Page 15 of Pixie Problems
“The tranq is working its way out of his system. He’ll be okay once it’s gone.” I noticed Ben’s hands were faintly glowing as he ran them over the wolf’s body. He was probably hurrying the medicine along, trying to get it to leave the wolf completely.
Ben looked up at me. “I don’t have enough room for all of these magical animals at my clinic and home, and we can’t leave them on the ship. Until this all gets sorted out, would you mind taking this guy here home, and spread the word that we need people to help? I’m only one vet,” he said with a gentle smile. “I can do the impossible, but I have my limits.”
I looked down at the wolf I was petting like a dog. On the one hand, fur,allover, and slobber, andick, but on the other, he was cute! “Do you have any idea what kind of magical wolf he is?” I wanted to know what I was getting myself into before I committed.
Ben patted the wolf as he finished the water and put away the bowl. “He’s a teleporter. They’re as smart as a young human child and twice as mischievous.” He laughed as the wolf whined in protest and left me as he moved on to the other animals in the container.
“No shenanigans,” I told the wolf in a firm voice. He whined and thumped his tail in agreement, and I sighed as I picked his limp body up.
I just knew I was going to regret this.
Chapter5
Dice
That night, after checking that Lucky was okay and after a quick trip to the pet store to pick up some supplies for my temporary house guest, I set up the wolf in my room and took a quick shower. Then I donned some club wear, made sure the wolf was resting as Ben had admonished him to, and headed to the Laughing Elf. I’d promised Rhys that I would look it over and see if I liked the feel of it.
I pulled into a parking lot in the back and parked next to a sporty car that had the top down. I admired the idiocy of the person who didn’t seem at all worried about thieves stealing their car, or rain drenching their leather seats, and then rolled my eyes when the sign in front of the space saidRhys Liakis.
Of course.
A bear shifter bouncer managed a lengthy line out front. People were surprisingly dressed in nicer clothes, like they were going to the theater rather than a club, and I looked at my nice-ish ripped jeans, purple leather jacket, and white tee shirt in dismay, feeling a little underdressed. I shrugged. Unless there was an actual dress code, I didn’t care. I bypassed the line, ignored the hisses of outrage, and flashed the bouncer my supernatural ID. He nodded me through, and I walked in, expecting it to be like every other club that I’d been to.
But I hadn’t given Rhys enough credit. The Laughing Elf wasclassy. Seriouslyclassy. A gleaming chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the luxuriously appointed room, gauzy draped fabric hung from the walls with fairy lights under them, smooth jazz was being played by a band onstage, tables were lit by tealight candles floating in a clear bowl of water, and there was a softly glowing wall with a moonlit scene from Paris on an electronic screen covering a side wall.
I whistled. Huh. This place was high class. It kinda figured. Star elves couldn’t help but be a little snooty, or so I’d heard. But then I replayed all of my interactions with Rhys, and I had to come to a different conclusion. Perhaps there wasonestar elf that wasn’t snooty.
I heard a commotion over by the key retrieval area. Most paranormal night clubs and bars had one. It was a simple system where you came in, took a photo with the keys that belonged to you, and your photo got plastered up on the digital photo wall with a hundred or so others. The photos changed every twenty seconds or so. In order to leave, you had to get a pass by the wolves who could sniff out how sober or inebriated you were. If you were over the limit, or they thought you weren’t coherent enough to drive for any reason—including illness—they put you in a waiting area while you called a cab or a friend. And they meant serious business. But there were always a few who tried to game the system. Those had to wait under heavier guard, and they were invited to never come back.
It seemed that was what was happening tonight. A man that looked human—might have been a wizard—was shouting about his rights. The bodyguards weren’t having any of it. Both had their arms crossed over their chests gazing at him placidly as he threw a tantrum. Someone—someone who wasn’t Rhys—went over to deal with the mess, while the guards moved the troublemaker into a coolout box.
It was a clear box about ten by ten feet that they filled with mild, clear gasses that would sober a person up safely and quickly. And yes, they were locked in. Everyone, when they dropped off their keys and took a picture, signed a waiver. You couldn’t get into these places if you didn’t play by the rules. And those rules were in place to keep drunks off the streets, and paranormals from blowing up nightclubs and bars. Literally. It was a good system, and one I supported. Some of the skeezier paranormal bars had the system but didn’t implement it. Or it was hit and miss. But Rhys looked like he went above and beyond to protect his business and his customers, and I nodded in approval. That had been a worry of mine. If they had lame security, it was too risky. Drunk paranormals were usually not fun and potentially life-threatening.
I made my way over to the bar where bodies were packed at least five deep waiting. Rhys, the only bartender, was serving customers as quickly as he could without breaking land and speed records, but he was still really backed up. I winced, feeling bad for him as people were shouting to be heard above another, so I grabbed a swanky black apron with a purple holographic Laughing Elf logo on it, and tied it around my waist.
I had a phone with internet access and knew how to use it. Hopefully I wouldn’t screw people’s orders up too badly.
Rhys’s purple and gold eyes filled with gratitude, nodded at me as he moved to help another group of people. This time, the group was clearly a bridal party, celebrating the upcoming marriage of the woman with a sash around her shoulders that saidBride to Be.I watched, amused, as the bridesmaids all flirted with him to one degree or another, and Rhys either ignored their advances, or, in the case of one bold woman who was leaning forward, letting him see all of her curvy assets, declined her offer in a respectful, but subdued voice. He didn’t seem to be on point today. He was neither sassy nor sarcastic. In fact, he seemed sad, if I had to guess, but I didn’t know him all that well, so I wasn’t sure.
And then it dawned on me. Duh! His friend just got attacked. I sobered, feeling empathy push me to be more friendly than I normally would have been. I smiled at him, and he blinked, and then fumbled the glass in front of him, sloshing amber liquid all over his hands and the floor.
I threw him a small hand towel, laughing quietly to myself. Okay, I needed drink recipes. I pulled up a website online that promised it had every drink recipe under the sun on its site and scrolled through some of the basic recipes. When I was satisfied it had enough diverse drinks to get me through the night, I started taking orders. Luckily the first few orders were easy. I manned the drinks, and another girl rang them up on the register.
Rhys cornered me after he’d served the bridal party, and whispered, “I’m so glad you came. Thanks for rescuing me.” I shivered a little at his voice. He had a raspy, musical voice that made the pit of my stomach warm like melted chocolate, and there was something deeper than gratitude in his eyes. A bubblier pixie might label it attraction and affection: I labeled it dangerous. I shook off my thoughts, and answered him.
“No problem. You were dying back here.” I looked around. “Where’s your bartending staff? There’s no way you only have the three of you on staff tonight for such a big crowd.” I reached into the fridge and grabbed the lager that the preppy looking guy in the green shirt had asked for, popping the top for him and taking his money and tip as I handed it over to the cashier.
“Sick, or out of town,” Rhys said, grabbing the tip from the cashier and stuffing it in an empty, clear jar under the counter. I shrugged. I didn’t know their system. A clear jar was good with me to keep tip money in.
I went to work on a vodka with a lime twist and a plain seltzer water while Rhys served a couple who were so caught up in each other they barely acknowledged him when he put their drinks in front of them.
One large man sitting on a barstool at the end of the bar had a Shirley Temple in front of him, and he was taking measured sips from it like it was full of hard-core liquor. I laughed. I didn’t drink much and evenIknew that Shirley Temples were non-alcoholic. I found this especially funny because the man was a six and a half foot massive gargoyle with grayish skin, buzz cut hair, and deep grey eyes. His wings were tucked into the void and couldn’t be seen. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a Shirley Temple drinker.
I was glad he’d put his wings away. It made things so much more convenient for us paranormals that had wings to stash them in the void. Rarely did paranormals go around with their wings hanging out. It was very personal, for one. A paranormal’s wings said a lot about them. For example, mine were like beautiful, sparkly butterfly wings, except really strong. Did Iwanteveryone to know that I had sparkly, colorful wings? No. Not even a little bit.
I shuddered, remembering the scene earlier at the docks. No one had commented on my unusual wings, and I hoped it stayed that way.
Rhys put another drink in front of the gargoyle and leaned against the counter to chat with him for a bit. My pixie hearing clearly picked up what they were saying.
