Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge by Paul Krueger Read Free Book Online Page B

file cabinet down in the—”
    “Zane.” Garrett’s said firmly. “The humble pen and paper have sufficed since the days of the
Annals of Clonmacnoise
. And if it was good enough for Conall Mac Eochagáin to translate the record of intoxicating effects of aqua vitae on an Irish chieftain—”
    “It’s good enough to do the same way for six hundred damn years,” Zane muttered.
    “What’s that?”
    “Nothing,” Zane said more loudly, fishing a small notebook out of his pants pocket. “Ready when you are.”
    “Excellent. Now that my amanuensis has ceased his truculence, we can begin.”
    Garrett turned to Bailey. “Young Ms. Chen, it has been brought to our attention that you’ve had an encounter with a specimen of the extraplanar abomination that our vernacular has designated ‘tremens.’ Would you consider this an accurate summation of the events as they occurred?”
    “Um.” It took Bailey a second to parse his meaning. “I would.” Despite her not quite clean jeans and hastily combed hair, she foundherself speaking more properly than usual. Only a night ago she’d been cleaning scuzz out of this place’s darkest corners, but as an ad hoc courthouse the bar suddenly felt as if it commanded her respect.
    “Zane, were your dexterous fingers equal to the task of transcription?” Garrett said.
    “Yeah, yeah,” said Zane, flipping to a fresh page. “Got it.”
    Garrett nodded. “Very well then,” he said, pleased. “We’ll consider the matter concluded and move on to the administration of your oblivinum.”
    Concluded?
“Actually, um.” Bailey raised her hand but then lowered it. She wasn’t in class. “What about the part where I killed the … it?”
    Everyone stared.
    “Yeah.” Zane looked up and set down his pencil stub. Bailey could see that, indeed, his handwriting was just as terrible as it had been in third grade. “Uncle Garrett, you left out the part where she punched the tremens into demon dregs.”
    Garrett blinked. “Is this true, Ms. Chen?”
    “I … yeah,” Bailey said. “I killed it, and I’m pretty sure there was another one with it, but it was too scared to come near me. Or something.”
    “Impossible,” Kozlovsky boomed.
    “Tremens move independently,” Worth said crisply. “The energy they produce is like a magnetic field—powerfully repellent. They simply can’t band together, least of all after feeding.” She smiled kindly over the edge of the bar, as if Bailey were a kindergartner holding up a finger painting for approval. Bailey blushed.
    Okay, so she had been bragging. But even postgraduation, she couldn’t squash her innate need for hard work and recognition. “Underpromise and overdeliver”: that was her motto. She wanted everyone listening—the Tribunal, Zane’s friends, Zane himself—to know exactly how awesome it had been. How awesome
she’d
been.For the first time since leaving school, she’d managed to succeed at something that wasn’t slicing limes or scrubbing barf.
Of course
, she thought,
I finally do something cool out of college, and it’s got nothing to do with my major
.
    “And just how,” Garrett said slowly, “did you manage, as my dear nephew so colorfully put it, to punch it into demon dregs?”
    “I made a cocktail,” Bailey said. “I thought that’s how this whole thing worked.”
    The room went dead still.
    “Impossible,” Kozlovsky repeated. He leaned over to Worth and spoke in what he must’ve thought was a whisper. “There is no way.”
    “Not impossible.” Worth was regarding Bailey with interest. “Just talent.”
    Talent
. The word sent a warm wave of pride down Bailey’s spine. Zane wasn’t looking up, but he smiled to himself as he scribbled out a few last flourishes.
    “I’m afraid this simply cannot be true.” Garrett fiddled with an empty shot glass, his composure seeming to dissolve. “She’s never—she hasn’t—”
    “It’s totally true.” Zane said. “All due respect, Uncle