Chapters (50)
- Cover
- Roc Books by Jacqueline Carey
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
“Yeah, yeah.” I cut him off. “I’ll try to make a good first impression. Not like I did with the Mamma Jammers. No funky satyr booty calls, I promise.”
He gave a deep, rich chuckle that made my spine tingle and my tail twitch. “Just between you and me? I kind of liked the funky satyr booty call.”
I smiled. “Pick you up at seven?”
“Why don’t we pick you up?” Sinclair suggested. “Emmy’s got a rental.”
As it transpired, not only did Emmy have a rental car—Emmy had a brand-spanking-new rental convertible that was much, much nicer than my poor ten-year-old Honda Civic. At seven o’clock sharp, she and Sinclair pulled into the alley between my apartment building and the park to pick me up. Oh, and it was also a stick shift, which she drove with reckless aplomb.
I sat in the backseat, my blond hair whipping wildly around my head in the backwash of wind.
“Are you quite all right, Daisy?” Emmeline’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, concern in her gaze. Her close-cropped hair was unaffected. “Shall I put the top up?”
I rummaged in my bag for an elastic band and dragged my hair back into a ruthless ponytail. “Not on my account.”
Sinclair inhaled deeply. “It still smells like summer.”
I poked him in the back of the head. His short dreads were tight yet supple, stirring in the wind. Once a week, he treated them with an organic product containing essential oils, and I always knew because it smelled a lot like fresh rosemary. “I think that’s your salon treatment you’re smelling.”
Reaching behind him, he swatted at my hand. “Natty Dread got to look fine for his ladies, darling.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Emmeline give us both an indulgent smile in the mirror before downshifting. Something about her and her presence here in Pemkowet put me on edge. But since I couldn’t put my finger on it, I resolved to keep my promise and do my best to make a good first impression.
The Bide-a-Wee Tavern is located out in the sticks, a couple miles southeast of town along the rural highway. Frankly, it’s not the venue I would have chosen if I were trying to make a good impression on a first-time visitor to Pemkowet, or at least not a poised visitor oozing style and sophistication. It’s not a dive, but it’s pretty rustic: basic American bar food on the menu, well-worn carpeting and dented wood paneling that were probably installed in the 1970s.