Page 97 of Witch Undecided
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lauris drove while we sat silently in the car. The mood was low. We’d failed tonight, almost been caught.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I recognized one of the humans,” Jessie said. “Works at the local bookstore. Emily something. Loner.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I’m thinking those humans in that room have been there for a while. Maybe all loners. Humans that won’t be missed. Humans they can use up nice and slow.”
“They’ve figured out how to keep them alive,” Sloane said softly. “Prolong the feeding. These humans must have a lot of turmoil inside them, darkness these fuckers can feed off.”
“We need to get them out,” Poppy said from beside me.
I squeezed her hand. “We will.”
“I need a drink,” Jessie said.
“Outliers?” Lauris asked.
“Do it.”
Yeah, I could use a drink too. Or maybe three.
Ten minutes later we were pulling up outside Outliers. Lauris cut the engine, and we climbed out and headed toward the bar. He didn’t follow.
“Hey?” I shot him a quizzical glance. “You coming?”
He looked down the street. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go do something real quick first.”
“We’re gonna need a ride back in an hour,” Sloane said.
“I’ll be back.” He gave her a jaunty salute and sauntered off down the street.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Jessie asked.
Sloane watched him until he turned the corner at the bottom of the street. “Gargoyles may work for the witches, but we don’t own them. Let him have his privacy.” She headed for the bar. “And let us get a few drinks.”
Outliers was heaving with supernaturals,and we had to shove our way to the bar where a man with long turquoise hair and turquoise-tinted skin served drinks like he was on fast play.
He grinned at Sloane while pulling two pints and topping up a whiskey with Coke so effortlessly it made me want to applaud.
“The usual?” he asked.
Sloane nodded. “Yeah and—”
His gaze flicked over us. “Martini extra dry, Guinness, and…” His gaze lingered on me. “Single malt whiskey, smooth.”
“You got it,” Sloane said. “And double it all up, will ya, Lauter.”
“On it.”
He prepared the drinks in superfast mode, then shoved them on a tray and slid it toward Sloane. Jessie cleared a path to a miraculously empty table in the corner of the bar, which Poppy hurried over and claimed.
I looked back at the bar where Lauter was still working like a demon, except he was fey. He had to be. “He’s like Leana.”
“Who?” Sloane asked.
“The owner of a café in Necro. She’s pink, like all over, and she instinctively knows what anyone who comes into the café wants to drink or eat.”
“No way.” Poppy sat forward in her seat. “I was sure Lauter was the last of his kind. Didn’t he say that to you?” She looked to Jessie.
