Page 7 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

Since Charlie had batched ahead, the margaritas weren’t too time-consuming.

Just a lot of salting rims and shaking. But after the guy left, looking grudgingly pleased, the bar got crowded.

She got lost in the momentum of making endless cocktails, and disappearing the few tips that came her way into her apron.

The bar grew warmer from the heat of humans in a too-close space, and Charlie could feel the sweat collect under her arms and at her collarbone.

More drinks were ordered. Vodka seltzers.

Martinis, extra dirty. Coronas with lime.

Her pattern was disrupted by Balthazar Blades settling himself at one end of the bar, smiling with all his disreputable charm.

“Make me an amaretto sour and put it on their tab.” His curls were pulled back in a ponytail and he yawned as though he’d only woken up in the last hour.

Maybe he had. The shadow parlor he ran speakeasy-style below Rapture was a largely nocturnal affair.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on,” Balthazar said. “It’s not like they’re going to notice.”

The head of the dealership was on the dance floor, cranberry margarita in hand, pumping his fists to the Vandals’ “Oi to the World.” She decided to just make Balthazar the drink.

“By the by,” he said after taking a sip, “Vicereine says she wants to see you as soon as possible. What’s wrong with your phone?”

Had she been one of the texts that Charlie hadn’t been able to see? The last thing she needed was trouble with the Cabals.

“I cracked the screen.” She didn’t bother telling him details. “Anyway, she doesn’t need to check up on me. I did her job.”

Balthazar swirled the liquid still in his glass. “Tell her yourself. I’m not your messenger boy.”

“Hey there, doll,” interrupted one of the sales guys, a balding man with a face flushed from drink and the heat of wearing a blazer indoors.

Doll?

“Hey there, time traveler,” Charlie said.

The sales guy looked confused. And overserved. “Your friend there won’t give me a drink.”

Charlie glanced at Don, who was steadfastly ignoring the situation. Balthazar finished his amaretto sour and got up, shooting her a pitying look as he abandoned her.

“And you think I look like a soft touch?” she asked.

“A soft touch? I don’t know… but I’d like to find out.” He leaned closer, damp fingers closing on her wrist. She pulled back, really wishing she’d used another phrase.

He hung on, his smile turning less friendly.

“Let go,” she told him.

He squeezed her wrist, hard. “You’re going to get me a drink, right?”

“ Let GO, ” Charlie shouted. Fuck Christmas and Santa and all of his elves. Fuck the social contract. And fuck this guy.

Abruptly, her wrist was free and the man was on the ground. Red stood over him. If he’d appeared as though he came out of nowhere, that was because he more or less had.

The shadow leaned down and gripped the man’s face. “Don’t touch her,” he growled. “Not ever again.”

Charlie stared, surprised into silence.

A moment later, two men were grabbing Red by the arms, tying to pry him off their coworker. Charlie felt the hot slap of the Blight’s anger bleeding through their tether. He could kill this man. He could kill this man and never think about it again.

Charlie hopped onto the bar and slid over it, knocking some napkins onto the floor.

A few people had pulled out their cell phones and were filming.

“Stop,” Charlie told Red, pressing her hand against the solid expanse of his back.

“How did he get in here?” a woman in a green sequin dress and a deer-horn headband demanded. The same woman Don had been lecturing about beer. “I’m the CFO of Hampshire Ford. This is supposed to be an event exclusively for our company.”

Abruptly, Red let go of the man’s throat, turning the full force of his attention on the woman, a surprising authority coming into his voice. “So if I wasn’t here, you’d let him do whatever he wanted? I can see why you’d like me to leave.”

Something in the woman’s expression changed, as though she was no longer certain she wanted to be in this conversation. “Put your phones away!” she snapped at the crowd.

The bald man staggered to his feet, hand on his throat.

“Fred,” the CFO said. “You all right? Let’s go sit down.”

“I want to press charges,” he sputtered, furious, then turned toward Charlie. “Someone is going to hear about this. Where’s your manager? Elaine, contact our legal department.”

Odette was moving in their direction, liquid silver caftan flowing around her. She was not going to be happy.

Red’s expression grew grim. The sales guy seemed to deflate as he looked up into the shadow’s face, into eyes that seemed to be burning away into darkness, sparking with embers as they went.

“His eyes,” the man whispered.

“ Vince, ” Charlie hissed, then realized with a spark of horror that he might not react to the name. “ Red .”

The shadow turned to her, then closed his eyes for a long moment, perhaps trying to get himself under control. Why was he defending her now, after abandoning her in the mill building? It wasn’t like the sales guy was even that much of a threat.

“You have to get out of here,” she told him.

At the other end of the bar, Don was smirking as though looking forward to the lecture Odette was going to give Charlie.

At least the CFO was leading the bald guy—Fred—away. He was headed over to a table of concerned-looking car dealers. And when Red opened his eyes, they weren’t black holes. They were his human eyes, pale gray, shining with reflected light.

Then Fred turned. Maybe the idea of his colleagues thinking he’d lost a fight got to him. Or maybe he was too drunk to be properly scared. Whatever the reason, he took a deep breath, fisted a hand, and ran at Red, swinging.

The punch went through Red. And then the man stepped through him too, momentum carrying him forward.

Right into Charlie, who he hit square in the face.