The bus dropped me off a little before midnight, and the station was almost deserted. A single ticket window had a light, but no one was behind the counter. Two or three people slept in chairs. It was impossible to tell whether they were waiting for a bus or were homeless and wanting a little warmth. I pulled a city map from a stand and turned toward the exit.

There wasn’t a person in sight on the street. Yellow streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, but no lights showed in the windows of the surrounding buildings.

I studied the map. The two most notable features were the ocean on the west and the river bisecting the city into northern and southern portions, with a dozen bridges spanning the divide. To the north, the city was bounded by foothills that I knew turned into tall, white-topped mountains, but I couldn’t see that in the dark. The bus station was in the southwestern part of the city, in a warehouse district.

According to the map, a two-block walk should take me to a main street running from east to west, and I hoped there would be some cheap hotels somewhere around there. It was probably too much to wish for, but I thought it also would be nice if the area had an all-night diner. It had been a long time since breakfast.

I had traveled over three thousand miles in less than two weeks, ending up two thousand miles from where I started. When I left the City of the Illuminati, I was dressed in Hunter’s garb—skintight, all-black ballistic cloth. The first city I arrived in, I bought a suitcase and some other clothing at a thrift shop before taking another bus out of town.

I had done my best to obscure my trail, going west to Kansas City, then south to Dallas, then northwest to Westport. No one knew where I was, and no one had any reason to connect me to that part of the country, let alone to Westport. I knew no one there, and I had never been there before.

During my trip across the country, I had constantly looked over my shoulder, afraid that someone would recognize me. My guilt weighed heavily, not only for my treachery against the Illuminati but also for all the murders I had committed. Before I read the book, those had never bothered me, but now faces haunted my sleep.

Normally, I paid attention to my surroundings, but bone-tired and relieved to finally reach my destination, I didn’t realize I had company before he grabbed me. With one hand over my mouth and his other arm around my chest, he dragged me backward into an alley. His face loomed over me, his fangs barely visible in the gloom as he lowered his face toward mine.

His expression changed to one of shock as he flew across the alley and slammed against a wall. The bricks cracked, as did his bones, and his body slumped in a heap in the filthy muck on the pavement.

I was acutely aware that he could identify me if he ever saw me again. That thought sent a wave of panic through me. If even a rumor of my magical skill reached the Illuminati, it might trigger their curiosity. I pointed at the vampire’s head and said a Word. His skull soundlessly exploded.

Clutching my handbag, I picked up the small suitcase I dropped when he grabbed me and hurried away. I cast a protective shield around myself, then ventured out of the alley, hoping that no one had seen me kill the vampire. I hurried away, my stomach turning flip-flops from the adrenaline roaring through my system. Even though I was the only person on the street, it felt as though a thousand eyes were watching me.

The map turned out to be accurate, and the street I sought was far more alive than I had hoped—a couple of motels, a movie theater, a sex shop, half a dozen bars, and lots of bright lights. A couple of the bars were obviously strip joints, but even those looked fairly clean and not too sleazy. There were people out on the street, and not all of them appeared to be hookers or their customers. For a red-light district, it was one of the nicest and most respectable I thought I’d ever seen. I still wasn’t inclined to try the nearest motel that advertised rooms by the hour.

The sex shop, strip bars and hookers were all to my right. To my left, the bars looked more like regular establishments with a mixed-gender clientele. I could see skyscrapers in the distance, maybe a couple of miles away, and I knew from my map that beyond downtown was the harbor. I took a deep breath and walked left.

The bars definitely started looking more respectable the farther I walked, including a couple of nightclubs with valet parking. After a while, the sign for another hotel appeared. I didn’t see any restaurants still open, but as I crossed the street to the hotel, I saw a sign on a place a few buildings down a side alley. Rosie O’Grady’s Bar and Grill. Hoping their kitchen was still open, I walked on past the Huntsman Hotel and pushed on the door. As I did so, I saw a small hand-lettered sign that read, “Bartender wanted. Inquire within.”

A tingle passed through me as I stepped over the threshold, but before I could react, I was inside. I found myself in a typical Irish pub with subdued lighting, dark wood, exposed beams, a long bar backed by an impressive array of bottles, and a limited set of taps. The place was larger than it looked on the outside, with at least fifty tables in the main room. About half of the tables were occupied, and off in one corner, several people were throwing darts. Near the dart players, a couple of guys were shooting pool on one of the two tables. Past the pool tables, a smaller room had a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. The smell of food made my mouth water.

The bartender waved at me. “Seat yourself,” he said. He was a large man, bald on top, with mutton-chop sideburns, wearing a white shirt and an unbuttoned dark vest showing a prodigious stomach. He looked like he had stepped out of Central Casting.

Making my way to a table by the wall, I sat down and a waitress appeared. She was in her late forties, medium height, and a bit overweight, with dark blonde hair falling out of a bun.

“What will ye have?” she asked in an Irish accent, slapping a menu down in front of me.

I glanced at the menu and saw the beer list in one corner. Less than a dozen choices, and all of them Irish.

“A Smithwick’s, please.”

“I think we still have some of the salmon that’s on special,” she said, and turned away to head for the bar.

I looked around. It was after midnight, and several people were eating. The food looked good. When she came back with my beer and a glass of water, I asked, “Are you still serving the full menu?”

“Aye. We don’t close the kitchen.”

“What’s closing time here?”

“The law says two o’clock for places that sell liquor. We don’t pay any attention to that since our clientele doesn’t pay any attention to normal hours.”

I remembered the tingle I felt when I walked through the door. “The Guinness stew, please,” I said.

She shook her head. “Ye really don’t want it. He’d be scraping the bottom of the pot this time of night, and the fresh batch isn’t ready yet. Do ye like salmon? I’ll give it to ye for the price of the stew.”

She really wanted me to order the salmon. “Yes, please. Thank you.” I would have eaten the scrapings, or the menu, if that was all they had.

She grabbed the menu before I could try it, though, and took off in the direction of the kitchen. I gratefully sipped my beer, leaned back in my chair, and felt some of the tension drain out of my shoulders and back.

The special turned out to be a poached salmon filet with tarragon sauce, accompanied by fingerling potatoes, stewed apples, and asparagus. It smelled wonderful, and I couldn’t remember when I’d last had such a meal.

The waitress sat it on the table, and asked, “Can I get ye anything else right now? Another beer?”

“No, I’m fine. I saw a posting for a bartender when I came in.”

She glanced down at my suitcase.

“New in town?”

“Straight off the bus. Would you recommend that hotel on the corner?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, but I wouldn’t warn ye against it. This time of night, it’s probably better than searching for something else. I’ll send Sam over when ye finish eating.”

I took my time, savoring every bite. What kind of hole-in-the-wall pub served a gourmet meal in the middle of the night? I also studied my fellow customers. They were an eclectic lot, and some were dressed rather eccentrically. Capes and cloaks were long out of style, but some people always affected out-of-date fashions. The crowd in Rosie O’Grady’s seemed to be trying to revive them.

A couple of the women knocking down a pitcher of dark beer looked like hippie earth mamas, while the women at the table next to them would have been at home in an Edwardian drama. Across the room sat two couples who were obviously stuck in the punk seventies. A man wearing an expensive business suit sat with a short, pink-haired woman in a low-cut blouse and a miniskirt who was reading his cards. A guy who looked like a biker appeared to be having an earnest conversation with a clean-cut man wearing black plastic-rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket with elbow patches.

That tingle when I entered the pub made me wonder what kind of place I had wandered into.

I pushed the empty plate away from me and took a pull on my beer. No sooner did I set the glass on the table than the bartender dropped into the seat opposite me. He was even larger close up. With him seated across from me, I had to look up to see his face.

“Jenny said you enquired about the job,” he said. “Do you have any experience?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t supply you with any references.”

He nodded, looking at my suitcase and appraising my clothing. “I don’t ask many questions,” he said. “I don’t need to know why you’re here, but I do need to know one thing. Is the law looking for you?”

“No.”

“Understand something. If you work for me and I ever find out you’ve lied to me, I’ll kill you.”

Well, that was blunt enough. I believed him. “Then I might have to leave some questions unanswered,” I replied, “assuming those questions are ever asked. I won’t steal from you, and I won’t lie about anything to do with my job.”

“If you can’t answer a question, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Don’t ever lie to me. And anything that happens in this establishment stays here. You don’t discuss my business or my customers outside.”

“Understood.”

“Come mix some drinks for me,” he said and stood up.

I followed him behind the bar, hung my coat on a hook he indicated, and rolled up my sleeves. He handed me an apron and I put it on. I was a little above average height for a woman, but I barely came up to Sam’s chest.

“Look around, see how things are laid out,” he said.

I did. Garnishes, syrups, bitters, liqueurs, glasses. Something about the arrangement of the bottles in the well bothered me, and without thinking, I straightened them out, then realized what I had done. 

I shot the bartender a look, but he only nodded and said, “Make me an old fashioned.”

Half a dozen drinks later, he said, “I’ve seen enough. You can handle the basics without thinking, and that’s all I’m looking for.” He motioned to a battered recipe book in a corner by a cooler. “If it gets more exotic than that, the customer better know how it’s made. I’m Sam O’Grady, and I own the place. I need someone to work Thursday through Sunday evenings, five until two, plus I may call you in occasionally. Fifteen bucks an hour, no time and a half. All tips go into a pot to split with the entire crew at shift’s end. When can you start?”

“Is this a pretty standard crowd?” I asked.

“For this time on a weekday? Yes. Dinnertime is busier. Dawn until eight o’clock is busy. Lunch is busy. Weekends are busier.”

“Do you have bouncers?” I asked. Sam was large enough to toss a drunk elephant out on its ear, but if I had a problem, I wanted some help.

His brow furrowed as he looked down at me. “You need a bouncer?” Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a sawed-off baseball bat. “Someone needs bouncing, bounce them with this.”

He shoved it in my hand, and I almost dropped it when I felt the surge of magic from it. I realized he was watching me closely, and I was sure my expression gave me away.

“Like I said, I don’t ask too many questions. But you found the door and managed to walk through it, so I don’t think I have to explain what this is,” he said, taking the bat from me. “You have a beef with a customer, everyone who works here will back you up, and probably most of the regulars. Where are you staying tonight?”

“I planned on going to the hotel next door.”

Sam nodded and handed me a business card. “Tomorrow, go see this lady and tell her you’re my new bartender. Come in at four to take care of the paperwork.”

I didn’t recognize the address, of course, but it read, “Springfield Apartments, Eleanor Radzinski, Leasing Manager.”

“What’s your name?”

I thought furiously, then decided to use a name I hadn’t used in a very long time, one that, to my knowledge, no one was looking for. I even had legitimate ID for it buried somewhere in my purse. “Erin McLane. I didn’t say I’d take the job.”

He simply stared at me with a raised eyebrow.

I gave him a half-smile. “I’ll take the job. Thank you.”

For the first time, he smiled. “Welcome aboard, Ms. McLane.”