Page 22 of The Mermaid's Bubble Lounge
Clive chuckled in my head. Vlad was having you on. I was nowhere near Whitechapel in 1888. Sorry, darling.
Bummer. I took a shower and got ready. By the time I was headed back downstairs, Fergus shot out of his bed and raced past me. Vlad was no longer in the den. He must have gone back to the apartment through the folly. The dragons were almost done building it and they didn’t seem as angry as they initially were about working for a vampire.
They didn’t even seem to mind that Cadmael was living in the section of the folly that appeared to be a tropical island. Clive said Cadmael, a vampire who was over two thousand years old, spent all his time lounging under the stone ceiling that had been magicked to look like bright sunshine in a clear blue sky. Clive and Vlad also loved the folly for much the same reason: experiencing what felt like the sun after ages in the dark.
I wanted to finish processing the new books before we opened, but the mayhem of the morning meant I wasn’t as early as I’d intended. Still, I got a fair amount done before I heard Owen coming down the steps.
“Hey, boss.” He went to the book cart to peruse the new titles, looking well-rested and content.
“You look good,” I told him.
He glanced up, ready to make a joke, and then stopped himself. “Thanks. I’m really happy.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Sometimes it feels unreal. I love him so much, Sam. I didn’t know I could have this. I just”—he shook his head in wonder—“how did we get so lucky?”
“Your parents must be proud. You snagged yourself a rich doctor.” I moved the stack of books I’d finished to the shelving cart. “I bet your mom brags about you every chance she gets.”
Owen laughed. “You know her well. My cousins tell me she often lets drop how spectacular our house is or some wonderful thing George did for me.”
His mate George was a very kind and extremely good-looking dragon shifter. There weren’t many dragons left in the world, but those still around were loaded. Dragons and their treasures. George was a veterinarian working with large exotic animals at the San Francisco Zoo. He bought a mansion for Owen and himself in Sea Cliff, an enclave of the extraordinarily wealthy. Their house was right on the water, with a view of the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Which reminds me,” Owen began. “I’m supposed to invite you and Clive for dinner Saturday night.”
“We’d love that, but we can’t make it this Saturday. What’s left of the vampire Guild is coming to town for meetings in—wait. Am I allowed to tell you that?” Shit.
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Owen said.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. When I took it out, I saw a text.
Vlad: No. You’re not.
I shouted, “Quit eavesdropping, you creep!”
Owen paled, whispering, “Is Vlad listening to us?”
“It appears so. Anyway, Clive and I are busy, unfortunately. Can we get a raincheck on dinner?”
Owen nodded, glancing over his shoulder warily. “Sure. No problem. I’ll get to work now.”
“I’ll go with you. I need to ask you about a couple of killings.” I followed him behind the bar and started cutting lemons and limes while he prepped the espresso machine and checked the beer taps.
By the time I finished explaining the whole situation, he was sitting on the stool I kept behind the bar, shaking his head.
“No scent at all?” he asked. “I mean, a wicche could clean a scene, covering over all the smells, but to leave everything but the scent of the killer?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know how to do that. Let me ask my mom. She might know if it can be done.”
I added cherries to the cocktail garnish cups. “If Hepsibah or Lilith or any of the crones are in today, I’ll ask them too.”
Owen nodded. “Check with Dave. Maybe it’s a demon thing.”
“Maybe.” I went back to the bookstore and before too long I heard Grim’s distinctive step coming down the stairs. We were open.
Thirty minutes later, I walked back into the bar to see if I had any powerful wicches in yet and instead saw Meri skipping down the stairs.
“Owen, did Sam tell you? I got a new car!” She held up her keys.
He high-fived her. “What kind did you get?”
“I only wanted electric,” she told him. “So I wasn’t sure if I could afford anything.” The salesman we had last night had kept trying to steer her toward sporty, sexy cars. It turned out I didn’t need to worry about her being taken advantage of. She firmly told him what her requirements were, and he tripped over himself trying to make her happy.
“She ended up negotiating an excellent deal for herself,” I told him.
