Michael

two

The Voluptarius was on the outskirts of the Old Quarter, and so middle of the road when it came to seediness, licentiousness and violence. If a man was bent on trouble but wanted to enjoy a few drinks along the way, well, it was a good place to start and work your way up to the serious dives. There was nothing like alcoholic oblivion to drive out dreams, or so Michael hoped. Revealing its Roman origins, the tavern was built of fired brick with a vaulted ceiling and a large central, circular bar. The newest owner had added angled mirrors to the top of the bar servery, allowing customers to keep an eye on what was going on behind their backs whilst ordering drinks. The gesture was appreciated and well used.

Michael weaved his way through the crowds towards the bar. Those patrons who weren't so deep in their cups that they couldn't recognise trouble watched his approach warily in the mirrors. The reek of fear spiked as conversations dropped to whispers and warning nudges. Two men downed their drinks and slunk off, making way without him having to utter a word. Idly, he wondered if he now had the word 'vampire' stamped on his forehead.

Taking their place, he found himself looking at the eccentric new owner herself. Gladys was taller than most men and had a baritone voice deep enough to sing in an all-male choir. Skin the colour of caramel helped carry off a fashion-sense that was even wilder than her hairstyle. Tonight that self-same hair was twisted into two-inch tall, multi-coloured spikes so severe his scalp gave a twinge in sympathy.

"Bourbon, no ice." He leaned on the bar as he placed his order.

Instead of complying, she folded her arms over her chest and glared. "The last time I served you, it took me forever to get rid of the blood stains, not to mention the customers you cost me." The scowl deepened and she jabbed a forefinger at him. "In fact, I seem to recall telling you never to step foot in here again."

She had and he'd forgotten. He tried to downplay it. "I thought you were joking."

Furious eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh, really? You wreck the place, and then think its fine to waltz back in the door whenever you please?" Temper bristled behind every word. "You need some lessons on manners, and freaking consideration for others."

Michael considered several responses, and settled for, "I don't waltz and you're welcome to try."

"Not worth the effort." Snorting in annoyance, Gladys slammed an empty glass on the counter and proceeded to fill it for him. "All right, fine. Take this and go and find a corner to brood in—that's all you seem to do these days."

"Fighting isn't brooding. And, I didn't start it last time."

She relaxed, flash-fire temper receding. "No, but you did most of the damage. Impressive to watch when you're not paying the repair bill." Golden eyes gleamed when she added, "Just so you know: a conciliatory phone call, maybe even dinner, would have gone a long way to smoothing my feathers."

Michael took a sip, felt the fire drip down his throat. "I don't have your phone number."

She winked. "I'm still waiting for you to ask."

He was saved from having to answer that loaded hint by a new customer claiming the space next to him. Making good his escape, he headed for an empty table. He'd barely sat down when he saw the stranger now standing by the remaining chair, apparently waiting to be noticed. Crystalline blue eyes gazed steadily back at him.

Most people knew better than to approach him without either warning or invitation. Michael didn't try and hide his irritation, and said, "I'm not the sociable type. Find yourself another seat."

"Then it's lucky I'm not here to socialise, but to issue a warning, Mr Thane." The stranger gestured to the chair, "May I?"

Michael let the moment stretch out, taking his time in a thorough appraisal. A short beard that was little more than deliberate stubble framed the stranger's jaw, the same mid-brown as the shoulder-length hair. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and in good shape, but appearance of age was meaningless in Gehenna. He had the air of age and yet he smelled human. The clothes too, partially hidden as they were by a hooded cloak, strongly hinted at a preference for earlier Earth times. There was no hint of a weapon.