Brand New Moon (Crescent Deveyne Chronicles Book 1)

ELEVEN

ELEVEN

I made my way slowly to the bar. No one stood in my way. The vampires mostly stared at my bleeding arm, longing for a lick. The other supernatural creatures looked me up and down, either in awe or in contemplation of challenging me themselves. A few spoke, congratulating me on my win and thanking me for taking out “the arrogant whore.” I ignored them all. Now that the fight was over, I’d remembered what I was here for. I’d held up my end of the bargain. It was time for Piotr to pay up.

The pain-numbing potion was beginning to wear off. Nothing hurt yet, but I was out of breath and aching all over. I could feel fractured bones jarring and scraping against each other as I moved. Unpleasant, but not yet painful.

Piotr tapped the barstool beside him as I approached. I gratefully heaved myself onto it. He remained standing, but leaned against the bar with one elbow. Not long after I’d sat down the bartender placed two pint glasses in front of us. I stared at mine longingly, wondering if ID was required to drink in here.

“Drink up,” Piotr said, answering my unspoken question. “You earned it.”

Not needing a second invitation, I raised the glass to my lips and took a long, refreshing draught. I didn’t recognise the brand, but the beer was bitter and ice cold, just how I liked it. I don’t think I’d ever been so thirsty in my life.

I stopped after halfway for a breath and slammed the glass back onto the bar.

“Here,” Piotr said, handing me an icepack. “For your wounds.”

“It’s OK,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket. “I have something for it myself.” My fingers closed around the vial of healing potion I’d been smart enough to bring but, before I could pull it out into the open, Piotr’s hand closed around my wrist, preventing me from revealing it.

“Hey!” I yelled as the bones beneath his grip protested.

The bartender turned around and stared at us. He was a fat vampire, with a balding head and small, pig-like eyes. Piotr stared back at him until he turned away.

“Keep your potions to yourself,” he warned me in a whisper so low I had to lip-read. “Let the crowd think you are some kind of half-demon. If they discover the truth they will rip you to pieces.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. I slowly nodded and he released my hand. I dropped the potion and put my hands on the bar where he could see them.

“Use the ice,” he suggested. “Your nose looks broken.”

It was starting to feel broken, I thought, as I picked up the ice and held it over my face. 

“You figured it out, then,” I said. “That I’m a… ‘gymnast’.”

He frowned then smiled at my use of a code word.

“I’m not a fully-fledged ‘gymnast’, you know,” I continued. “I mean, I have ‘gymnast’ blood in me, but not the natural ‘gymnast’ skills.”

“Is that why you are here?” he asked. “Because I am sure your fellow ‘gymnasts’ would be able to help you much more than I could.”

“Listen, my fellow ‘gymnasts’ can’t know that I’m here. Now, I was told that you could help me, but to do that I’m going to have to tell you my name. And, as you’ve so kindly pointed out that’s probably not a great idea in this place.”

He obligingly moved closer and placed his ear right by my lips. I still whispered it as quietly as I could.

He pulled back and fixed me with a troubled frown. I waited for him to speak, but instead he gulped down half his beer.