Page 54 of Shadowed Whispers

There are a lot of regulars here, none of which I’d touch unless they did something truly heinous. Most of these guys are just old-school fishermen. They grew up here, work here, and will die here.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Andy chucks a towel in the laundry basket she has hidden under the bar.

“No thoughts, it’s completely blank up here. Not a single coherent thought.” I smile at her, lying through my teeth. Why, at the worst possible moment, do I think of Dorian? Does he really never lie?

Andy snorts, not believing me. “I bet that brain is full of chaos.”

“What, this one?” I tap my temple. “Nope. Nothing up here but a stream of digital code.”

“Now that I believe.” She leans on the bar across from me, crossing her arms. “How are classes?”

I hate small talk. It makes me feel like it’s just a bridge to close the gap of a peaceful quiet. There is nothing wrong with quiet. Also, it means I have to answer—well, I don’t, but I will. I like Andy, and despite how creepy Professor Blackwood is, he was right about her.

“Do you know Professor Blackwood?”

She whistles long and low and chuckles. “Morgan?” She shakes her head, sending her red ringlets flying. “Now that is a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

The door opens, and in walks Officer Hart. Her hand runs through her short hair several times as she strides over to the bar, weary and tired.

“Grotto’s Gold.” She sighs.

“I’ve got it.” I push off the counter and point at Andy, who is still smiling in a weird, secretive way. “Tell me about the professor.”

“Which one?” Abigail asks.

“Morgan Blackwood.” Andy turns around to face her sister, a gleam in her eyes. “You remember Morgan?”

Abigail smiles fondly, and a flush creeps up her cheeks. “Oh, I remember.”

I set Abigail’s drink before her. “Alright, spill it. It’s a slow night, and there are only ten people in here, including us.”

“Anyone ever tell you about what happened to a curious cat?” Andy pushes off the bar and walks around, lifting the divider before sitting beside her sister, leaving me alone back here.

I hope that means she is going to tell me all about Morgan Blackwood.

“No,” I deadpan, finally answering her question.

“Stop.” Abigail swats her sister playfully. Side by side, their resemblance is undeniable. “We both dated Morgan in high school.”

“Accidentally,” Andy tacks on with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, this sounds like a dramatic love triangle.” I lean forward on the counter, my interest piqued, the din of the bar fading into the background. “Tell me more.”

Laughing, Abigail downs a third of her drink, a sparkle of mischief lighting up her eyes as she leans forward, eager to share. “Well, it was junior year of high school, and Andy was the head cheerleader.”

“While Abbi played the sax in the band.”

“You two couldn’t be more opposite,” I observe, intrigued by their contrasting pasts.

“You have no idea.” Abbi chuckles, her laughter rich and warm. “Well, we both had our eyes on the handsome senior rugby player.”

“No.” My jaw drops in mock horror. “Professor Blackwood?”

“Scrum half.” Abbi wiggles her eyebrows, a playful twinkle in her eye. “I loved watching those boys play.” She bites the air, her gesture theatrical.

“Someone is thirsty,” I quip, sliding her a glass of water across the counter, her laughter filling the space between us.

“Damn right. They were—no, are the most delicious athletes,” Abbi adds with a little shimmy, her smirk devilish. Honestly, I love it. “But Morgan, he was the best, and a man-whore.”

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