Page 30 of The Black Table
“I am,” he says slowly. “Which makes you…” He squints. “Gwenna.”
I give the briefest, tiniest nod. I don’t like the sound of my name in his voice.
Then, all at once—those reflexes—he sticks out a hand. “Kai. A pleasure.” Again, the grin flashes. “So, are we taking a selfie, or…”
“No,” I say firmly. I clench my phone in my fingers. This was a stupid idea. I could have easily faked a photo without actuallygoingto the cap. And now I’m all but pinned against the bar with the press of bodies and pulse of karaoke backing tracks crowding in on all sides.
Kai stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. Buy you a drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, he signals for the bartender. Goddammit.
“Whatever the lady wants,” he says, nodding in my direction. “On me.”
The bartender, an older gentleman with a mustache and waistcoat who looks like he should be riding a giant old-fashioned bicycle, just raises an eyebrow. “Porter’s is included in your meal plan.” He looks at me. “Yours too. What’ll it be?”
“Ah…” There are too many things happening at once. A pull of tension tightens behind my eyes. “I…”
“Is he bothering you?”
I whirl around to see…him. The guy from French class.
Lanz.
God, it’s a regular who’s who of people I’ve had run ins with so far on campus, I think. I can’t tell, genuinely, whether I’m glad to see him or annoyed. Maybe neither.
“Relax, pretty boy,” says Kai, the slightest edge to his voice. “I’m just chatting with her.” He puts his palms in the air. “See? Room for the holy spirit.”
Lanz darts a glance at me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
The bartender coughs.
“I was just getting Gwenna here a drink,” Kai says, nodding. He points to his chest. “Paloma. Easy on the grapefruit.” Then points to me.
“Does she even want a drink?” rumbles a third voice.
Oh, great, gang’s all here.This one—appearing from nowhere at Lanz’s shoulder—is new. Broad and tall and strong looking in a way that even Lanz and Kai can’t compete with. Handsome, too, although his expression is also decidedly blank.
I half-wonder what these guys are even doing here if theydon’t seem to be interested in the, well, partying aspects of the party, but my curiosity is cut short when the bartender hands over a frosted glass, accented with a spring of dusty purple blossoms.
To me.
“Lavender gin and tonic,” he says, and gives me a wink. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Thank you,” I say dumbly, and accept it. I don’tnotdrink, but it’s also—how would Dr. Riggs put it?—not recommended for someone in my condition.
But Dr. Riggs isn’t here. And I am—for the foreseeable future, it seems.
As the caterwauling strains of a funk duet strike up behind us, I take a sip—it’s not bad. Herbal, but astringent from the gin, with the sweetness of tonic to balance it all out—and, worst of all, barely any burn of alcohol. The kind of girly drink that’ll put you under the table without you even realizing.
The four of us just…stand there.
“Oh,” Lanz says, suddenly remembering his companion. “This is Callahan. Cal, this is?—”
“This,” Kai interrupts, “is Gwenna. Hotshot polyglot and Caliburn’s newest student.”
“She can introduce herself,” Lanz retorts.
