Page 64 of Fires of the Forsaken
My comment rolled right off his shoulders. “I’m sure you’re aware your eye color isn’t common,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“But we know of another with the same abnormality.”
“Interesting.There’s a fellow purple-eyed mutant here? Who?”
Cheriour gestured to the room. “Lasair.”
* * *
“Yer scared, aren’t ye?”Belanna chuckled.
I glanced at the wooden cup she’d plopped on the desk in front of me and grimaced at the odor. It was alcohol. And normally I would’ve downed it without a second thought. But this smelled likerubbingalcohol—something likely to leave me on my hands and knees puking over a toilet.
Er…well, puking over abucket.The Viking version of a toilet.
I lifted the cup, swishing the liquid around as Belanna hoisted herself onto the edge of the desk. “Yearescared!” she raised her eyebrows in a challenge.
“Of drinking? Never. Of sucking down mystery substances? Absolutely. That’s how you end up drugged.”
Belanna chuckled. “‘Tis whiskey.”
I took another whiff. “Phew.That isnotwhiskey.”
“‘Tis!”
“Okay, let me rephrase: it’s notgoodwhiskey. This is some bottom-shelf shit that’ll burn a hole in my esophagus.” The scent alone had singed my nose hairs.
Belanna’s smile widened. “Ye can’t handle strong liquor?”
“Of course I can. As long as it’s not shit.”
“Prove it.” She reached for her own cup and raised it toward mine.
“Prove what? That your whiskey’s shit?”
“That’ll be the best whiskey ye’ll be finding here…”
“Well, that’s depressing.Iftrue…”
“So if ye’re wanting a drink, this is it.” She flashed a smug smile.
I lifted my chin. “On three?” I’d regret this. Big time. But never let it be said that Addie Collins turned down a drink.
“Aye.”
“Fine. One. Two.”
“Three!” Belanna declared.
I shot the whiskey to the back of my throat and swallowed. And I usually relished the burn that accompanied strong drinks. But this one left a foul, almost acidic tang on the back of my tongue. I had to fight to keep it down.
Belanna knocked back her drink, gave me a self-congratulatory smile, and poured herself another from the flask she kept tucked in her vest.
I slapped my hand over my cup when she leaned across the desk. “Nope. I’m good. One shot before noon is a good way to start the day.” I belched. “Two usually means you’ve got a problem.”
“Ach, two isn’t even enough to start me day with a clear head.”
