I kind of stared dumbly at her for a minute, trying to process what she said and the kindly expression on her face. My eyes got a little blurry, and I glanced down quickly. Kindness wasn’t something I expected. “Thank you.”
“I have a couple of vacancies,” she said. “Do you want a ground-floor apartment or third floor? There aren’t any elevators.”
That would make it difficult hauling furniture up to the third floor, but I didn’t have any furniture, or money for furniture, so it really didn’t matter that much. I looked out the window. The apartments on the second and third floors had small balconies.
“Third floor, please.” The first floor struck me as far less secure than those on the upper floors.
She took my money and gave me four keys. “Two for the outside doors and two to your apartment,” she said, and led me to the building next door to the office. One of my keys opened the outside door, then she led me down a long hall to another door at the far end.
“Your key works on this door, too,” she said. “You can use either the front stairs or these back here.”
We climbed to the third floor where I used another key to open the door from the hallway. I was surprised at how spacious the place was. Kitchen, small dining nook, living room with sliding-glass doors leading to the balcony. The bedrooms weren’t large, but they weren’t cramped, either, and the bathroom was nice, with both a bathtub and a shower.
“If you decide you want a roommate,” Radzinski said, “you’ll have to pay another two hundred deposit, and if you get a pet, that will be a two hundred deposit. Familiars count as pets.” Obviously, I wasn’t the only one able to detect magic.
She handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. “Goodwill. You can probably find what you need to furnish it there. A bed, at least, and what you need in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I said, thinking that I might also be able to find some clothes that fit. I only had one set of clothes I could wear for work, and that would be noticeable pretty quickly. Working in restaurants wasn’t the cleanest work in the world.
After she left, I opened the door to the balcony and stood against the railing looking around. A tree-lined stream ran behind the apartments, and sort of a park about fifty yards wide, with walking or jogging paths on both sides. It would be quiet, and I was glad she had put me in the back, away from the street and the parking lot.
A trip to Goodwill took a chunk of my remaining cash—the amount the damage deposit would have cost me—but it bought a bed, a set of sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. The sales lady helped me pick out things she said I would need, and I ended up with four matching plates, four mismatched mugs, four glasses, four bowls, a six-person set of flatware, a cast-iron skillet, a saucepan, a spatula, and a large wooden spoon. Two pairs of black slacks and four simple blouses completed my purchases.
I had never lived on my own. My apartment in the Illuminati’s palace was more like a fancy hotel room with servants who cleaned and served my meals. On missions, I stayed in hotels.
As I left Goodwill, the lady said, “We don’t carry cleaning supplies, but there’s a hardware store up the road.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. She gave me the address, but I didn’t have enough money left to spend on luxuries. I figured I could probably last the week with the soap and shampoo I’d taken from hotels on my journey, and use my tip money later to get whatever cleaning supplies I needed.
Goodwill promised to deliver the bed the following day, and I hauled the rest of my loot back to the apartment. I put the clothes in a washer in the basement, took a shower, then went back and put my laundry in the drier. When it finally dried, I had barely enough time to dress and catch the bus to work. And considering the storm that had blown in, I was happy to have the bus.
Something Sam said the previous night seemed strange—“…you found the door, and managed to walk through it…” I kind of thought I understood the second part. That tingle I felt when I passed over the threshold.
I stood at the corner by the hotel and looked down the alley. In daylight, I couldn’t see the bar’s sign. Walking down the alley and standing directly in front of the door, I could easily read the sign over it, bold white letters against the brick background.
There weren’t any lights. The night before, the sign had been lit up and stood out from the wall. But as I looked at it, that was impossible. The words were painted on the bricks, and there weren’t any lights. At all. Of any kind.
The tingle was still there when I pushed through the door. I had encountered warded veils intended to keep some people or creatures out, while allowing others in, and they felt like that.
A tall, very thin man stood behind the bar. His black, messy hair made his pale complexion stand out even more. Simply based on coloration, he could have been my brother. He watched me walk up to the bar without any change in expression.
“Is Sam here?” I asked.
“Yes.”
He didn’t say anything else, change his expression, or give me any other indication he was alive and cognizant.
“I’m Erin, the new bartender.”
Still nothing. Eerie.
“Would you please tell Sam that Erin is here?”
He turned and walked to a door down by the end of the bar and knocked. The door opened and Sam came out.
“Thank you, Liam,” he said, smiling at the statue standing in front of him. Then he looked my direction. “Hi, Erin. Come on back.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I followed Sam through the door and saw Liam still standing there, staring out at the room.
Past the door, Sam pointed to a stairwell on our right going down. “That’s the storeroom, and the tap lines run down there to the kegs, so you don’t have to haul them up. There’s an old-fashioned lift in the alley, a big dumb waiter, actually, that lowers the deliveries down there.”
His office was larger than I expected, and neater than I expected. He sat behind the desk, and I took a chair in front of it. The standard new-hire paperwork sat there waiting for my signature.
“Did you find a place to stay?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. Ms. Radzinski is very nice.”
He nodded. “You’ll see her in here. She mostly comes in on your shift.”
When I dug out my identification the night before, I discovered the driver’s license was expired, and not in my real name. But I had procured a passport in my real name when I was nineteen, and that was valid. Had it only been nine years since my old life ended? A lifetime ago. Then, three weeks before, I had walked—run—away from the new life I had so arrogantly embraced and ended up in Sam’s bar.
Sam raised an eyebrow when he looked at my passport, and I guessed it had to do with my age, or maybe the four-year-old picture. People always told me I looked older than I was. He didn’t say anything, though.
I finished signing everything, and Sam made copies of my passport and social security card. He handed them back to me and pointed to a sign on the wall.
“That’s posted at both ends of the bar, but you probably didn’t notice it.”
Rosie’s Rules
Cash only—no cards, no checks, no promises
No display of weapons
No loud arguments
No fighting
No release of bodily fluids
No conjuring
No bewitching without the subject's permission
No shifting
All artifacts must remain secured
NO POISONS, POTIONS, INHALANTS or EXTRACTS not sold by the bartender
Killing a paying customer will result in a lifetime ban
“I am dead serious about these,” he said, “and I expect you to enforce them, using the minimal amount of force necessary.”
I stared at him with my mouth open for a moment, then said, “The door.”
He nodded. “That door is almost invisible after dark. In fact, the whole alley is dark unless you have a magical ability. And the ward on the door prevents most people from coming in at all.
“The tingle,” I said.
He was quiet, then his eyes widened, and he leaned forward. “The tingle?”
“Yeah, I feel a slight tingle—I don’t know, a slight buzz maybe—when I cross the threshold.”
“That’s all you feel?” His voice grew louder.
I suddenly felt self-conscious. “Yes. Is there supposed to be something else?” I shrugged. “Maybe the spell is getting old and needs to be renewed.”
“My bloody-red ass it does! That warding spell—” he sputtered, then said, “the only person who feels a slight tingle is me, and I cast the damned spell.”
I tried to shrink down in my chair. “I’m sorry,” I said in a barely audible voice. “I’m probably just describing it poorly. How do other people describe it?”
Sam was clearly upset, and I didn’t completely understand why.
“People without talent get a feeling of dread, which confuses them, so they can’t remember why they’re here, or why they want to come in. If they try, it causes dizziness and nausea. For people with talent, most describe it as having to push through resistance. Jenny says it’s like walking through a wall made of honey.”
“Oh.”
He studied me for a while, then said, “There’s a cop, a sensitive without a shred of talent, who comes in here. I guess it feels different to different people. Well, Liam said he would stick around an extra hour in case you have any questions, and I’ll be here another couple of hours. Jenny’s working tonight, and Dworkin is in the kitchen, so you should be all right. Welcome aboard.”
“Uh, Liam.”
“Yes?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, yes, I guess I should explain about Liam. He’s a great bartender and knows about every drink anyone ever invented. He’s autistic, and he’s not very social. He doesn’t ask questions, and he doesn’t deal with change very well. Don’t ever yell at him, and if you get frustrated, take a moment and think about what you need to do to fix the situation. He answers questions, but you have to make sure what you’ve said is a question and he knows it’s aimed at him. If you ask him if he knows how to make a Singapore Sling, he’ll say, “Yes.” But if you want him to make one, you have to tell him to make it. If you want him to tell you how to make one, you have to say, “Liam, please tell me how to make a Singapore Sling. And for God’s sake, don’t tell him to do anything to anyone. If you want someone bigger than you thrown out, ask anyone but Liam. I can’t afford the repairs.”