Magical Midlife Battle （Leveling Up, #8）(15)

“Business transaction,” Niamh said with a heap of boredom. “Maybe. I shouldn’t speak out of turn. We haven’t gotten the job yet. We’re headed to the Barazza territory.”

“Oh yeah?” The woman leaned against the bar, glancing out the door and then at Tristan for a moment. “Been to that territory before?”

“No. First time. They’re expecting us later today. What do ye know of it? Seems like the alpha’s got a right stick up his arse.”

She grimaced before glancing down the bar at the other patrons. One was low on beer, so she headed that way, grabbing him another. He muttered a thanks and went back to watching the TV

showing sports highlights.

The bartender wandered back and said in a low voice, “You probably shouldn’t say that too loudly…” She spared another glance at Tristan, clearly admiring the view, before finishing, “He’s very well respected.”

“Well, sure. But that doesn’t mean he’s not got a right stick up his arse.”

Her expression was half smile, half grimace as she pushed back to lean against the back edge of the bar. “I’ve never met him, so I don’t know, but you should be fine. The guys who come in here from that pack are almost all gentleman. They cut down trouble to almost zero.”

Niamh grunted, sipping her drink. A body had to be careful when getting information off people.

Slow and steady, a little yank at the thread of information each time.

The bartender wandered down to check on the others, and Niamh downed her shot and passed the empty off to Edgar.

“My, that was tasty.” Edgar rubbed his belly.

She took his. “I’m not Jessie. Ye don’t have to pretend with me, like.”

“Oh, I like to. It helps me fit in.”

“Trust me, it doesn’t.”

“What’s going on with that pack, anyway?” the bartender asked after moseying back, not in a rush.

“I don’t know whatch’ye mean,” Niamh answered.

The bartender crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back again. “All the regulars from that pack have been pretty close-lipped about it, but it seems like they’ve got some trouble going on.”

Niamh looked at her for a moment before glancing over her shoulder, as though about to impart some juicy gossip.

“Now, I don’t know fer sure like, so don’t go quotin’ me, but it looks like he’s in the market for some extra padding in the defense department.” She lifted her eyebrows in a serious way before leaning back, only to lean forward again and give a little more. There was an art to this sorta thing.

“Seems like someone is tryin’ta take over his pack or something, I don’t know. Or attack it. He’s looking for help, from what I’m gathering. That’s why we’re headed there, at any rate—to see what’s what.”

Niamh shrugged, glancing over her shoulder again before sipping her whiskey.

“And that guy with the cape just there,” the bartender whisper-murmured so Tristan wouldn’t overhear—a futile effort given his enhanced hearing—“he’s with you?”

“Yeah. He’s the head of our outfit. It’s weird, though. He got a counteroffer not to help the pack.

When does that happen? Really strange setup, all of it. I don’t quite know what to make of the whole thing. Something doesn’t feel right.” Niamh shrugged. “But I just go where I’m told. I don’t have any credentials for anything else, and I’m too old to start over.”

The bartender snagged her lip with her teeth, looking at Tristan thoughtfully.

“I’ve seen some strangeness,” she finally said, quietly. “I mean…not as strange as…” Edgar got a side-eye again, met with a smile.

“Would ye stop smilin’ at people?” Niamh told him, elbowing his bony frame. “It gives them the fright, so it does.”

“It’s fine,” the woman said quickly, putting up that bartender bravado again. “But I’ve seen more out-of-towners come through in these last bunch of months than I ever have, that’s for sure. And they’re all a little…”

She made a face like she wasn’t quite clear how to explain it.

Finally she put her hand to her chest and leaned toward Niamh just a little. “I’m a Jane, as shifters call me, so I don’t really know the details about…” She waggled her finger between Edgar and the guys. “These strangers I’ve been getting aren’t shifters, but I can tell they’re not Dicks and Janes either. They’re just a bit…”

“Off?” Niamh surmised. “Magical people can be. I’ve dealt with all kinds. Some I just want to throttle, like the senile vampire sitting beside me.”

“Oh wow, he’s a vampire?” The bartender looked at Edgar more closely now. He frowned at her, probably to prevent a smile. “I wondered if they existed.”

“He’s very old,” Niamh said.

“Very old,” Edgar repeated. Then mimicked zipping his lips again.

“Steer clear of the younger ones,” Niamh went on. “They are incredibly dangerous. Don’t get mixed up with them. But ye’d know it if they were in yer bar, trust me. Yer skin would crawl, for one, and ye’d assume death was imminent. They wouldn’t have any reason to come here, though.”