Magical Midlife Battle （Leveling Up, #8）(14)

taking a seat at the table, facing the door.

“Sebastian.” Tristan pointed at the seat opposite him. “Wings go outside of your chair.”

“I thought my life might go many ways,” Sebastian murmured, clearly to himself, “some of them truly terrible, but I never imagined getting lessons on how to be a gargoyle.”

“Oh, quit yer grumblin’，” Niamh said, taking a seat at the bar. She wasn’t a low table sorta person in a place like this. Too much effort to get up and down. “It could be worse.”

“Like lessons on how to be a puca,” Edgar said.

Niamh stopped before sitting and stared at the vampire for a moment. “Did someone wind ye up?

What’s makin’ ya so unbearably chatty all of a sudden?”

Edgar made like he was pulling a zipper across his mouth. He was worse than usual, lately. He was probably excited to unleash his plants on the unsuspecting.

“Sit here,” she told Edgar, pointing to the stool beside hers as she lowered. “I think I’d better keep me eye on ye. We don’t need ye spookin’ the customers and getting us kicked out before we have what we need.”

A tanned bartender came out of an opening at the back, what looked to be an entrance to a kitchen or backroom. She noticed the new people, her light brown eyes darting between Niamh and Sebastian. It was clear she was about to turn toward the bar but slowed when she noticed Tristan’s back. Her gaze took in the wings pooling on the ground in a way capes didn’t, and then the massive shoulders supporting them.

With a little crease between her brows, she started that way. Not even Sebastian’s new mug could put her off checking out that great big gargoyle-monster.

“Hey, boys.” The bartender stopped where she could see them both, and then her body jolted as if she’d just gripped a bolt of lightning. Niamh watched as the younger woman soaked in Tristan, taking in his face, chest, and then his glowing eyes. This time her words came out breathy. “Hi. What, ah…”

She cleared her throat. “What can I— What are you?”

Tristan looked up at her slowly, not at all reacting to her sudden flush and flustered demeanor. He was used to it, Niamh knew. The amount of women who fawned all over him in O’Briens was joke-worthy.

“Thirsty,” he said, his deep, dangerous tone making her visibly shiver. She backed up a pace, and Niamh wondered if he was releasing a bit of his special magic, a nightmare-inducing sort of emotional terror. Jessie could replicate it in spell form, but not nearly so controlled. They’d felt it for the first time at Edgar’s shite flower show a few weeks back. Niamh had meant to research which creatures were known for such magic, but she hadn’t had a chance leading up to this trip.

Regardless, the effect would ensure the bartender stayed behind the bar, probably close to Niamh

—a position that would allow her to admire his face and body without getting the scare factor.

Perfect. It was starting to seem like Tristan and Niamh might work incredibly well together.

“Sure,” the bartender said, popping her hip. “What can I getchya?”

“Hennessy, neat.” He looked at Sebastian.

“Do you have Four Roses, single barrel?” Sebastian asked.

Her gaze was slow to find him. “Yup.”

“I’ll have that please, one ice cube.”

“Sure thing, coming right up.” She looked down Tristan’s back in passing, checking out his wings.

She had definitely never seen a gargoyle before.

Behind the bar, already working on Tristan’s drink, she glanced over at Niamh and did a double take at Edgar, who was awkwardly sitting on the stool beside her.

“Hello,” the bartender said slowly.

“Don’t mind him.” Niamh waved Edgar away. “He’s not dangerous, just senile. Everyone finds him off-putting, not just ye.”

Her eyebrows climbed. “Oh-kay.”

“What kind of ciders do ye have?” Niamh asked, trying to get the show on the road. She was feeling good about this outing. This woman was obviously used to shifters and townies, so anything abnormal would definitely have stuck out to her. Momar’s guys would definitely qualify as abnormal.

The bartender rattled off the options as she finished the lads’ drinks. Two weren’t actually ciders and the other two were crap.

“I’ll have a whiskey,” Niamh said once the woman had delivered the drinks to the lads and returned.

“And how about…you?” The bartender gave Edgar a side-eye, clearly not wanting to look directly at him.

“Oh, I’m content just to sit here and watch all the patrons in a non-creepy way.” He did that weird, simpering smile again.

“He’ll have a whiskey, same as me,” Niamh said.

“So, what’s the occasion?” the bartender said conversationally as she got to work, glancing at Tristan again. “Costume party?”

“Yeah,” Niamh replied. “Where’s your clown suit?”

The woman huffed out a laugh before turning and putting their drinks on the bar. “What are you really here for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Niamh could see the wariness hidden beneath her bartending bravado. That was very good news.

It meant she paid attention to the clientele instead of just going about her job like a drone.