic and my tiny apartment over the tavern.

“Now that I think about it. Not much of a dragon person either.”

Edgar’s eyes widened. “Oh, please don’t get rid of me.” He curled into himself, tail grazing my shoulder.

“I’m not getting rid of you, Edgar.” I flipped the rag over my shoulder and set down the final glass that needed polishing. “And maybe I am a grumpy old bastard, but it’s my bar. My bar. My rules. If anyone doesn’t like it, they don’t have to come. Why are you down here anyway?”

“Georgie kicked me out.” He sniffed.

I stiffened. “She what?”

“I know! I was trying to tell her how dangerous it was to jump out the window and sneak out, but she wouldn’t listen!”

I groaned and looked up at the ceiling. “Edgar,” I said. “What is the one job I gave you?”

He paused, tilting his head. “Watch your sister.”

“Yes.” I gave him a pointed look. “So find her, and when you do, tell her to get her ass back here before I have to come find her.”

He gulped. “Leaving now.” He flapped his wings, which were the same orange color as his scales, but more translucent.

A few patrons chuckled as the tiny dragon soared over them.

Just what I needed right now. My younger sister sneaking out and getting herself into more trouble. I wasn’t sure what to do with her. At sixteen, she was an enigma to me. But I was all she had, and I was trying to be there for her. I just didn’t know how.

“Can you believe it?” a witch said to her friend.

They both sat on stools at the bar top, drinking a new fruity ale I’d been experimenting with: apple crisp.

“Five new witches appearing in Thistlegrove?” her friend said.

I inched closer, listening to the gossip.

“A mother and her four daughters.” The witch leaned closer to her friend. “Apparently their cart broke down and Elm Kingsley saved them. I think he might have his eye on one of them. I heard they were all clamoring for his attention. Practically pawing at him.”

I sighed. Now that I didn’t like. Elm was one of my only friends. In town to visit, actually. He was wealthy, influential, and he didn’t always make the best decisions when it came to women. Whoever these witches were, they already sounded like bad news. And that meant I had yet another problem on my hands.