Page 12 of The Mermaid’s Bubble Lounge (Sam Quinn #8)

TWELVE

Back Away from the Bars and No One Gets Hurt

“Clive said they all heard something on the roof. He went up to look around but didn’t find anything. He’s wondering if the killer can hide in plain sight.”

Dave pulled a covered plate from the refrigerator. “I made those seven-layer bars you like. I was going to leave them out on the island, but Russell’s call distracted me.” He slid the plate along the counter, so it bumped into my hip.

I stared down at them with hearts in my eyes. Shaking his head at my baked goods devotion, he went into the cold storage room. These bars were my favorites. There was chocolatey, caramely, graham crackery, toasted coconutty deliciousness in every bite.

“Owen!” I shouted.

He burst through the door, a look of alarm on his face, and then I held up the plate.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme,” he chanted. “It feels like my birthday anytime he makes these.” Owen picked up a bar with reverence before taking a bite and closing his eyes in bliss.

Dave returned with his arms full of vegetables. “You two are ridiculous. Go eat those somewhere else. You’re in my way.”

My eyebrows slammed down, but I was too busy savoring my bite to talk. Once I’d swallowed, I warned him, “You’re trampling on our religious rights. This is a holy experience for us. Back off.”

Ignoring us, Dave went back in the cold storage room.

Owen’s gaze went to the door to the bar. “I guess we have to offer some to other people, huh?” His expression clearly said he wanted me to disagree with that preposterous idea.

I held the plate close to my chest and growled.

Grinning, he said, “Okay. Good.”

We ate in silence, content to share the moment, but then Meri pushed in. Owen and I flinched guiltily. If I could have, I would have hidden the plate. Don’t judge me!

As it was, I recognized I had to offer her one. I held out the plate. “Dave made seven-layer bars, if you want one.”

She studied them a moment and then wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. I hate coconut.”

Owen and I recoiled at her words, until we remembered that meant more bars for us.

“Can one of you come back to the bar?” she asked. “Rose wants a cocktail, and I don’t know how to make those.”

Owen nodded, wiping off his fingers and following her. I took advantage of being alone with a plate full of bars and had a second one.

“You’re going to give yourself a stomachache,” Dave grumbled as he washed the veggies.

“Mind your business,” I muttered, taking another bite. I glanced around the kitchen. Fergus normally followed Dave in here when he arrived, hoping for handouts. “Have you seen my dog?”

Dave gestured to the dark doorway into my old apartment. From here, it looked like a black rectangle between cabinets. It was a ward. It kept most people out of the apartment that had been my home for seven years, the apartment Vlad was now using.

I resisted the urge to hide my plate of treats somewhere no one would find them and went back into the bar. Owen was studying his phone. He glanced at me and waved me over.

“Mom says she doesn’t know of any spell that can cover just one scent among many,” he told me.

I grabbed Grim’s tankard and refilled it. “Yeah. Hepsibah said the same.”

“I thought of something, though.” Owen moved closer.

“Benvair is coming over tonight for dinner.” He watched the ocean crash into the window wall for a moment, lost in thought.

“You should join us so you can ask her. She may have an idea. We eat at seven, though. Benvair is a stickler for eating on time. It’ll still be light then, though, so it would need to just be you, not Clive. ”

I squeezed his arm. “Thank you. That’s a great idea. And don’t worry about Clive. I can tell him later.”

“Good. I’ll let George know we’ll have one more.” He pointed at the bookstore. “Ready to switch?”

I nodded and waved him off. “Oh, wait. Do I need to dress a certain way?” Benvair, the matriarch of the Drake clan and George’s grandmother, was a terrifying woman.

Elegant and powerful, she was a Black woman with perfect skin, high cheekbones, and beautiful dragon green eyes.

She dressed impeccably, making me feel perpetually shabby in her presence.

Owen grimaced. “She expects us to dress for dinner. George and I wear slacks and dress shirts—no ties—and Coco usually wears a skirt or a dress. Coco hates it, but it’s easier to just put one on than deal with Benvair’s disapproval.

Fyr joins us when he can, but as he mostly works nights, that’s not often.

We’ve been adding Sunday brunches to the weekly dinners so we can include him more, which he really appreciates. ”

I nod. “A dress. Okay. I can do that. Thank you for the invitation.”

“You bet.” Owen went into the bookstore and I started collecting empties in the bar.

The afternoon went quickly, as people started getting off work and coming in. When Fyr started his shift at five, I told him I needed to leave by six today so I could go home and get changed.

Fyr seemed to take everything in stride. I suppose after one has been abducted and imprisoned for years, needing to work the bar by yourself hardly qualified as a problem.

He tucked a clean bar towel into the waist of his jeans and drew far more glances than the act deserved.

He’d been working here for months but still drew attention because he was gorgeous.

He was a mountain of a man with long blond hair he mostly wore tied up in a bun.

Picture Thor and you had Fyr. He nodded to the people at the bar, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work mixing drinks.

Fyr’s first name was actually George. All dragon families apparently have one George per generation.

It’s a nod to St. George, who supposedly slayed a dragon.

It’d been explained to me that St. George was himself a dragon shifter.

The famed battle was just him fighting with his brother.

The humans celebrated one brother pretending to kill the other brother.

Dragons continued using the name because they thought it was hilarious that humans were so stupid.

“It’s good that you’re getting changed. Not that you don’t look nice,” he quickly corrected. “It’s just that Grandmother Drake has certain standards.” He glanced at my jeans and sneakers. “Coco regularly gets scolded for wearing boots to dinner.”

Fyr was the last of his family of dragons.

He grew up in Wales and was kidnapped as a child, like George’s twin brother Alec.

Both had been held captive for too many years by a vampire who liked to feed on other supernaturals.

When we ran into Fyr in England in December, he decided to move to San Francisco to be near the Drake clan.

There were so few dragons left in the world, family lines were blurred to include all.

“What about you? Do you get dressed up too?”

He scratched his cheek on a grin, and I could have sworn I saw a blush.

“Oh. Well. Not really. It’s not fair and we all know it, but Alec and I can get away with anything.

” He stuffed his hand in his pocket. “She’s so happy to have us back safe and sound that she never criticizes anything either of us does.

It drives Coco nuts that she gets slammed if her grandmother doesn’t approve of the length of her skirt, but I can show up in jeans and boots and I just get a hug and a kiss. ”

Laughing, I shook my head as I filled a pint with a lager.

“It’s not right,” he admitted. “I feel bad, but not bad enough to dress up.”

A little before six, Fyr nudged me toward the stairs. “I got it,” he said. “If I need any help, I’ll ask Dave to come out.”

“Great. Thanks.” I waved to any who were looking in my direction and then gave a short whistle for Fergus. He came running out of the bookstore, where he no doubt had been taking a nap, and met me at the stairs.

On the quick jog home, a gray cat kept pace with us. I was waiting for Fergus to pull at his leash, wanting to chase the cat, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on getting home and getting his dinner.

The house was dark, of course. “Vlad, if you’re here, say something. I’m about to open some curtains.”

Silence.

Okey-dokey. I opened the curtains as I made my way through the house to the kitchen. To be on the safe side, we’d had the windows treated to make looking in extremely difficult, but they still let in light, which was what I wanted.

Fergus sat by his bowl, waiting for me. When I filled a glass with water and drank it down, he nudged his food bowl, making it scrape against the floor.

“Yes. I know. You want to be fed. I was thirsty. I—damn it! I left the bars at work. Shitshitshit.” I texted Dave.

Me: Can you put the plate of bars in the cold storage room? I forgot to grab more before I left.

Dave: Already gave the plate to Fyr. Since he has to work alone tonight, I decided he needed them more than you.

A grinning demon emoji popped up and a growl started deep in my chest. “I’m going to beat that guy, Fergus.” I filled the pup’s bowl with kibble, adding a few leftover pieces of salmon I had in the fridge. While Fergus ate, I plotted my revenge against Dave. It would be long, tortuous, and bloody.

My phone buzzed again. Dave sent an image of the plate on the bottom shelf in cold storage.

Dave: I did offer him one, but he declined. He said he didn’t like coconut. Is that a fae thing?

Me: Odd. That’s a weirdly specific dislike for all fae. Anyway, I’m glad. I didn’t want to have to hurt you. Getting between a werewolf and her food is never a good idea.

I opened the back door for Fergus and then ran upstairs. Sea Cliff wasn’t far. I had time for a quick shower. I leaned over the bed and gave Clive a kiss before diving into the bathroom.

After I was clean and mostly blown dry, I went to the huge closet to find a dress. What would Benvair find appropriate?

“Wear the sea glass green silk,” Clive said.

I spun to hug him. “What are you doing up already?”

He held me tight, rubbing his nose against my temple. “I missed you and wanted to see you before you went out.”

I breathed him in as well. “How’d you know I was going anywhere?”

Tapping my head gently, he said, “You’re thinking quite loudly. Dinner with the dragons, eh?”

I gave him a quick kiss and pulled the green silk dress over my head. Clive was there to hook the button at the back of my neck. I checked the mirror. It was a tank dress, with delicate stitching and tucking at the waist on one side, giving the skirt the illusion of movement.

Clive wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder. “Lovely is too weak a word. You make my cold, dead heart yearn to beat again.”

“Aww, you sweet talker.” Turning in his arms, I lost myself in a kiss before rearing back with a gasp. “What time is it?”

He glanced over my shoulder at the clock on the wall. “Six-forty-five. Why?”

I raced back to the bathroom and gave my eyelashes a few swipes with the mascara brush, put on a tinted lip gloss, and then realized I was still barefoot. Thankfully Clive was standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a pair of strappy sandals, some earrings, and a handbag.

I kissed him again, grabbing the items in his hands. “You’re quite the lady’s maid.” I sat on the bed and strapped on the sandals and slid in the earrings.

“I prefer valet,” he corrected.

“Tomato, tomahto.” I threw my keys, lip gloss, and phone in the small handbag and stood before Clive, my arms out. “Will I pass Benvair’s inspection?”

“You look gorgeous,” he said, ushering me toward the elevator. “Stop on the first floor and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge. I tried to get it for you while you were doing your mascara, but the curtains are open downstairs.”

“Oh, shoot. Sorry!”

He gave me a quick kiss and ushered me into the open elevator car. “Don’t be late.”

I shot out on the first floor, closed all the curtains, made sure Fergus was in and closed the back door, grabbed a bottle of wine, and was back in the elevator in record time. Fergus seemed confused, but he was stretching out on the couch as I headed down to the garage.