I sucked in the stale aromas of mead, ale, whiskey, moonshine, joint smoke, and body odor. When I thought about it, it sounded disgusting, but it smelled like home, warmth, and safety to me.
The pub was as much my home as the apartment upstairs. Pinky had tried to limit our time downstairs when we were very young, but I used to sneak down at night and sit on the landing in the exact spot I stood now, listening to the buzz of conversation and music. I often fell asleep there and woke up in my own bed. I’d get a mild admonishment from Pinky with the promise that if I did it again, he’d leave me to sleep on the cold floor all night. Of course, I never listened, and he always carried me up to bed.
As we got older, he would let us come down for a few hours and even let Anya and I help behind the bar. River preferred to hang out in the kitchen where Pinky brewed and fermented his own mead.
There were a few nights a week when it was packed wall to wall with the young mage crowd, but for the most part, the atmosphere was more subdued and the regular crowd much older, even if most of them didn’t look it. The pub was primarily a vampire hangout, but not like most of the bars in the city. Pinky’s had a reputation as a good place to have a drink and conversation in a subdued atmosphere. Of course, calm was a relative term.
On a night when there was a crowd of rowdy young mages on weekend break from the Academy and out for a good time, someone not used to the city would not call the pub subdued. But when compared to many of the vampire clubs where human blood was on the menu and sex on the dance floor was a normal activity, even on the most rowdy night, Pinky’s was downright calm.
Pinky’s, though called a pub, didn’t serve food of any type. That included blood. Nor was the consumption of blood allowed within the building. Of course, human blood wasn’t really considered food. Vampires, humans infected with the Nosophoros-V virus, or N-V for short, couldn’t get substantial nutrition from vegetables or cooked meats. Though most vampires I knew ate regular foods as well, they also had to consume raw blood to get ample nutrition. Contrary to the myths and horror stories of old, the blood didn’t have to be human. The blood of animals was more to their taste and provided them with the nutrition they needed.
There were those who had a taste for human blood, not for the nutritional value, but the other properties it held. For a vampire, human blood wasn’t food. It was a drug. Because of N-V’s effect on the body, getting intoxicated by drinking alcohol or smoking a joint was hard for most vampires. Their metabolism was such that it took a lot to alter their perception. Human blood did that for them with just a few sips.
There was a time when Pinky had served blood, but when he took in three little girls, he changed the pub’s policies quickly. Only animal blood was legal to serve in any restaurant or bar, but any bar or club that allowed the consumption of blood also had to deal with the suckers that came along with it. There were non-vamps, both mage and norms, who offered themselves up to vampires to have the blood sucked directly from their veins. Some did it for money, but others did it only for the high they got from the combination of blood loss and the agents in vampire saliva that brought on a euphoric feeling. Suckers were junkies, addicted to getting bitten.
Super strength and low inhibitions are a natural side effect of N-V, but human blood tended to magnify those effects while also clouding the mind. Add non-vamps with lowered inhibitions that would do anything to get sucked on, and you could get a rough scene going. Pinky didn’t think it was safe to have that sort of crowd just a couple of floors below us.
Instead, the pub catered to older vampires who craved something a little more peaceful—a taste of a time before vampires were allowed to give into their every whim in public. Though they would be comfortable in any norm or mage bar, they preferred Pinky’s because, except for my sisters, me, and the young kids on the weekends, most of the regulars were centuries old. While most of them didn’t look past thirty, they often sat around talking about old times that took place hundreds of years ago.
Tonight, the pub was busy but not crowded. There were around thirty people, most of whom I recognized, scattered about the main room, sitting at the bar, chatting at tables, or dancing to the songs being crooned out by the single guitar playing singer on the corner stage. I couldn’t see the back room from where I stood, but I would bet there were five or six men sitting around a large table playing cards.
Pinky was at one end of the bar, pouring drinks and chatting with customers. His wide grin was infectious. I wasn’t sure what profession he had before the Cataclysm—he didn’t talk much about his past—but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been as perfect a fit for him as being a barkeep. With his friendly blue eyes and effervescent personality, he put people at ease and invited conversation. There was a bright, full-of-life quality to him that seemed to breathe life into the most somber room.
His shaggy brown hair, three-day-old beard growth, and lanky build added to his laughing blue eyes gave him an approachable sexiness that drew people to him like moths to flames. Though he’d seen as many bad days as anyone else who ventured into the bar, he had a perpetual air of youth, vitality, and openness about him. He made even the straightest of men question which team they played for, which was lucky since he was flexible on the subject himself.
Few people knew the strength and determination hidden behind the smiles. Though he looked like he’d just hit manhood, he was the only father my sisters and I had ever known. When it came to the safety and happiness of any of his girls, as he called us, the soft openness could be replaced with a hard ruthlessness within seconds that few could imagine.
As I watched him serve drinks and flirt with customers, a man walked in, stepped up to the bar, and waved to catch Pinky’s attention. The man’s back was to me but there was something about his broad-shouldered build, mannerisms, and immaculate khaki pants that gave me a good idea of who he was. Pinky leaned across the bar towards the man, listened for a moment, and then leaned back, his eyes darting around the room. Within seconds, he found what he was looking for and with a grin, pointed up at me. My stomach clenched as Ian turned and fixed his gaze on me.
What in Hades was he doing here? To my knowledge, Ian Barroes had never set foot in Pinky’s Pub before. I would lay bets that with his uptight attitude, he’d never set foot in any bar before. But he wasn’t in just any bar—he was in my bar. My home. And he was, very apparently, looking for me.
I glanced down at my clothes to make sure I looked okay. My outfit wasn’t too different from what I wore for work. I wore leather pants and a vest, but the vest was new. I wore a black tank top underneath. I’d also left my weapons belt upstairs and borrowed a pair of Anya’s spiky-heeled boots instead of my clunky, mud-caked combat boots. Freed of its normal braid, my hair fell around my shoulders in a mass of ebony waves.
I suddenly felt like a complete idiot. I wasn’t some lovesick girl, and he wasn’t my next conquest. He was probably there to discuss something work related—something too sensitive to talk about on the scry. Yes, that was it. This was a business call. Yet, a small part of me couldn’t help but be glad I’d done as Anya had said and dressed appropriately for the bar.
I took a deep breath and headed down the stairs to see why Ian Barroes had invaded my home territory.